herakles
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Rooting for the turban-Khuswant Singh- Hindustan Times
A week before the Indo-Pak hockey match, I started getting worked up. In the past, Pakistan had beaten India more often than India had beaten Pakistan. By all reckoning, hockey is now sport number one and for some years we were world champions.
Things changed after Pakistan broke away from India and became our most formidable challenger. Other nations like Australia, Malaysia, Korea, Spain, Holland, Germany and England became serious contenders for the top place. So, my anxiety over the outcome of the Indo-Pak clash in the first round of the Commonwealth Games was natural.
I tried to watch it on TV but failed to get the right channel. I spent a restless night wondering what had happened. I also feared that next day being Holi, there may be no papers and I may have to watch the morning news on TV or ring up someone to find out.
However, on Holi, Hindustan Times arrived at 6.30 a.m. And there it was: India had scored a convincing 4-1 victory over Pakistan. A huge shabaash, escaped my lips. My tension was gone. There could be no better way of celebrating the festival of colours.
I found myself counting the number of Singhs on the Indian side. And my heart filled with pride. Was I turning communal in the late years? Perish the thought. I am not even a good Sikh.
I recalled my reaction was the same with other games. I got more interested in cricket when Bishen Singh Bedi became captain. I went out of my way to befriend him. He turned out to be an excellent raconteur of bawdy jokes. When Harbhajan Singh bagged a lot of wickets, I said: “O shabaash putter (well-done, son)”. When he did not, I said: “Phitey moonh (Shame on you!)”.
It was the same when young Bindra won the first of Olympic gold medal for India. I told everyone: “You know he is a Sikh”. And golf: Jeev Milkha Singh, Atwal, Randhava, Gagan Bhullar — all Mona Sardars — are India’s top golfers.
Is community consciousness the same as being communal? By no means. Whenever the demand for a separate Sikh state was raised, I opposed it as strongly as I could. I told the Khalistanis: “Oye khoteo (you donkeys), you know you are meant to preserve this country not break it up ”.
I wonder what would be left of India if it had no Sikhs. It would even lose most of its sense of humour accumulated over the years. As for personal relations, I can count the number of my Sikh friends on my finger tips. I have many more Hindu and Christian friends. I feel closer to my Muslim friends who outnumber all other put together as I have more in common with them, chiefly the love for Urdu poetry. But I never hesitate from boasting “Where would India be without the Sikhs?”
Post Script: When India got thrashed by Australia and Spain, I said “Laanat hovey” — the same as phitey moonh.
A week before the Indo-Pak hockey match, I started getting worked up. In the past, Pakistan had beaten India more often than India had beaten Pakistan. By all reckoning, hockey is now sport number one and for some years we were world champions.
Things changed after Pakistan broke away from India and became our most formidable challenger. Other nations like Australia, Malaysia, Korea, Spain, Holland, Germany and England became serious contenders for the top place. So, my anxiety over the outcome of the Indo-Pak clash in the first round of the Commonwealth Games was natural.
I tried to watch it on TV but failed to get the right channel. I spent a restless night wondering what had happened. I also feared that next day being Holi, there may be no papers and I may have to watch the morning news on TV or ring up someone to find out.
However, on Holi, Hindustan Times arrived at 6.30 a.m. And there it was: India had scored a convincing 4-1 victory over Pakistan. A huge shabaash, escaped my lips. My tension was gone. There could be no better way of celebrating the festival of colours.
I found myself counting the number of Singhs on the Indian side. And my heart filled with pride. Was I turning communal in the late years? Perish the thought. I am not even a good Sikh.
I recalled my reaction was the same with other games. I got more interested in cricket when Bishen Singh Bedi became captain. I went out of my way to befriend him. He turned out to be an excellent raconteur of bawdy jokes. When Harbhajan Singh bagged a lot of wickets, I said: “O shabaash putter (well-done, son)”. When he did not, I said: “Phitey moonh (Shame on you!)”.
It was the same when young Bindra won the first of Olympic gold medal for India. I told everyone: “You know he is a Sikh”. And golf: Jeev Milkha Singh, Atwal, Randhava, Gagan Bhullar — all Mona Sardars — are India’s top golfers.
Is community consciousness the same as being communal? By no means. Whenever the demand for a separate Sikh state was raised, I opposed it as strongly as I could. I told the Khalistanis: “Oye khoteo (you donkeys), you know you are meant to preserve this country not break it up ”.
I wonder what would be left of India if it had no Sikhs. It would even lose most of its sense of humour accumulated over the years. As for personal relations, I can count the number of my Sikh friends on my finger tips. I have many more Hindu and Christian friends. I feel closer to my Muslim friends who outnumber all other put together as I have more in common with them, chiefly the love for Urdu poetry. But I never hesitate from boasting “Where would India be without the Sikhs?”
Post Script: When India got thrashed by Australia and Spain, I said “Laanat hovey” — the same as phitey moonh.
