Kara and Completion

Here is a wonderful story by my uncle about his Kara. I love the small details and touches in the story.

I was in the Noida flat, getting a few essentials. In the drawer seldom used, under the newspaper I found my Kara. Still shiny. I instinctively slipped it on. It felt good. Not the miracle type of a magic- kiss the frog to become a prince, just good.

I felt as as if it was ordained, my coming and finding the Kara.

My wrist and arm is no longer bare. I feel I belong to some Order. My mind went back to the first time we get a kara. The parents give it to the infants. When you are older, you go to a kiosk in the gurudwara, your father lifts you up and the man roughly tries out a few sizes. It feels heavy.

Visits to a gurudwara were really quiet quite an effort. I never knew which Guru and which Gurudwara was relevant. But early morning, and off to say Sis Ganj. The parking was far, it was crowded, you had to stand in line in the sun and eventually heard what was not understood. I always got a head ache.

But going to Khyber Pass and for a swim in the Jamuna was fun. The Dumdma Sahib was a small room, It was in the shade of a big tree and there was a well. To reach the river you had to slither down the mud bank, must have been at least 30 feet plus. You had to hold on to the exposed roots. The river water was clean, it was quite fast flowing. If you stood up, the sand was loosened under your feet. You walked back through the sand dunes, at least two Km to reach the old British building.

This house from say the 1920's or earlier . Must have been built for the big `durbar 'or soon after.. It had wooden steps, worn out and a flimsy handrail was provided. There was a water supply pipe with a force pump in line which I played with. The house had wonder ful broken ceramic tiles mosaic floors, I large skylight on the landing. The windows were controlled by long ropes ties to one end. The doors were Art Deco. Square and diamond shaped wooden elements with coloured glass. The ceiling was mud plaster with false ceiling of stretched canvas white washed.

Harjan and hotline his father had opened a restaurant nearby for the British and American soldiers. It had booze, a live band and a dance floor with under floor coloured lights. We got ice cream and cakes from there. When I look back, I think it is odd that `Hotline' objected to Nimiji getting married to a non Sikh, sat at every religious get together and preached, wept on his marathon ardass, yet he had no qualms where economic necessity was concerned.

The next Gurudwara was in Srinagar, where a man was preaching `meri dara achi ya kutte di puch acchi, meri dai but achi' meaning what is better, my beard or the curled tail of a dog?'. Till today I have no idea what he was about.

On one trip we went to Amritsar.There the sarovar fish were huge, fat on the prasad that people fed them with. They were like mini whales. Sitting on the steps, I put my hand in the water and a man shouted` dandi wade gi'. Many years later I leant that it was to warn me that the fish bite.

So, the act of putting on the Kara got me rooted to our past. In some way I feel just a little more complete. These days I am reading nearly a book every two days. The gist of nearly all of them remains a union. with another person, looking for another person, weeping about the person who is not there. I believe slowly that God needs to be inputted here.

I took out the Kara when my father died. A decade later I was really upset and begged god to help.