Disclaimer: This is from my own personal experience and knowledge living in Surrey, and is not research based.
I was born and raised in Surrey, British Columbia, Canada, which is home to the largest Sikh settlement outside of Punjab. It is normal for me to walk outside and recognize people from my own religion and culture. Every other student in my classrooms is a Sikh, and I play on a team where 75% of girls come from the same ethnic background as me. As I travelled, I came to the realization that Sikhs were a minority in the rest of the western world. Though I’m grateful for my large community, these smaller circles seemed so much more connected, and more devoted to Sikhi. Although I live in a place where I am constantly surrounded by my own culture and religion there are some drawbacks.
Throughout Surrey there are a wide variety of Sikhs. For example, some are fully committed to Sikhi, and are going down their path with the focus of developing as a Sikh, while others act like they practice the faith by appearance without observing the spiritual aspect. There are others that only practice when there is a significant celebration such as Vaisakhi, and yet others simply turn away from it altogether. You can find all of these people in any Sikh community, but for some reason, in dense areas, the percentage of people that genuinely want to follow the true path of Sikhi, is very low. There are many people here that are heavily involved in Sikhi, and make it their priority, but for the volume of Sikhs we have, it isn’t as much as you would expect.
Many of my peers don’t like to go to the gurdwara, they can barely name the Gurus and they don’t even know what Simran is. They wear symbols of Sikhi as accessories, and some have the physical appearance of a Sikh, but go against the core values of Sikhi . This detachment is due to the lack of education in explaining the teachings of the Gurus. When we were younger, we were forced to go to the gurdwara, keep our hair long, wear a kara, recite the Mool Mantar, and told what to do but never explained why we were doing these things or the meaning behind them. Perhaps it was lack of time because the generations before us had to put roots down in a new country, or lack of their own knowledge because they feared questioning the generations before them. Some of our parents also disconnected themselves due to embarrassment when there was fighting over control of the gurdwaras in the late 90s.
Most gurdwaras have Punjabi schools and have recently started kids programs. But most of the Punjabi schools are not taken seriously by the gurdwara committees. The lack of quality education which is relevant to our generation is difficult to find. When I first started Punjabi school, I went to one of the gurdwaras in Surrey. If you want to know what that experience was like, watch Jus Reign’s Punjabi School video. After a few months of this, my parents realized that we were wasting our time, and decided to switch me to a Punjabi and Kirtan school that was more expensive and was not organized by the gurdwara; so we assumed that I would be able to learn a lot there. It was better than the Gurdwara school, I was slowly learning how to read Punjabi, but we never learned anything about Sikhi. It was just mentioned if it came up in one of our stories, which wasn’t very often. We never even communicated in Punjabi, we were handed paper and a book, and just told to do the work, which was the same every week: read a story, and answer the questions. Eventually, I joined their Kirtan class, which I was very excited for. The two teachers alternated each week, and it never felt like either cared. They made zero effort to make a relationship with us, we didn’t even know each other’s names. All they knew was that I could read Punjabi, so they would write down a Shabad, show me the keys, then leave me for the hour to practice it myself. I quickly began to despise it, because I was constantly sitting in a room by myself, just saying these random Punjabi words. They meant nothing to me, because I was not taught the meaning of any Shabads, or the purpose of singing them. Now, I couldn’t tell you what Shabads I learned in that class, because I didn’t retain any of it, as I felt like a robot just saying and doing what I was told without any explanation. The only thing I remember is why I left that school in less than a year. The male teacher asked us what we had for lunch that day, and I said a sandwich, while the other two kids said they had roti. He proceeded to scream at me for the next 5-10 minutes, about why that was the reason I wasn’t able to figure out the Shabad, and that I shouldn’t come back to class unless I had daal and sabji. I was only 8 years old at the time. This story is funny looking back at it, but as a little 8 year old girl, it terrified me, and it was the reason I stopped doing Kirtan. Since then I have not yet felt the desire to practice again. People like this are the reason many parents don’t put their kids in schools, or even try them. A lot of people have similar stories, or feel that putting their kids in these schools and classes is just a waste of time and money. For some reason, in Surrey, it is really difficult to find good teachers that genuinely want to teach kids about Sikhi. There are a few, but they are hard to find among the many that just do it because they are forced, or because it is their income. This is a large part of why our generation is so detached from Sikhi. These situations drive kids in my community away from the religion, and causes them to not care about understanding Sikhi, because the adults teaching it to us, didn’t seem to care much either.
Another main problem, which I think is the root of the disconnect, is that it is harder to achieve a strong sangat. All my life I had amazing family and friends, but I never really felt like I had a true sangat that was focused on their journey as Sikhs. My mom grew up in Surrey and Vancouver, and back then there were less gurdwaras, and less Sikhs. She always talks about how close her sangat was at the gurdwara her family went to, that they were basically a big family. When my Nana Ji passed away, most of them were at the house before my mom could even get there, because of how much they cared about one another. The generation of my grandparents are the only ones that I notice have the bond of a sangat. When they immigrated to Canada, the Gurdwara was the only place that reminded them of home and gave them a community. Whereas the majority of our generation that grew up here, have multiple places where they have communities (school, sports, etc.), where they are surrounded by their culture. As a result, they rely less on the gurdwara. As my mom and her friends started having families of their own, they started going to whichever Gurdwara was convenient because there were so many. All my mom’s friends go to different gurdwaras now, and only go back to the gurdwara they grew up in for the larger functions. That sense of sangat no longer exists due to sheer size. Sometimes there could be over 2000 people there at one time. There are gurdwaras all over the place, some are within less than five minutes of each other. So, it makes sense, why would you drive 30 minutes when you can go to the one just a few blocks away. My family, and I also go to different gurdwaras all the time, depending on the function, and how much time we have, or if we have to go somewhere either before or after, and this is a very similar situation in most Sikh families.
I didn’t realize how important and amazing it is to have a true sangat, until I went to Camp Sikh Virsa. At that time I had very little knowledge about Sikhi, so when my dad told me we were going to CSV, I was terrified and begged him incessantly to let me stay at home. When I asked my friends if they wanted to come, they replied quickly with “No thanks”, or “That’s not really my thing”, because they struggled with similar fears. What we all failed to realize was that having people around you that are all trying to better themselves as Sikhs, forces you to push yourself to want to improve as a Sikh. This experience reconnected me to Sikhi, and I wish more of my peers got to have this experience as well. It is hard for them to want to learn about Sikhi when they feel alone, don’t have role models, and have no one encouraging them to be better.
In Surrey, and other densely populated areas, I see many kids that are estranged from Sikhi. Since there is a lack of understanding, and no one guiding them, they begin to see going to the gurdwara, doing Kirtan, and in general just being a Sikh, as an obligation rather than an aspiration. This upsets me a lot, because they never had the opportunity to truly comprehend what it means to be Sikh, and how special the religion is.
Overall, I think that this is a prevalent problem in areas that have a high Sikh population, and it is seldom talked about. This is only going to get worse, because if our generation doesn't learn about Sikhi, future generations will be completely lost, and disregard the religion as well. As a community, if we add more quality educational and learning opportunities for youth, and work on building sangat, it would create a drastic change. Although these issues are important , I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. One of my favorite parts of living here is that there is an abundance of Punjabi culture, and I never have to feel like a minority. Living in the situation I did may not be the best environment to grow as a Sikh for some, but for me it helped me realize how important Sikhi is to me, and how beautiful it is to be a Sikh. Hopefully, over time we can work on strengthening Sikhi in our community even more.
Simrut Kaur, 17, Canada
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