The Patient Sikh: Part Eleven--Understanding
This an excerpt from a novel in progress and a work of fiction. So Sarita and me meet a dude in our Women's Studies class. We obviously like him right away because he is a guy taking a Women's Studies class about feminism. His name is Mark and he's pretty cute actually. We both kind of have a removed-like crush on him. Neither one of us is actually serious about it. But he is fun to talk to and sort of flirt with.Sarita and I are also both obsessed with the show E.R. She really likes George Clooney. I'm ambivalent about him. You can't deny he's hot, but he seems a little fake to me. He's an actor, I realize being fake is his actual job. But anyways we are sitting in my dorm room with the two Muslim girls who live down the hall. Isha wears hijab or a scarf. I've never known anyone before who wears hijab.She's a hilarious, boisterous woman with large breasts and a wicked smile. I don't know how it comes up, but it's like Isha reads my mind, because we start to talk about why she wears hijab. She tells me she wears it because men are going to objectify you no matter what, so instead of letting them, she wears something so that they can't see her completely."But why should we change, shouldn't men learn to control their lust?" I asked her, during a commercial on E.R."They can't control it," Isha continued. "We have to give them less opportunity to harm us." I kind of got it, but it went against what I was learning in Women's Studies about feminism. Why should women have to cover their bodies in order to look modest so men won't be tempted?But I suppose wearing hijab was similar to wearing a turban. My dad wore a turban. Even though he had turned into a pathetic alcoholic, he still took the time to tie his turban every morning when he went out. He went out less and less, but still, he had a certain pride about it. It was a symbol of Sikhism to him, it represented his faith.My dad liked god and everything but I don't think he had much faith in him. I was losing my religion by the minute as soon as I entered college. If you want your kids to be religious, don't send them to college. It will make them think. Thinking too much renders religion irrelevant very often.I was taking a Sikhism class by this new professor who was very interesting. I loved to learn about my culture. When I wrote him an essay on one of his exams, he told me I don't know how to write an academic paper.And it's true, I didn't. That's why I was in college. One of the only things I enjoyed about being at the university was writing. I did well on all my essays in my other classes. But my Sikhism professor had higher standards than most. We called him 'Uncle' because all Indians call every elder male in their community 'Uncle.' He wore a blue turban, always blue, but sometimes light blue and sometimes dark blue. It was his signature look.I still didn't cut my hair at this time. Sikhs don't believe in cutting our hair. I did remove every inch of hair on the rest of my body, but who is counting? My Muslim friend was wearing hijab and I secretly judged her for that even though I keep my hair long for my religion.
I thought of Sonny. He used to have long hair as a kid. He grew up in Africa. He cut his hair when he moved to the states. If you talked to him for a very long time you could hear a slight accent in his voice, but mostly he had lost his African accent.I think I still love him. Do you ever stop loving someone just because they don't love you back? When you start to love someone, does that feeling ever go away, or do you love them at least just a little bit for the rest of your life? He had sentenced me to this love, and it hurt. I had heard that love hurts, but now I know that it is a lot more painful than the romantic bullshit I had imagined.Me and Sarita would commiserate about the boys we had a crush on. She was in love with this dude at her temple. I met him and definitely didn't think he was good enough for her. "It's his voice, did you hear how he talks?" she said to me one evening as I was eating spaghetti in the dorm cafeteria. One of the best things about the dorm food was the pasta."I mean I get it," I said and slipped a few noodles in my mouth. "Sonny's voice is awesome not just when he is singing, but also when he talks." We were in love with voices. Voices who didn't want to hear our voice with theirs. I wanted to sing with Sonny even though I'm not really sure about my singing voice.The thing is when I'm in the shower at home I think I'm a rock star, literally. At the dorm, there are no personal showers so I can't sing in there. The acoustics in my shower at home are brilliant. I swear I sound like Whitney Houston when I'm alone in the shower, but nobody but me will ever know this because I can't sing properly in front of other people. I want to sing for Sonny but I think he will laugh at me if I try.I would learn how to sing for him. I would even learn how to play the harmonium, or the Indian piano, for him. I'm so not naturally musically inclined. I tried many times to learn how to play the harmonium to no avail. I would become musical for Sonny, I've thought about it. If he only knew about my amazing shower voice.We could make albums together. We could travel the world, singing. Like Sonny and Cher. Sonny and Yasmine. How does that sound? I think it has a nice ring to it. We would make a great duo. We could do some amazing duets. Sonny once told me he secretly doesn't just want to sing at the Sikh Temple or Gurudwara, but he wants to make albums and become a star.He is a star, he just doesn't know it. He's my star. We don't even talk much anymore, but he is still everything to me. He doesn't even know how much he means to me. I wonder if I mean anything to him. I wonder if he's lying about the fact that he has no feelings for me. He can't admit it, but he looks at me like no one I've ever met before. Maybe it's my imagination, but I think there is something there.I wish he would objectify me. Is that very unfeminist of me? I want him to have illicit thoughts about me.My Women's Study professor would cringe. I don't tell anybody about these things.ninaIf you would like to read the beginning of this novel in progress, The Patient Sikh, visit the following links in chronological order:The Patient Sikh: Part OneThe Patient Sikh: Part Two–The Wonder YearsThe Patient Sikh: Part Three–SonnyThe Patient Sikh: Part Four–Song LyricsThe Patient Sikh: Part Five–Your SongThe Patient Sikh: Part Six–Coffee Talk
The Patient Sikh: Part Eight--Kiss And TellThe Patient Sikh: Part Nine--Street ChessThe Patient Sikh: Part Ten--Ravi