|
I did it. My first airplane
ride, since September 11. I was told that things were different
for a guy with a turban and a beard, but it was interesting to experience
the change first hand.
My friend dropped me at the airport, two hours in advance, with
no Kirpaan (1) on me or my luggage, and as another reminder
of the changed world, my normally unworried friend asked me to call
him upon reaching my destination. I crookedly smiled and waived
goodbye.
And then I felt it. Suddenly I was aware that I was at an airport,
and I wasn't the only one who had noticed this. It seemed the word
was out, there was a turban and a beard entering the premises. I
thought to myself "I am going to enjoy this".
I joined the line-up for the check-in. The person in front of me
was suddenly aware of my presence, he stood erect, I smiled. After
several half glances he finally turned around and made small talk
with me. Our banter ended just as abruptly as it had started, which
left me wondering, if his purpose was to size me up and make sure
I wasn't the next guy taking over a plane. One of us was definitely
being unnecessarily suspicious, not sure who. I dismissed my thoughts.
Finally the young lady at a far counter waived me over. I walked
over and exchanged the usual smile presenting my "Priceline
receipt" with my driver's license, as per the "new"
traveling instructions. Keenly comparing my face with the photo
a few times she lightheartedly said "hmmm..is this you..."
as I straightened myself with a consciously eager smile. I wondered
if my "Gol Dastaar" (2) as opposed to the "Patiala
Style" on my license threw her off, not really expecting her
to make out the difference between one dastaar style over
another. She couldn't appreciate that good ol' Osama, hereinafter
referred to as 'Uncle Sam' (Pun Intended), doesn't come close to
tying the dastaar like a Singh (3).
Making fervent typing noises typical to check-in counters, she
confidently looked up and informed that my bag had to be searched,
directing me to a security desk nearby. I wasn't surprised, since
others had prepared me for this eventuality from their experience,
and so I placed my bag in front of the personnel. Strapping on a
pair of gloves, he went pilfering through my nicely ironed clothes,
not quite appreciating the immaculate job of packing I had done.
I thought to myself, next time I'll pack my dirty 'Kachere'
(See endnote 1(b)) at the top--my way of getting back at the system.
Having satisfied this 'first barrier to entry', I was rewarded
with my boarding passes with a smile, and directed towards the appropriate
gate. I walked towards the gate but not for long, the line stretching
far back enough for me to join at the corner. Out of habit I started
humming a Shabad (4), but decided it probably wasn't a good
idea. As I looked around at the resigned faces of some, I noticed
some familiar faces from my check-in line, faces that were behind
me in the process, but surprisingly were now ahead of me in their
traveling endeavor. Wrestling with suspicion again, I wondered if
I was the only one who had his luggage ruffled. I dismissed my thoughts
again.
I made it to the security gate without noticing any special looks,
having avoided making eye contact to notice any. I presented the
security guard with the same documents as before, who didn't spend
much time comparing my face to my picture, and pointed me to the
metal detector and X-ray machine. The lady across the metal detector
gate asked me to put all my belongings into a plastic container
to pass under the scanning machine and walk through the gate. I
complied with her orders, placing my possessions, all five of them,
my portable Nitnem Gutkaa (5), a book, my wallet, my Kada
(See endnote 1(c)) and a pen, to be scanned for any hidden weapons.
I passed the security test with 'flying' colors.
I felt like a dog released from its leash in a park, and as I noticed
from the looks of the people around, I wasn't the only one who was
thinking that. I felt a barrage of eyes on me, as if saying "this
one infiltrated" and I returned their stares with a smile,
which said, "I know what you're thinking". I was enjoying
the attention and strutted down the terminal, tall and proud with
my flowing beard, feeling like a model, walking down the catwalk,
showing off the latest Calvin Klein Turban collection for the fall.
Reaching the seating area next to the gate, amidst more of the
similar stares and children whispering, I decided to settle down
in front of the television with my 'extra value meal'. Biting into
my crispy sandwich I stared at the television pictures showing 'Uncle
Sam' and his cronies changing the world. I thought to myself, "look
what you've done Sammy". As the news channel started talking
about an American bomb hitting a civilian location in Afghanistan
missing its intended target by a mile, a voice over the speaker
system announced the security measures to be carried out before
boarding, including, the random selection of some people for extra
checking. I dug into my French fries and returned my attention to
the television, which was talking about the unknown number of civilian
Afghan casualties from the wayward bomb.
As the news reporter promptly moved on from the innocent dead Afghanis,
and the world falling apart, to the latest cashmere and suede collection
by Ralph Lauren, the voice over the speaker system crackled with
the names of passengers, who had been randomly picked for further
security scanning. I intently listened to the names, picking up
on the country origins, and then I heard my own. "RANDOMLY
SELECTED!?" I said to myself, "lucky me", I have
never been randomly selected for anything, "Sadda Te Kharbooja
Vee Mitha Nahi Nickelda" (6), as an Uncle of mine eloquently
puts it. I stood up breaking into a public smile, looked at some
of the passengers sitting around me, and approached the security
desk.
I presented myself with my ID to the young 'African-American' lady,
who, with a hint of embarrassment, informed me that she needed to
go through my stuff, and physically scan my body with a metal detector.
I again placed 'all' my belongings on her desk, including the book
I was carrying, purposefully placing it in front of her, as if to
say "look I can read English". The symbolism seemed lost
on her as she flipped through the thin book checking for anything
that could compromise security. Next, picking up the metal detector
she asked me to stand straight with my arms apart. I complied and
she started her job. As she intently did her work, rubbing the detector
over all of my six feet, two and a quarter inches, and adjoining
areas, I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. I stood there tall
with my arms apart, pulling my fluffy stomach in and pushing my
fluffy chest out. I stood there like Jesus on the crucifix, looking
over at the seated passengers, trying to make eye contact with Tom,
Dick and Harry, as some evaded looking at me. I wondered if some
of them were embarrassed by the obviousness of this 'random selection'.
The lady did a thorough job. I was tempted to say something silly
like, "I hope that was as good for you, as it was for me"
but thankfully I kept my mouth shut. She awkwardly told me to stand
in a separate corner beside the gate instead of returning to take
my seat. My grin widened and I walked over to this corner which
had other 'randomly selected' passengers already scanned. As I looked
at these 'other' looking people, I shared an understanding smile.
"Welcome back to the past" I said, receiving a brotherly
nod from the 'other' faces. But the lady returned, and with the
same awkward voice informed that she had to check me again. "Hmm..,
what part of my body did she miss" I wondered, "maybe
it's going to be the anal probe". With suppressed laughter,
I consented and walked over to her area again. She asked me if she
could check over my turban. I graciously consented, bending down
for her benefit, and she passed the magic wand over my dastaar.
With nothing suspicious found, I was requested to return to the
segregated area.
As I sat on the floor and waited for the next round of security
measures, I wondered if our world reacted similarly every time one
person or a handful committed something heinous. I thought about
good old Timmy McVeigh and whether all McVeigh's and look-alikes
are now 'randomly selected' before entering federal buildings. I
thought about our Columbine kids who sprayed a whole school, and
wondered if all kids in trench coats are frisked across the country.
The dragging death in Jasper, Texas and whether black people do
something about white people driving trucks on country roads. The
Unabomber, and whether all single men in remote country cabins are
searched for precaution. I wondered if the Native Americans wished
they had 'randomly selected' the new immigrants encroaching on their
lands, and how the 'civilized' world criticized the Taliban for
having certain minorities wear a special colored article on their
clothing. I gave up on my thoughts.
My wait was soon going to be over. The last hurdle before entering
the plane was the stern looking person manning the gate. Every cloud
has a silver lining, my segregated brothers and me were asked to
show our documents for the final time, and were the first ones let
into the plane. "First-class boarding", don't I like 'random
selection'. I made my way to my seat passing a 'friendly skies'
smile from the airhostess and settled down into my spot.
Finally in the air, I slumped into my economy seat sipping on my
Cranapple juice, as the plane headed West. Maybe things are different
there. But isn't that what I thought, when I first left India for
the 'West'. I watched a news item about increasing Black participation
as commercial pilots. I wondered if there would ever be a similar
effort for pilots with a Turban. I also wondered, how the passengers
would react, if I got up from my seat to go to the toilet.
So there you are folks, 'random selection' is here to stay, like
it or not. Maybe their is a Devine plan and one day you might be
'randomly selected' for something else, maybe the lottery, or maybe,
just maybe, "Sadda Kharbojaa Mithaa Nickel Ayega"
(7).
1.
The author is a follower of the Sikh faith, which requires its members
to wear five external articles of faith:
(a) Kirpaan: a large or small sword worn in a sheath, (b) Kachera:
under-shorts, (c) Kada: a steel bangle, (d) Kanga: a wooden comb
and (e) Kes: uncut hair.
Sikhs
look distinct by their turbans and un-cut, full beards.
2.
'Dastaar' is Punjabi for Turban. 'Gol' literally means 'Round",
and is a style of tying a turban by simply wrapping a long piece
of cloth around and above the forehead. 'Patiala Style' refers to
a style considered to have originated from Patiala, Punjab, where
the shape of the turban is somewhat like a boat and pointed to the
top above the middle of the forehead.
3.
All Sikh men have the common last name of 'Singh' and all Sikh women
use the common last name 'Kaur'.
4.
For Sikhs the Guru Granth Sahib, a collection of hymns in verse
and scored to a musical measure, is their living spiritual leader.
'Shabad' refers to such a hymn, commonly sung by Sikhs.
5.
'Nitnem' refers to a routine of reading a small collection of hymns
from the Guru Granth Sahib, read daily by the Sikhs and compiled
in small booklet form referred to as a 'Gutka'.
6.
"My melon never turns out sweet"
7.
"Our melon will turn out sweet"
|
