A Migration of the Heart - Words are Bridges

'The atmosphere of a room too is marked by what we do in it. And most of what we do vanishes, but a slight and shadowy remnant remains.' - Hisham Matar (A Month in Siena)

Uncertainty is in abundance, such is life,

Where years feel like days, days feel like minutes and minutes, minutes feel like seconds and before one knows it; one grows old.

I feel old, but as of yet, I am only twenty two years of age, twenty three come may the 9th.

I feel as if I have seen all that the world can offer, even if it may be through the lens of dreams or through novels coated with drama and sprinkled with love,

but, I am wrong, as I greet my reflection and spot no sign of a wrinkle, nor a strand of a white hair seated upon my scalp.

I am still young.

'I see the sun, and if I don't see the sun, I know its there. And theres a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.' - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (The Brothers Karamazov)

The Gregorian year 2020, or year 551 as per the Nanakshahi Calendar was a very eventful year in the history of mankind and needs no introduction or overview. The Gregorian Year finishes on December 31st, but on this year for myself and perhaps my compatriots studying Optometry, the year finished on March 16th...

I do still remember what I perceived to be a very normal Monday morning in the spring month of March, it was the 16th day of the month, the weather was dull and rain sprinkled down from above blessing the ground with sheer force.

The bus windows were coated with steam and all passengers onboard the X51 Bus were kept warm through woolly jackets, scarves and hats, but for myself, my head was adorned with a Pagh (or Turban) in the colour of the immortals, royal blue. And before taking a vacant seat by the window, I spotted a fellow Sikh Sardar (or Gentleman) and as I stepped forward, my hands came together, a smile grew on my face, and all seated on the top deck of the bus heard a war like cry as we greeted one another, a sound loud enough to wake up those in drunken sleep to stand to attention.

Monday, the start of a new week, a happy day for some, a tiring, sad day for others, but for me, an enjoyable day, a day in the primary clinic. A day to hone in skills learnt in the earlier years at University and in effect, to carry out the work of an Optometrist. My patient on this very normal monday was a Gentleman that had visited the week before and I had recalled him to return a week later, so that I could have an in depth view of the Fundus.

I administered what we call, a ‘mydriatic agent’ and within minutes this gentleman's pupil dilated, a simple enough procedure and in no time, I said farewell to this gentleman and thanked him for his time. I said farewell to my supervisor for her support on this occasion and unknowingly I also said farewell to the Optometry School and the student life as I knew it, though, I would not have known this until I was seated back on the bus en-route to the place I call home.

After a visit to my University locker, I made the small walk to the bus stop so that the bus could deliver me home as it had done for hundreds of days prior to March 16th, 2020. Once aboard the bus on these many occasions, a check of the latest news was a requirement upon taking a seat, as was the checking of my twitter feed and my university email. But on this day, when my inbox was to greet me, I would be in for a shock...

An email titled Urgent had reached my inbox and the message from the head of the Optometry School confirmed the news perhaps many did not want to hear and I quote... ‘you will not be required to attend campus for any sessions’ - and with this, it became apparent that I now had completed my final voyage as an Optometry Student to University, a tragic, tragic end to my time at University, though all was not lost as I would soon find out.

Post Revision & Final Examinations in May, by late June, I officially had a degree in hand and all stresses were averted thankfully! Prior to the Pandemic, I had wished to make a trip abroad, namely to Vancouver, B.C. to continue my research into the Sikh Homeland Movement and to also spend time with family, but I guess fate had other plans.

As a Trainee Optometrist, a part of the role is the prescribing of spectacle lenses and often when it comes to lens choices, they’re are many different varieties to choose from and many add-ons to choose from. One lens may provide good visual acuities for one patient but for another patient, this same lens may be deemed inadequate and may blur sight rather than improve vision. And as such, each individual has a unique set of eyes and most importantly, each pair of eyes will see the world and its affairs differently to another.

My understanding of the world is a combination of the philosophy on which I live my life, the company I spent time with and perhaps, the films and books my eyes are exposed to. And no doubt, my time at University has really shaped my mind and perhaps even my soul. During my encounters and involvement with the Aston Student's Union, I was able to engage with students from all walks of life and engaging with the many different societies at Aston really gave me the appreciation to see things from the view of others.

'The University being an asylum, a refuge from the world, for the dispossessed, the crippled.' - John Edward Williams (Stoner)

And I think University is exactly that, as one enters a lost fallible being to departing as a wiser citizen as university is a place for enrichment, a place of contemplation, implementation and direct action and hence, I will always remember my time at University, where so many beautiful memories were formed and perhaps in the near future, I will return to pursue further studies in my chosen fields.

Whilst at University, I launched a project titled 'The Khalistan Archive' which became one of many activities that I conducted during my free time from studying. From May to August, I spent much time formalising my findings and have now published The Early Political History of Dr. Jagjit Singh Chohan & The Early Sikh Homelanders following my research lecture at Kings College London in November 2019. These can be accessed by clicking the hyperlink below,

History (simranjeetsrahi.com)

Growing up as a child of Sikh Parents is a very interesting spectacle and I remember some of my class mates at school commenting on the colour of my skin and they would ask me as to why it was that I was so pale in skin tone and some would compare the colour of my skin to perhaps, the white students and state that I was paler than them. And so, very early on I understood that having unshorn hair tied in a guti (or bun) was really the distinguishing factor. The keeping of unshorn hair is a requirement for all those who profess a belief in the Sikh Gurus and the Sikh way of life.

Whilst in the company of my Nani ji (or maternal grandfather) many, many years ago, I recall that my hair that was tied in the morning unravelled, at this time, I was very young and wasn't able to take care of my long hair. I recall that my Nani ji had seen this happen and she called me over with a tender smile and then proceeded to plait my hair.

Many years later as I started to adorn my head with the crown of the Sikh Sardars, the Pagh (or Turban), my Nani ji gifted me a Pagh of every colour in the rainbow from the motherland. And a year or so ago, my Nani ji gifted me some belongings that belonged to my Nana ji (or maternal grandfather), that included a wooden comb and a Salai (a metal rod used to tuck hairs inside the Pagh), and in effect, for some the turban and beard may just be an aesthetic costume but for myself, these are the gifts bequeathed down to me from my grandparents, gifts that are simply priceless...

I have written in poetic verse what Kes or unshorn hair) means to me, and this can be accessed in the below link.

The Unshorn Flowers (simranjeetsrahi.com)

The life that exists for me now in the present, is no doubt very different to the life that existed for my paternal grandparents when they left their home in the Panjab to come to the U.K. in search of financial security. And no doubt, many sacrifices have been by those who have come before me, and I owe it to them, to keep the Sikh Identity intact, to raise the voice of this community whenever called upon and most importantly to write the past and present!

Since August, I took a short pause from my History project, to gain an understanding into the various writing styles that novelists use and to seek inspiration from these. Since August, I have read many, many different pieces of fiction from internationally renowned authors such as Goethe, Turgenev, Ahdaf Soueif, Jane Austin and Navtej Sarna. From this insight, words poured out of me without me consciously knowing, the result - some poetry pieces which can be seen by clicking the hyperlink below

Poetry (simranjeetsrahi.com)

Though at times we may not notice it, but each one of us is the historian of our own lives, for the words we speak fuels the pen and its gliding action and the paper, the paper is that of our movements and our actions.

And though time itself is a man-made construct, the secret clocks of the self tick away as ones youthful prowess withers away like a safflower in the winter cold, for this, this is nature’s divinity taking its course.

We have fragments of a story, a story that is continuously under development...

Here’s to the Future!

Simranjeet S. Rahi

09/04/2021