Entering my early adulthood as a second-generation Sikh, I find myself juxtaposed between two cultural binaries competing against one another. Although I have learnt the Punjabi language and follow Sikh religious practices — such as engaging in Seva (selfless service), reciting Simran (meditation), and wearing regalia of my faith, which include a kara (steel bracelet) and kes (un-cut hair) — I do not share the same diasporic experiences as my parents, who were newcomers to Canada.
While my parents shared a deep-rooted connection to the traditional and spiritual meanings associated with hair, I view my hair as a fusion of cultural heritage and personal identity shaped by contemporary trends and changes. This generational gap has led to different approaches to hair care and maintenance, as well as its significance in our lives. However, this difference of experience has also created a disconnect in our conversations about our relationship with hair in Sikhism. As a reader, you might relate to this feeling of being ‘in-between’ worlds.
As a second-generation immigrant, you may feel pulled in opposing directions. One force might draw you toward conforming to cultural norms in your community, while another tugs you toward separating yourself from culture and religion. The tension between these competing forces may lead you to yearn for one or the other, pressuring you to choose where you ultimately belong.
Sikh scholar Rita Verma’s study “Nostalgia, The Public Space and Diaspora” reveals a growing trend among Sikh youth who report feeling disassociated with Sikhism as a culture, religion, and identity. Interviewees in the study, who identified as clean-shaven Sikh males, shared that they chose to “abandon ritualistic forms of Sikhism,” such as keeping kes due to bullying at school for looking different and out of fear of South Asian prejudice in a post 9/11 world.
It is unequivocal that maintaining traditional Sikh identity involves practicing customs such as keeping kes, which physically sets us apart from mainstream culture.
Nevertheless, the rich history of hair in Sikhism has connected our people for centuries, transmitting generational knowledge about who we are. This heritage is worthy of serious consideration by the younger generation.
Untangling generational stresses
As a child, my mornings consisted of my mother oiling and arranging my hair into neat braids. She would gather my hair with a tight grip, moving with a rhythm honed by years of practice. As she separated my hair into sections and untangled my knots, I would glance into a nearby mirror to witness the transformation. However, in adolescence, I was tasked with doing it on my own, which often led to moments of resentment toward my long hair.
Long hair can be a daily challenge. Imagine waking up in the morning and catching a glimpse of your hair in the washroom mirror, tangled into a bundle of knots. Each tug of the comb serves as an unfair reminder of the labour required to manage what should be a seamless and essential aspect of your identity.
Once you manage to get through the tangles, there’s the issue of styling. When you watch online tutorials, your hair is often too long for the techniques they showcase. And though you may eventually come to terms with your hair’s nature, the constant challenges can be frustrating. You start to think that it might just be easier to cut it.
I believed that cutting my hair would make me a ‘Bad Sikh.’ In Sikhism, kes symbolizes faith and our collective identity. However, I often felt disconnected from this teaching because it was enforced on me as a ‘Sikh rule’ that I had to follow. The discourse on hair centred around what our community deemed a ‘Good Sikh.’
Yet, at the same time, some Sikh immigrant parents, fearing their children will be ‘othered’ in Western society, may not provide a deep understanding of their history to help them embrace those values in their lives. Verma noted that “such fear, lack of understanding, rejection and feeling of disenfranchisement” causes a different type of anxiety for Sikh youth, isolating them within their community as ‘Bad Sikhs.’
But what did this categorization of being a ‘Good Sikh’ mean for someone who stands between worlds?
For me, being a ‘Good Sikh’ isn’t merely about meeting a set of requirements; it’s about embodying the principles of our teachings — humility, service, and truth — in my daily life and making a positive contribution to society.
Re-learning the history of hair in Sikhi
It wasn’t until I explored the history of the Sikh Empire that I learned how hair can serve as a revolutionary tool for change and liberation. Since the early nineteenth century, Sikhs have fought numerous battles to preserve their faith and identity. Following the traumatic events of 1984 in India, where Sikhs were targeted for their identity, our parents faced similar discrimination in the aftermath of 9/11 in North America.
Yet, in every instance, Sikhs have kept their hair to challenge the status quo. According to Verma, immigrating to North America meant showcasing “patriotic symbols of belonging” to ‘America,’ which was a crucial aspect of adapting to the host society. Therefore, I believe that proudly wearing our hair in traditional ways is a powerful affirmation of our presence.
Hair serves as an outlier, a resistance to hegemonic pressures, an outlet for self-expression, and a carrier of people’s aspirations. More importantly, it is central to an individual’s lived experiences.
I believe there needs to be greater dialogue between the older and younger generations to find a balance between their differing value systems. Instead of being labelled as a ‘Bad Sikh’ for not adhering to all the practices of the Sikh faith, we must gracefully recognize the vital role of our youth in preserving our history and identity. It is essential to prioritize the creation of a non-judgemental space where they can engage in these crucial inquiries and conversations.
For many second-generation Sikhs who feel at odds with their religious identity, a significant step toward self-acceptance and self-love can begin with changing their attitude toward learning about the cultural significance of their hair.
Today, instead of viewing hair as a burden, I feel empowered wearing it, knowing that my ancestors once fought for the right to keep theirs.
