My hands rested on the fabric of my pants as my eyes tried to scan the picture on the wall across me, a complex work of colors. But in contrary to usual, my mind wasn't perceiving what the artist wanted to convey. Arrays of thoughts were trying to sprint past each other but none could guide out into a process, just ended being entangled. Being dissociated from the optical pathways, my mind was exploring the images from the day, the day that had been unusually heavyduty for me. The cocktail of emotions was tentatively flowing down the nerves outsourcing into me tapping on the knee and even the cosmopolitan lying besides me didn't intrigue any interest. Having come to Houston with the notion of ungraving racial discrimination, every look dedicated to me felt like going through an MRI. The antiqueness of the furnishing, the lady behind the desk with a stick on smile, even though adding to the warmth of the global warming still left me feeling cold as I waited in that hotel lobby for my ride to the airport. Unbelievingly my interview that morning concentrated on me explaining Sikhism to a lay(ameri)man. Thought that whether I had done justice through my religious know-how was picking on me as badly as the fear of my prospects of matching with the program. At that time even though the sound of a trumpet would have sounded the same as that of falling of leaves, a remark kinda froze all the axonal traffic as I turned my head to the source.

"That thing on your head is so imposing, Sir....just as a crown of a prince", those pearls trembled through cracked pair of lips which when broadened into a smile looked as beautiful as the wrinkles on her face. Perhaps in her 60s, her eyes accupunctured my soul to put me at ease even though the remark on my turban had sounded sarcastic to me initially. Very modestly and eagerly, she listened to me as a good pupil would do as I regurgitated all my experiences and know-how about Sikhi ."How do they treat women in your religion" was a question that reminded me of a story of a great sikh and inspired me to write today.

Banda Singh Bahadur, a warrior who surpassed the normalities of human potential was resting in his camp when the queen of the town, having heard of his achievements, visited him . "I've heard that noone goes empty handed when they come to a sikh, so I am here to ask the Guru's sikh for something. Will I get it?". Banda Singh gestured in acceptance and told her to ask for anything. "I want to have your son who would be like you, I ask for your love",she said inquisitively. Banda Singh startled by this request told her that he could not do it as both he and her were married. She disappointed with that turned to leave saying "I am leaving empty handed from a sikh's place." At this Banda Singh remarked " No, you won't go empty handed from here". Bending on his knees and clasping his hands together he said " You want a son like me, Madam. From today I'll be your son and you will be my mother and there cannot be a son who could be more like me" That comment sanctified her soul as she left the place contented for many lives to come.

That story was enough to make this lady go all praises for sikhism. I didn't even know that I had been conversing with her more than an hour, but her affection had ripped off my fears of a biased society in totality post 9/11. Leaving me all decorated with her blessings, she walked off with a limp as I watched in amaze. Hardly did I know at that time, that I was finally going to end up coming to Houston for that program, perhaps thanks to her blessings.