More than this, there was no appreciation by my family that this might be a difficult time for me. These were considered normal rules for a Punjabi Sikh girl but felt no less restrictive. There were, by now, a lot of rules imposed in my house: no boys, no make up, no music, no going out, no shaving, and no cutting or letting down my waist length hair. It was a fairly small school and I was lucky that the handful of friends I had made were going with me. It was 1982 and I entered Brackendale Junior Secondary School, taking the school bus for the first time in my life. The beginning of high school can be stressful for any teenage girl, but especially for a child of immigrants. These girls would become my lifetime friends. I saw, for the first time, that I was not an outsider, that there were other girls just like me - with crazy strict parents, vegetarian food and huge pictures of our Gurus hanging on the walls. From these visits I learned the origins of my faith, learned to love the sound of Kirtan, and found a welcoming environment. It was a strange experience, and given a choice, I probably would have preferred to stay home and watch cartoons all weekend, but it was also wonderful and it was the beginning of my spiritual attachment to Sikhism. My parents began a devout following of this person and I accompanied them every weekend to listen to prayers, learn the Sikh scriptures and begin playing the harmonium. My parents also began making regular trips to Vancouver where they visited a family friend who was a preacher at a Gurdwara there. It was strengthened a great deal in the late '80s when a Gurdwara was built in Squamish. My parents did not fly back to India on a regular basis and we did not have satellite television streaming in ethnic programming back then, so it's a small wonder they managed to keep their Sikh faith. At least in that respect she would be right, so I have to let sleeping dogs lay. Even if it did, she'd say, why did I think that bringing it up now would do any good. Obviously, this incident traumatized me to my core, yet I know that if I were to tell this story to my 85 year old mother today, she would say I was crazy, that such an incident never occurred. Mom made me pray to God and ask forgiveness for having drank from my mother's cup. I remember feeling sick to my stomach, like I had comitted a terrible crime. Had she not suspected that I had drank from her cup, she would have broken her vow as a baptised Sikh. She then told me I had done something wrong, for it was a Sin in the Sikh faith for a baptised person to drink or eat from the same vessel as a non-baptised person. What little girl doesn't want to share a glass of milk with mummy? When mom came back in the room she asked if I had taken a sip of her milk. She had a cup of hot milk on her bedside table and she left it there while she went to the bathroom. I shared a room with my sister until I was about 12, but for some reason, I remember this one night when I went into her room. I doubt it was to sleep there because I don't recall ever falling asleep with her. One night, when I was about the same age, I had come into my mother's room. My daughter, who is 9 years old, has fallen asleep on my bed as I write.
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