Ooooh! Lots of great questions.
Punjabi women usually don’t wear turbans. 3H0 women do, though, but their communities are mainly in Phoenix and New Mexico. They do have to keep their hair uncut to be Sikh. If you see a South Asian woman with long hair, look for her kara (see next question).
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Do you also have to carry the 5 items? I forget what they are, aside from the fact that they all start with a K.
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The 5K’s or 5 Kakkars:
Kirpan, a type of Punjabi knife. Usually worn under the clothes, although I just stick mine in my pocket. The symbolism is you keep your Kirpan with you always so you can fight for anyone who is under attack. It is also a reminder of volunteer service and to only shed blood as an absolute last reward.
Kesh, uncut hair. Men (and some women) wear turbans to cover their hair and keep it clean. It symbolizes the connection to other Sikhs. A lot of younger Sikhs are now at least trimming their beards and sometimes even cutting their hair to both keep from being mistaken as Muslim and to make a good impression at work.
Kara, a steel ring on the right or left wrist. Some are now gold, but that’s considered kind of gauche among traditionalists. Symbolizes your connection to Waheguru (God).
Kanga: a small comb tucked into your turban, or carried in your pocket or on your Kirpan. Symbolizes cleanliness.
Kacha: Basically cotton boxer shorts. Symbolizes chastity.
I always wear my 5K’s, although I didn’t take my Kirpan with me to Hawaii because of airline security. I need to go fetch it.
All you need to be a Sikh is to declare your faith in the One God (who is everyone’s God, or creative spirit, or the symbol of the unity of the collective gods, yadda yadda) and to believe that the words of the 10 living Gurus and the Shri Guru Granth Sahib were divinely inspired. That’s it. Now you’re a Sikh.
If you want to be a Khalsa Sikh, and most Sikhs consider this a requirement, you must go through a baptism-type ceremony known as “Amrit.” 5 people from your Gurdwara are chosen to mix and serve you a bowl of sugar water. You partake, and then you offer it to the 5 to partake, one by one. This was the ceremony Guru Gobind Singh did to establish the Khalsa-- basically, those sworn to defend Sikhs and the oppressed to their death. What is interesting is that he baptized the five, and then had the five baptize him as a symbol that there is no Sikh that can hold spiritual rank over another.
Um, long ugly story, I may have posted it here somewhere (I’ll search). In summary: Two years ago I had a quasi-affair during my then moribund long-term relationship. Now, I love my partner dearly, but this person was incredibly compelling. It really plunged me into a cycle of depression, incredible self-loathing and eventually into a screaming suicide fit. But even after everone forgave me, I could NOT forgive myself. I just couldn’t. But one night I was reading the Granth Sahib and I felt something like a warm hand on my back-- very faint, but very much there. And I felt this sense of overwhelming unconditional love and forgiveness, and the thought crossed my head “if the originator of this feeling can forgive me, then I certainly can forgive myself…”
You know, if you find a good doctor that can cure you, you keep going to that doctor. If you find a good teacher that you click with and can learn anything from, you go to that teacher. When you find peace in your heart and soul that you never knew existed before (mind you, I was agnostic myself) you go back to it. It’s such a personal thing for everybody. One of the Sikh teachings is that all of us have our own paths to follow, and we have the right to follow it, so I don’t try to convince anyone of the existence of God or even what I felt in particular. It’s a bit like immediately being able to see ultraviolet and trying to explain it to another person. It’s all so incredibly subjective.
Every last one of them has been shocked that I even know what Sikhism is, and then we have great conversations about the religion, gurdwaras and how they feel about Punjabi politics. Talk about an icebreaker.
My favorite was the Sikh salesman at a leather booth during the SF LGBT Pride festival. He was hot, busy and cranky, but when I said “Sat Sri Akal!” and showed him my kara he lit up with the most beautiful smile. Then he gave me a pen. That was a really cool moment of community convergence for me.
(btw, I think the other questions are covered above…)