Well, I had a very interesting time.
Any old piece of cloth would have been fine. About a third of the men there (Including all the priests, and those involved in the service itself) wore turbans. The priest himself was very traditionally dressed, in soft cotton trousers and tunic, a bright saffron turban, and bare feet. He was very kind and gracious, but he spoke only briefly to me, and only when I sought him out. His invitation to return felt more personal than evangelical. There were many pieces of differently colored cloth of various sizes in the lobby of the temple. My Hindu friends were there, and tied one on for me. The Yarmulke would not have been sufficient, but only because of its size. I doubt that anyone would have objected to the baseball cap, although it would have been the only one. There were some handkerchiefs, and one sweat shirt with a hood.
I was welcomed, and graciously treated by everyone I met. The “man who runs the computer” was not there last night, so the English translation was not included, as it usually is. (That’s a quote, and I really don’t know what that meant.) My friends were very busy, preparing and serving food, and there seems to be a vast and close social experience involved in the meeting. Most of the evening I spent with my very young former neighbor, a very bright and friendly eight year old. He became my guide, and helped me avoid being too conspicuous by my unfamiliarity. He is Hindu, not Sikh. We discussed the fact that although he did understand some of the verses and prayers, there were many he could not understand.
After the actual service, there was a very good meal served in the basement of the temple, everyone sitting on the floor, in long lines on carpets. I attracted a number of children, who joined me, and told me what I was being served, and discussed their favorites. Of course, outside of the service I was addressed in English, and everyone was quite friendly. On the whole, it was as kind and cordial as any Baptist meeting, and warmer than some I have attended.
The Sikh lady who invited me was her usual delightful self, although very busy with the cooking and serving, and it turns out that men and women sit on different sides of the temple, so there was less chance to speak with her than with the few men I knew in the congregation. (During the meal afterwards my time was nearly monopolized by the children. They found my appearance quite familiar. They didn’t think I looked Sikh. They were fairly sure I was Santa Claus.)
Tris