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Single, male, and Indian? It’s almost a disease
The guard outside the Gordon House Hotel in Colaba hated my face. I don’t think he’d even seen it, though. The way most of us casually blank out eyes of a beggar knocking on our tinted car windows, this guard had first looked away, then scowled, then mumbled something for a bit—still ignoring the four of us entirely, given that we were even unworthy of his inattention. And then he finally muttered ‘nahin’, or something to the effect.
We were all men, single (so, obviously molesters and rapists), standing outside the main gate of his posh discotheque, dressed in our Saturday night best. It appeared we could afford his hospitality, but he didn’t seem interested. Dogs and stags weren’t allowed, but then, suddenly, we (the dogs) were.
Galloping mindlessly across Mumbai’s backpacking district, we had left behind our only legitimate passports to status and nightlife—the four women friends with us. They caught up with us eventually and hence the guard welcomed us in. I don’t think he said sorry. He needn’t have. I didn’t blame him. Egos are too trivial to get in the way of a precious evening.
However, the gent outside Tito’s, with eight people inside on a Monday night, in the dead of the monsoon season, turned out to be a whole lot ruder. I heard him whisper under his breath some terrible things about the anatomy of our mothers and sisters. Not the sorts to pick a brawl still, we endured the humiliation, gently explained that we, in fact, did have women friends at the bar and then quietly left. This is common sufferance in Delhi. But we were in Goa, for God’s sake.
Being a man, with other men, in India’s semi-urban nocturnal jungle is to remain a gross, sometimes disgraced social outcaste, experiencing a strange tropical ailment—single-itis, for lack of a better name. These untouchables of nightlife don’t deserve their dance, with their drink, even if they could pay twice for the same simple pleasures.
You know something’s warped when watering holes that serve loud hard retro rock for music—still no one’s idea of a romantic date, by the way — remain officially open to couples only. Save if you are a regular. So they let me into Mumbai’s good old Ghetto the other night. I heaved a sigh of relief. We were five men, one woman. You can’t form political coalitions with right permutations each time you go out. The said ratio didn’t work at the next lounge, like it won’t at most clubs. Tough luck, I guess. And, no, there isn’t such a thing as ‘gay couples’. So, smart try.
It’s the sort of sexual discrimination few will take seriously and fewer still will care about. No one I know will fight against it. Suspicions are hard to erase. Some terrorists give all men a bad name. This is true for the average, Indian non-molester man, who makes for the vast majority. He stopped hitting on Indian women at some point. She instantly assumed him to be sleazy anyway. She had probably liked looking at him. He had seemed okay. He had enjoyed giving her the attention. She had thought that was fine as well. Their eyes had just met at the bar. But I know what they were both suffering from.
The Indian girl is hit by the silly ‘slut complex’. She won’t make the semblance of a first move—which should truly be her right—for fear of being judged as the loose one. The Indian guy is similarly down with the ‘creep syndrome’. He can’t be seen as one of those, you know, “one of those”. He has a reputation to protect.
Given such poor practice with making conversations with the unknown of the opposite gender, his skills get considerably worse with time. When he does try his luck now, once in a while, the possible openers get odder still: “You smell really nice . . .” Eww. She looks away. He goes back to his drink.
The times you must hang out with other men, just men, is when you’re at a quasi-gay joint celebrating old boys’ reunion of a frustrated boarding school. There are mostly men around at party places, which allow men to be by themselves. The topic of conversation is the woman, still.
Species single, male, and Indian, could consider themselves getting officially quarantined. It would help their cause. Female companionship is a mirage. Male company gets boring. Cloaking this lack of opportunity into a moral virtue, most prefer to get married instead. Their parents help them hook up, finally. Someone should. It’s hard to hold out beyond the late twenties. Arranged marriage isn’t always a matter of social conservatism or personal choice. It is often an urban necessity. Family feels proud. Segregation suits the status quo. Society approves. As does the petty politician, whether he’s the sicko who hassles lovers at public parks, or the old man in the gram panchayat. Unmarried love is fatal to his constituency. Inter-religious or inter-caste family can negate his existence. The conforming institution, the saviour, lives on.
Sooner or later, being single gets even tougher when everyone else around is already married. And there, those platonic female passports to an acceptable nightlife are gone as well. It may be fair to suggest that you can be happily single, in much the same way as you can be happily married . . . both being empirically impossible. To me the occasional woes of single men, however, seem diametrically opposite to those of the single women I meet. Except when they discuss the opposite sex, which is when they talk the same language.
Both on separate tables insist that a man or woman who is straight, smart, attractive, intelligent, interesting, funny, and, yet, available is an extinct specimen fit to hang at museums. Maybe because the two tables have never merged with each other’s. They’ve never really met. After school and college, where will they? At work? That’s where many do, it appears—unless you’re the supposedly shy sort, who only slimily stares at objects of desire, over the cubicle, under the staircase, when not stalking on Facebook.
New to sharing workspace with women, the traditional Indian man can barely get himself to open his hesitant mouth before a frothy female form. What comes out, when he does part his lips, bears promise of a sexual harassment case. He’s better off tongue-tied, quietly fantasizing. Dishonesty in sexual expression is probably better for the civilised world.
The less shady ones—fat, fugly, tall, talkative, short, sloppy—get to demonstrate their actual worth at work. This is a level playing eld. Women get attracted to the relatively
smart. The guy has something to prove. Bosses should be glad. Late hours aren’t a problem. Attendance goes up. Company’s productivity rises.
Sure, an office intern can shake up the White House and shock America. The gorgeous dimwit secretary can make the stern corporate CEO dance on his knees. Attraction demands no prior appointment. This may be unfair on the nerdy, pimply man who must work harder to command the same attention from his male superiors. But nature tends to balance this out in the long run.
That rookie biz-school grad, when he turns bald and old and if he is on top of his boardroom game, will be considered sexually attractive still. This isn’t necessarily true for the dumb hot intern in his office twenty years later. While he’s younger, freer, funnier, he stands a fair chance as well. Call centres and the movie industry merely get a bad name. All Indian offices with reasonable sex ratios, being 1:10, if you peer harder I reckon, will look like rocking dating sites, spiced up with secret romances, rebounds, heartburns, and heartbreaks. Pay closer attention to the HR department.
Mixing hormones with business may be a terrible idea, I know, but what to do? Where else to go? At a house party full of drunks? Where the inevitable cock-blocking and penis- fencing match is about to begin between twenty single men over the only woman who decided to stay back until late? Maybe. Or maybe not.
At a discotheque? Yes. That would be an ideal place for the lonely soul, seeking a happy ending to a day—a night of casual, naughty nirvana. It’s a large, dimly lit psychedelic dome singularly structured around eyeing men and women, since there’s precious little they can see of each other, through their beer goggles, under a shiny disco-ball. Loud music takes away the awkward discomforts of acquaintanceship. Burden of conversation safely lies in the lyrics of the songs. Akon sings ‘I wanna love you’, Snoop Dogg adds ‘I wanna fuck you’. Bodies move to booty calls. Eyes meet. The point’s made. Nobody need ask your place or mine?. Maybe that’s there in the song lyrics as well. Deal’s struck. Booze is expensive. Night’s young. So are you.
But then if you’re single, male, and around others with the same affliction, you were just dreaming right now. They won’t allow you into a nightclub. It’s for couples only. Despite weightier measures of time, the two people entering have already met, and so have already dated, drank, danced, and done all old-world things invented to break the ice since the Internet. Then, perhaps, they’re not single anymore. Social segregation is a vicious circle. Having a girlfriend exponentially increases your chances of finding another than being single ever does.
For a year or so I once co-ran an anonymous daily relationship column in an English daily in Mumbai. It was called Dear Diana, named after this well-travelled woman who could solve your daily problems. I was Diana. It was a popular read. Most of those writing in, I realised, were only checking if we would print their crazy queries, none of which were serious. They were almost all jigsaw puzzles about cousins sleeping with their daughters, who were in turn making love with both the dad and the aunt. The only genuine questions would inevitably be from a lost male soul: “I like this girl. What do I do?” Become her friend, I’d say. “How?” Get to know her friends first, and take it slowly from there, I guess. “How?” You know what, buddy? I don’t know.
A veteran tri-sexual acquaintance (the sort who serially tries for sex as his natural right) tells me he’s had it now. It is a hard life, unless you’re a rock star, or in the Indian context, a Bollywood hero who plays a rock star, I suppose. The friend says he’d rather start a political front for single men. There’d be enough support for his cause, he jokes. I don’t agree.
Nobody would openly join a group that automatically is presumed to comprise a bunch of cash-strapped, unstable varieties who walk around being single because, it is thought, they ought to be. No woman could stand the son of a gun, anyway. Even women are attracted more towards men who are already hitched. There’s mystique in the unattainable. Singles’ nights inevitably fail. Recent female responses to dating apps like Tinder suggest to me that it is mainly full of married freakoids or sexual ends. Neither help much in restoring the rep of the Indian single man anyway. “Deserters, all these people,” the ‘tri-sexual’ frowns at my analysis. You’d be the first one looking to desert your own group, I tell him. He agrees.
The Game is a celebrated Bible for single men that scientifically tutors an ‘average frustrated chump’ (AFC) to become a ‘pick-up artist’ (PUA) giving out few quick steps towards attracting pretty things at bars, cafés, malls, and discotheques. The bestseller studies various ‘seduction communities’ in the US. During the course of writing his experiences, author Neil Strauss, self- admittedly an AFC, attends workshops conducted by experts in serious ‘seduction communities’ before he gets anointed the world’s no. 1 PUA.
The single Indian man would be in awe of such a champion. Read the book and you’d be easily able to tell why the same methods could never be applied in his country. This isn’t to say I haven’t seen a desi dude with a ‘wing man’ at a local bar, ‘peacocking’ (dressing outrageously), ‘negging’ (sounding rude, but giving backhanded compliments), ‘kinoing’ (making harmless physical contact) . . . Yeah, I have basically seen him make a plum ass of himself in public. The desi girl is mostly unimpressed. She probably also knows he’s read the book.
The Game is yet another American dream. Women have widely panned the bestseller in the West for its overt male chauvinism. The premise is entirely sexist, yes. But sex-guru Strauss makes a significant point out there that should please the average female reader—that there are no ugly women, only lazy ones.
Everybody loves the single woman. The world donates her its affection, attention, drinks, dinner, coffee, couch, conversations, cupcakes, tags, hash-tags, friend requests, re- tweets, roses on Rose Day, proposals on Propose Day, self- respect on Valentine’s Day . . . She gifts them hope. Nobody loves a single man; not even the single man himself, and least of all the bouncer outside the club.
Bhagat Singh became a popular folk hero after his death. Jawaharlal Nehru wrote about him: "Bhagat Singh did not become popular because of his act of terrorism but because he seemed to vindicate, for the moment, the honour of Lala Lajpat Rai, and through him of the nation. He became a symbol; the act was forgotten, the symbol remained, and within a few months each town and village of the Punjab, and to a lesser extent in the rest of northern India, resounded with his name." In still later years, Singh, an atheist and socialist in life, won admirers in India from among a political spectrum that included both communists and right-wing Hindu nationalists. Although many of Singh's associates, as well as many Indian anti-colonial revolutionaries, were also involved in daring acts and were either executed or died violent deaths, few came to be lionised in popular art and literature to the same extent as Singh.
My new digital painting
HARI SINGH NALWA
AKAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL
This painting is my imagination of what the scene would have been when HARI SINGH
NALWA hunted down A TIGER!
There are few facts about HARI SINGH NALWA which amazed me and I would like to share those with all of you...
He was near about 12 to 15 years of age when he was chosen a royal guard of Maharaja Ranjit Singh becoz he won all the events like horse riding, wrestling, archery and swordfighting from the opponents who were far more elder and experienced then Hari Singh was...Maharaja Ranjit Singh used to organise these
kind of sports in his period and Hari Singh first time took part in these sports..rest i have already told you
His courage of hunting a tiger one on one is the major moment of his life, from there onwards his warrior history started.
He is the only persone in history of world who conquerd afghan.
Now just enjoy the painting...
Khan Noonien Singh is a towering figure in the Star Trek mythos—and Ricardo Montalbán’s portrayal was spot-on. He didn’t just play a villain; he embodied a tragic titan. Montalbán’s Khan in “Space Seed” (1967) and “The Wrath of Khan” (1982) is Shakespearean in scope: a genetically engineered superhuman whose charisma, intelligence, and thirst for vengeance make him both terrifying and oddly sympathetic.
What makes Montalbán’s Khan so unforgettable isn’t just the physical presence or the accent—it’s the emotional depth. He’s not evil for evil’s sake. He’s a man who once ruled a quarter of Earth during the Eugenics Wars, exiled and betrayed, now burning with grief and fury over the death of his wife and the loss of his people. That monologue—“He tasks me. He tasks me, and I shall have him”—is pure operatic obsession.
Benedict Cumberbatch’s version in “Into Darkness” (2013) reimagines Khan as a colder, more calculating figure, stripped of the flamboyance and sensuality that made Montalbán’s performance iconic. While technically impressive, it’s arguably less emotionally resonant. Montalbán gave Khan a tragic nobility, a sense of grandeur that made his vendetta against Kirk feel mythic.
Montalban’s Khan is a masterclass in emotional realism, visual grace, and the power of gesture. His every move, from the way he stands to the way he speaks, is a study in presence. Even his costume in “Wrath of Khan,” with that open-chested tunic and flowing hair, feels like a visual metaphor for vulnerability masked by power. He is someone regal, wounded, and driven by memory.
[Note: Khan Noonien Singh was created by the team of Gene Roddenberry, Gene L. Coon, and Carey Wilber, with the "Noonien" part of his name being a tribute from Roddenberry to a wartime friend named Kim Noonien Singh.]
Jagmeet Singh Jimmy Dhaliwal, known professionally as Jagmeet Singh, is a Canadian lawyer and politician.
Bit of an experiment really. Was trying to push the collage-making a bit further on the computer. So this is a combination of alot of layering, segment shading, bits of photograph, pencil strokes, and a 'handmade' collage as the base of the face...interesting results!
I really enjoy doing beards.
Wat Phra Singh ( Full name: Wat Phra Singh Woramahaviharn) is a Buddhist temple in the Old City of Chiang Mai, Thailand. The Temple dates to 1345. It was restored in 1925 and designated a Royal temple of the fisrst grade in 1935. The temple is very ornate and has impressive gold features.
recently i got very interested to read about the chardi klaa gursikhs who took shaheedis in the recent sangarsh for the chardi klaa of the panth. i have read of talwinder singh ji parmar, baba manochahal ji, reyat ji, sukhdev singh ji babbar, sant ji bhindranwale.
please suggest other gursikhs that i should read too.
Sardaar Gabbar Singh Ringtones
Movie : Sardaar Gabbar Singh
Cast : Pawan Kalyan, Kajal Agarwal
Direction : Bobby
Music Director : Devi Sri Prasad
Production : North Star Entertainments
Listen Here
Title Song
Aadevadanna Music Bit
Aadevadanna Eedevadanna
Aadevadanna Eedevadanna Starting
Chudaku Chudaku
Chusko Guru Title Song Bit
Danger Antundi Title Song
Hum Jo Bola Title Song
Khakhee Chokka Music Bit
Khakhee Chokka
Khakhee Chokka Starting
Masthu Look Ro
Nee Chepakallu
Oh Pilla Subhanalla
Oh Pilla Subhanalla Music Bit
Oh Pilla Subhanalla 2
Tauba Tauba Music Bit
Tauba Tauba
Download Ringtones Below
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Most people really don't know how fat cells work, how the fat burning process takes place or where the fat goes when it's burned. It's actually quite a complex biochemical process, but I'll explain it as simply as possible.
When you "lose" body fat, the fat cell (also called an adipocyte) does not go anywhere or "move into the muscle cell to be burned. The fat cell itself, (unfortunately) stays right where it was - under the skin in your thighs, stomach, hips, arms, etc., and on top of the muscles - which is why you can't see muscle "definition" when your body fat is high.
The fat is not burned right there in the fat cell,it must be liberated from the fat cell.
Fat is stored inside the fat cell in the form of triglyceride. The fat is not burned right there in the fat cell, it must be liberated from the fat cell through somewhat complex hormonal/enzymatic pathways. When stimulated to do so, the fat cell simply releases its contents (triaglycerol) into the bloodstream as free fatty acids (FFA's), and they are transported through the blood to the tissues where the energy is needed.
A typical young male adult stores about 60,000 to 100,000 calories of energy in body fat cells. What triggers the release of all these stored fatty acids from the fat cell? Simple: When your body needs energy because you're consuming fewer calories than you are burning (an energy deficit), then your body releases hormones and enzymes that signal your fat cells to release your fat reserves instead of keeping them in storage. To know more visit www.yogagurusuneelsingh.com Pic by Vijay Gautam Monty
Vijay blasts out of the gallery area on 18 during the Wednesday practice round at the 2007 PGA Championship at Southern Hills.
Wat Phra Singh is located in the western part of the old city centre of Chiang Mai, which is contained within the city walls and moat. The main entrance, which is guarded by Singhs (lions), is situated at the end of the main street (Rachadamnoen road) of Chiang Mai. [Source: Wikipedia]
Viharn (right) and Bot (left) of Wat Phra Singh, one of the beautiful temples in Chiang Mai, Northern Thailand.
This is Shaheed Bhagat Singh's Original Picture. A handcuffed Bhagat Singh being interrogated at lahor in 1927. This was his first arrest. The photograph was taken secretly by the police, and was discovered in secret records of police after 1947.
W373 KBE is a Mercedes-Benz Vario O814D/Autobus Classique Nouvelle 2 new to Dewberry, Biggin Hill in March 2000.
It later operated with Galloway of Mendlesham as 2086 PP, Hillier of Foxham back on its original plate, Gloag of Errol, Sinnott of Molehill Green and Haylet of Woodford and Ellis & Dickson, Glenrothes fleet in Fife who trade as Eazy Coach Hire before joining the Singh, Glasgow fleet. It is seen here in Inverness.
Self learning santhiya...
Shudh Uchaaran Importance (ਸ਼ੁੱਧ ਉਚਾਰਨ ਮਹਾਨਤਾ)
Sakhi Bhai Gopala Jee (ਭਾਈ ਗੋਪਾਲਾ ਜੀ):
Upon the victory of the Second Hargobindpur(ਹਰਿਗੋਬਿੰਦਪੁਰ) battle, Guru Hargobind Sahib Jee had set up a congregation for the sangat(ਸੰਗਤ ) and the fallen Shaeeds(ਸ਼ਹੀਦਾਂ). After the war Gurusahib’s state of mind was one of gratitude and calmness. GuruSahib looked to the sangat and did Benti to all his sikhs. He asked if there is any sikh who can recite Sri JapJi Sahib Jee correctly(ਸ਼ੁੱਧ) with all the characters(ਲਗਾਂ) and full focus(ਇਕਾਗ੍ਰਤਾ). One of GuruSahib Jee’s sikhs, Bhai Gopala Jee obtained shudh santhya (ਸ਼ੁੱਧ ਸੰਥਾ) from Guru Arjun Dev Sahib Jee himself. Bhai Sahib gets up and does Benti(ਬੇਨਤੀ) to Guru Hargobind Sahib Maharaj to give him the strength and blessing to recite Sri Jap Ji Sahib. Pleased, GuruSahib gave Bhai Gopala Jee a seat(ਆਸਨ) at the highest point of the congregation. Bhai Santokh Singh Jee in Sooraj Parkash (ਸ੍ਰੀ ਗੁਰਪ੍ਰਤਾਪ ਸੂਰਜ ਗ੍ਰੰਥ) writes:
ਬੈਠਯੋ ਸਨਮੁਖ; ਲੱਗਯੋ ਉਚਾਰਨ॥ ਸਿਮਰਯੋ, ਗੁਰੂ ਨਾਨਕ ਸੁਖ ਕਾਰਨ॥
Sitting infront of GuruSahib, Bhai Gopala Jee first contemplated on Sahib Sri Guru Nanak Dev Sahib Jee’s name and then began to recite Sri JapJi Sahib Jee.
ਪੂਰਬ ਕਹਿ, ਇੱਕਓਅੰਕਾਰ॥ ਸਤਿਨਾਮੁ ਕੋ, ਬਹੁਰ ਉਚਾਰ॥
With full focus and concentration he recited Ik Oankar (ਇੱਕਓਅੰਕਾਰ) with correct pronounciation and characters(ਲਗਾਂ). Then he continued in the same manner with Satnam(ਸਤਿਨਾਮੁ).
ਇੱਕਓਅੰਕਾਰ, ਜਬ ਮੁਖੋਂ ਉਚਾਰਾ॥ ਨਮਸਕਾਰ ਕਰ, ਗੁਰ ਕਰਤਾਰਾ॥
Upon hearing the beautiful Banee, Guru Hargobind Sahib Jee bowed down to the Gurshabad Banee.
ਗੁਰੂ ਹਰਿਗੋਬਿੰਦ ਸੁਨਿ ਕਰ ਜੋਰਿ॥ ਨਮਸਕਾਰ ਕੀਨੀ, ਸਿਖ ਓਰਿ॥
Then Gurusahb proceeds to clasp his hands and pay reverence to Bhai Gopala Jee.
ਦੋਹਰਾ॥ ਅਤਿ ਪ੍ਰਸੰਨ ਸਤਿਗੁਰ ਭਏ; ਸੁਨਤ ਪਾਠ ਨਿਰਧਾਰ॥ ਨਿੱਜ ਮਨ ਮੈਂ ਐਸੇ ਕਹਾ; ਕਿਆ ਦੇਵੋਂ ਇਹ ਵਾਰ॥
Upon hearing the Banee, GuruSahib was overcome with euphoria(ਵਿਸਮਾਦ). He was so pleased with the way Bhai Gopala Jee was doing Banee that he thought to himself, what could I possibly give in return for hearing Banee so beautifully? If I make him emperor of the world, thats temporal. What should be given to award such beautiful recitation of Banee?
ਦੋਹਰਾ॥ ਦਿਲੀ ਪਿਆਰਾ ਸਮਝ ਕੈ; ਬੋਲੇ ਗੁਰ ਕਰਤਾਰ॥ ਅਚੱਲ ਰਾਜ ਦੇਵਨ ਲੱਗੇ; ਕਿਆ ਕੀਨੀ ਇਹ ਕਾਰ॥
With their heart full of love, Guru Hargobind Sahib Jee decided to give him the one kingdom that was eternal: Guru Nanak Dev Sahib Jee’s Throne (ਗੁਰਗੱਦੀ). Guru Sahib moved one of his knees to get up from their throne and give the Gursikh their seat(ਸਿੰਘਾਸਨ). At that point, JapJi Sahib had reached the final stanza (ਸਲੋਕ). After seeing GuruSahib get up, Bhai Gopala jee’s concentration was dissrupted, a thought(ਫ਼ੁਰਨਾ) crossed his mind that Guru Sahib was leaving. Bhai Gopala Jee thought if Guru Sahib did not leave, Guruji would gift him a royal horse from GuruSahib’s stable. Understanding BhaiSahib’s sudden thought, GuruSahib gets up at the completion of JapJi Sahib and hugs Bhai Gopala Jee. Guru Sahib tells him that ‘I was about to give you Guru Nanak Dev Jee’s crown had you not asked for a horse.’
ਧੰਨ ਜਨਮ ਅਬ, ਤੁਮਰਾ ਭਯੋ॥ ਜਨਮ ਮਰਨ, ਸਗਲਾ ਦੁਖ ਗਯੋ॥
GuruSahib was so pleased that he gave Bhai Sahib blessings (ਵਰ )after granting him the royal horse. Bhai Sahib’s life was blessed and he was free from the birth and death cycle. He was liberated from all his sorrow and pains in the physical and afterlife.
ਜੋ ਤੁਮ ਮਨ ਮੈ, ਇਛਾ ਧਾਰੋ॥ ਸੋ ਲੇਵੋ; ਨਹਿੰ ਦੇਰ ਬਿਚਾਰੋ॥
Guru Sahib goes on further to say that any wishes that you may ever have will come to fruitation instantly.
The importance of doing Shudh Banee cannot be understated. If GuruSahib himself was about to give his throne(ਗੁਰਗੱਦੀ) based on the correct recitation of Bani, imagine how much significance reciting Shudh Banee holds.
Bhai Gurdaas Jee:
Guru Arjun Dev Sahib Jee had given respect to Bhai Gurdaas Jee’s Banee calling it the key to opening the treasure of Guru Granth Sahib Jee. In Bhai Gurdaas Jee’s Kabits (poems), there is one that deals with the importance of Shudh Ucharan and each individual character.
ਜੈਸੇ ਲਗ ਮਾਤ੍ਰ ਹੀਨ ਪੜਤ ਅਉਰ ਕਉ ਅਉਰ ਪਿਤਾ ਪੂਤ ਪੂਤ ਪਿਤਾ ਸਮਸਰਿ ਜਾਨੀਐ ॥
If a word is not pronounced with the proper characters(ਲਗਾ ), it loses meaning and becomes incoherent. Its like calling a father the son, or a son the father both in pronounciation(replacing the sihari(ਿ) with Dolankre(ੂ) and literal meaning.
ਸੁਰਤਿ ਬਿਹੂਨ ਜੈਸੇ ਬਾਵਰੋ ਬਖਾਨੀਅਤ ਅਉਰ ਕਹੇ ਅਉਰ ਕਛੇ ਹਿਰਦੈ ਮੈ ਆਨੀਐ ॥
Just like a human without sense and intelligence is called insane, whatever they intend to say with their heart comes out as something completely different when they choose to speak.
ਜੈਸੇ ਗੁੰਗ ਸਭਾ ਮਧਿ ਕਹਿ ਨ ਸਕਤ ਬਾਤ ਬੋਲਤ ਹਸਾਇ ਹੋਇਬਚਨ ਬਿਧਾਨੀਐ ॥
Just like a mute person cannot say anything infront of an educated crowd, when they try to say something, people ridicule and laugh at them
ਗੁਰਮੁਖਿ ਮਾਰਗ ਮੈ ਮਨਮੁਖ ਥਕਤ ਹੁਇ ਲਗਨ ਸਗਨ ਮਾਨੇ ਕੈਸੇ ਮਾਨੀਐ ॥੨੬੪॥
On the path of a Gurmukh, there is no place for Manmukhs, they cannot keep up. Just like people who induldge in worldly pleasures cannot realise the true path.
In that same manner, if these characters (ਲਗਾਂ) were not important to pronounce, why would they have been written in Banee? They all serve a purpose just like Bhai Sahib states.
ਕੋਟਨਿ ਕੋਟਾਨਿ ਛਬਿ ਰੂਪ ਰੰਗ ਸੋਭਾ ਨਿਧਿ ਕੋਟਨਿ ਕੋਟਾਨਿ ਕੋਟਿ ਜਗਮਗ ਜੋਤਿ ਕੈ ।
Praising millions of millions of beautful, blissful and natural objects
ਕੋਟਨਿ ਕੋਟਾਨਿ ਰਾਜਭਾਗ ਪ੍ਰਭਤਾ ਪ੍ਰਤਾਪੁ ਕੋਟਨਿ ਕੋਟਾਨਿ ਸੁਖ ਅਨੰਦ ਉਦੋਤ ਕੈ ।
Praising millions of millions of kingdoms, Honourables and various feelings of happiness
ਕੋਟਨਿ ਕੋਟਾਨਿ ਰਾਗ ਨਾਦਿ ਬਾਦ ਗਿਆਨ ਗੁਨ ਕੋਟਨਿ ਕੋਟਾਨਿ ਜੋਗ ਭੋਗ ਓਤਪੋਤਿ ਕੈ ।
Praising millions of millions of knowledgeble musicians, vocalists,
ਕੋਟਨਿ ਕੋਟਾਨਿ ਤਿਲ ਮਹਿਮਾ ਅਗਾਧਿ ਬੋਧਿ ਨਮੋ ਨਮੋ ਦ੍ਰਿਸਟਿ ਦਰਸ ਸਬਦ ਸ੍ਰੋਤ ਕੈ ॥੨੬੫॥
That same praise is next to nothing when it comes to Banee. The praise to see Banee with your eyes (ਦ੍ਰਿਸਟਿ ਦਰਸ)and to hear Banee with your ears and see all the characters (ਸ੍ਰੋਤ ਦਰਸ) is not possible. You just have to bow down and give up all attempts to describe its praise.
In that same manner, it is impossible to see Gurbani inside unless all the characters (ਲਗਾਂ) are being pronounced. The importance of articulating all the characters(ਲਗਾਂ) is more important when the Banee is being listened to.
The importance of Shudh Ucharan with all the ਲਗਾ was heavily favoured by Sant Baba Gurbachan Singh Jee. Mahapursh loved everyone who recited Banee with all the ਲਗਾ. One time when the Jatha was at Nabha Sahib (ਨਾਭਾ ਸਾਹਿਬ), Bhai Kapoor Singh Jee, a Singh in the jatha began to argue with Sant Baba Gurbachan Singh Jee. All the Singhs that were sitting beside Mahapursh began to get angry at the tone in which Bhai Kapoor Singh Jee was speaking. As soon as Bhai Sahib leaves the room, Santji began to smile. All the Singhs were awestruck what just transpired and how Santji is reacting. Sant Baba Gurbachan Singh Jee looks at all the Singhs and says ਮਸਤਾਨਾ ਉਚਾਰਨ ਬੜਾ ਲਗਾਂ ਲਾ ਕੇ ਸ਼ੁੱਧ ਕਰਦਾ ਹੈ (This Singh’s recitation of Banee and its characters is very accurate).
When Bhagat Jaswant Singh Jee (BhagatJee) tells this story, he relates to the dealings that Vadde Mahapursh(ਵੱਡੇ ਮਹਾਂਪੁਰਸ਼) had with everyone. In Jatha, highest order was given to Guru Banee jee Sahib.
India's best known writer Khushwant Singh lives in Delhi's Sujan Singh Park. At 92, he is undoubtedly Delhi's living landmark. All sorts of visitors - tycoons, monks, maulanas, pandits, politicians, padres, scribes, publishers, hopeful writers and sightseers – come to meet him. "After seeing the Jantar Mantar and Qutub Minar, they want to see me," he said in a magazine interview.
Mr. Singh continually churns out bestselling novels, yearly memoirs (mostly on sex, scotch and women), dirty joke books (at the expense of the Sikh community to which he himself belongs) and political newspaper columns.
Everyday he wakes up at 4, does his writing, goes for an afternoon siesta at 12:30 pm, meet starry-eyed visitors at seven and goes to bed by nine. No one is allowed to temper with the schedule. Once India's then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi got late for a dinner engagement at Mr. Singh's place. The eccentric author ate at his usual time and went to sleep leaving the Prime Minister to a solitary meal.