The Sikh

(Bit Proustian but something about the way that Madeleine bread tasted reminded me.)

OK, so I brought a packet of cigarettes and I went out side for a cigarette. Several cigarettes actually. This involved leaving the delivery area through locking red doors (aware that you were going to have to buzz to get back in which requires some inside pushing a button to open the doors). Then you can descend by elevators or stairs. I take the elevator. This time when an elevator appeared I stepped in and found myself sharing it with a Sikh. A doctor, in his forties I’ld guess, he looked like the smoothest most noble operator with his turban covering his Kesh,, I could see his Karra, the golden bracelet on his wrist. I couldn’t see if he had his Kirpan, the small dagger that make up part of the five K,s of those who practice that religion.

The whole Sikh thing intrigues me and I think they have a great religion. I took it as a good sign I saw a Sikh and so would Sicily, she doesn’t know I saw one and she’ll read this and go, “Oh, a Sikh. Cool.”

As I walked outside I found myself thinking back to a period in Dunedin when several of us had engaged what might be a classed a type of urban frontierism. This basically involved drunken late night theoretical dares we would then see if we could put into practice. The best one we pulled off was finding a big old 3 story empty house (in the infamous devils triangle) and taking it over, which we did, and successfully ran a hot water squat for five years. Another one was a group exhibition which we held in the Dunedin Community Gallery. It’s still talked about to this day in certain Council and business owners circles I’m told. And there are probably people in Dunedin who believe we killed animals and put them in jars for the exhibition.

I had gathered together a collection of dead animals, pet rats, aborted puppies, cat’s that died of old age, all preserved in jars of felmeldahyde (along with a variety of paintings, sculptures and short films). I can vouch that none of the animals were killed, let alone killed for the exhibition, but if people came in thinking we had done this I wasn’t gonna convince them otherwise. As we also regularly had musicians playing music on everything from electric bike wheels, to nylon sleeping bags, this turned into a rumour that we were killing animals during the exhibition. Torturing them infact.

One particular incident was a so called heavyweight radio journalist turning up and doing an interview and live on air saying that the exhibition and the Lunatic Fringe Solution (the name the exhibition was held under) were fascists. I’m still not sure how he was classifying us thusly but to say it live on air and to be so missing the point,was a bit too much. I don’t remember what I said, but five minutes after the interview several people showed up claiming they had heard the interview, enjoyed the exhibition, thanks a lot.

It’s a peculiar trait though in New Zealand and I am inclined to think it is done on an international level. That is, to compare someone to Hitler. For example those who, after the Orewa speech referred to Brash as being like Hitler. Now Don Brash is a lot of things but he’s not at all like Hitler (he has an asian wife and is a fifth generation New Zealander). Same with Tamaki. I mean sure, their big march was scary and everything, but for me, the enduring image was of them being stood down by the solitary figure of Georgina Byer who righteously berated them.

Anyway, one of the other stunts we pulled off was having tea and biscuits with Sukhi Turner, then mayor of Dunedin. Can’t remember how we did, but several of us met up with her for a chat in her office. Someone asked her if she believed in true love and this got her talking about, of course, Glen Turner and how there was difficulty when they wanted to get married because she was a Sikh. I asked her something about this and we had an interesting conversation about Sikh militants which I wont go into here.

I liked Sukhi Turner, a good conversationalist, I thought, as I had a cigarette outside, and it was a good thing to see a Sikh. There, my very own little eastern fetish.