Principles vs rules

Equality of all humans is one of the core tenets of the Sikh religion. However, over the centuries, this principle has come into conflict with another important aspect of being a Sikh—adhering to the Sikh Rehat Maryada, a code of conduct that prescribes rules and practices that Sikhs must live by. Published and endorsed by the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee– the organisation that assumes the role of the central authority within Sikhism– the Rehat Maryada is a big deal within the Sikh community. Anyone who goes against it is branded a “bad Sikh” and shunned by orthodox believers.

A true commitment to equality requires constant reflection and evolution in one’s beliefs and ways of life. A written code of conduct, on the other hand, lends itself to rigidity and inflexibility. Originally drafted in the 18^th century and finalised in 1945 after several revisions, the Rehat Maryada does not account for LGBTQIA+ people who want to hold onto  their religion whilst also asserting their queer identity.

According to the Rehat Maryada, Sikhs are not supposed to cut the hair on any part of their body. Sikh men are expected to tie a dastaar (turban) to cover their head at all times, whereas for women, there is no such expectation. These rules, as well as the inherently patriarchal nature of Punjabi-Sikh society, has led to the prevalence of heteronormativity and stringent gender norms among the Sikh community. Consequently, flamboyant queer men, butch queer women and transgender people from the Sikh community are subjected to a lot of policing by conservative Sikhs.

According to Harjant Singh Gill, an anthropologist at Towson University and a documentary filmmaker, Sikhism emerged in a historical context of persecution, specifically including violence against Sikh men. Therefore the community has learned to see patriarchal heterosexual masculinity as something that is under threat, that must be safeguarded. 

Harjant has been exploring themes like patriarchal masculinity, sexuality, and migration through his research and films. Over a WhatsApp voice call, he talked about his “complicated” relationship with Sikh culture and religion. Born in a Sikh family in Chandigarh, Harjant and his twin brother Sunny were raised religious. In 1984, in the wake of the assassination of Indira Gandhi by her Sikh bodyguards, the Sikh community was targeted by a pogrom, which left thousands dead and tens of thousands displaced. At the time, Harjant’s father was in New Delhi–the epicenter of the violence. Disillusioned by the atrocities he witnessed, he decided to emigrate. 

In December 1995, Harjant and his family moved to California. In preparation for the move, Harjant and Sunny got the first haircuts of their lives. Harjant had been aware of his attraction towards boys for a while, but he found the vocabulary to describe what he was feeling only after he moved to California at the age of fourteen.

Since he isn’t religious now and doesn’t present like a Sikh is supposed to—displaying the traditional symbols of Sikh identity, Harjant said that Sikhism has never come in the way of his queer expression. Nevertheless, his work engages deeply with the Sikh religion and culture. He is currently working on a book titled Coming of Age in Macholand: Masculinity, Sexuality and Transnationality in Post Conflict Panjab. “Sikh culture is very heteronormative and patriarchal, and that interferes with the life choices men are allowed to make – whom they can love, whom they can marry, what kind of families men are allowed to have,” said Harjant. 

He pointed out that marriage remains central to this idea of Sikh life—with marriages being arranged along caste lines despite the fact that Sikh theology explicitly goes against caste. “That’s not the kind of life that I want to live,” he said. Harjant lives in Washington DC with his partner of 15 years.

Finding freedom away from home

For some LGBTQIA+ Sikhs, the decision to leave home is actively informed by the conflict between their desire to be openly queer and the pressure to abide by the tenets of the Rehat Maryada. Leen, an accounting professional, was 22 when she moved to Vancouver in Canada, from her hometown, Chandigarh, in December 2016. She initially arrived as a student in Vancouver, but ended up staying there for much longer and built her life there. When asked to describe herself, Leen turns to the word manmauji—someone who listens to their heart and has fun along the way. 

Now 30, Leen spends her time between Vancouver and Chandigarh. She was seated in her brother’s car in Vancouver when she told me about her journey as an out bisexual Sikh woman over a Google Meet call. She chose to have this conversation in the car so that her brother wouldn’t overhear what she had to say about her family. 

“The biggest step of my life as a grown-up adult was to move abroad. The motive wasn’t to go abroad and study. The motive was to be able to live life freely,” declared a smiling Leen.

She was wearing a black jacket and a silver toe ring on her left pinky finger. Her hair was cropped short, in complete defiance of Sikh norms. Growing up in Chandigarh, Leen would look forward to Sikh festivals like Gurupurab, but only because of the delicious langar (communal meals served in Gurudwaras) that would be served during these events. She said she was into sports, so much so that it was hard for her parents to bring her back home from the playground. By the time she was 14, she realised that she was infatuated with some of her seniors in the football team and had an “odd hunch” that, in addition to being attracted to boys, she might like girls as well. 

In 2008, while on a train journey from Chandigarh to Goa for an inter-state football tournament, she saw two girls kissing and was blown away. “I was like, woah, this can happen!” she recalled excitedly. This incident was a “turning point” in her life.

In 2010, at the age of 16, Leen fully embraced her queerness. Around the same time, she started experimenting with her hair. She trimmed it just a little bit for her school farewell, thinking that her parents wouldn’t notice. To her dismay, her mom found out and scolded her. Leen felt stifled.

Six months after moving to Vancouver, Leen got a buzz cut. “I was looking forward to this dream life; to be able to live freely, to be able to have an appearance as per how I want. I didn’t want to abide by the religious rules. I wanted to carry my own look—I wanted to play with my hair and clothing. I didn’t want to just wear salwar-kameez and have a long gut (plait),” explained Leen. She avoided speaking to her parents over video call for six months to hide her new hairstyle from them. 

Last year, Leen visited Chandigarh for a friend’s wedding and ended up spending about 11 months in India. During this period, she came out to her parents, hoping that they would stop asking her to get married. But her parents stopped speaking to her entirely.

 Leen is upset about how things turned out, but she doesn’t regret owning her story. “They feel that they were misled and lied to continuously for so many years, whereas I am trying to explain that it wasn’t a lie. It was just that I was not at ease with my truth,” said Leen. “It’s hard, because now they don’t see me as their dream Sikh daughter; they don’t see me the same way as they used to before. But then, I want to make them understand that I too am on a journey of understanding myself. And if this is something major about your child, then if not now, then when would you know?” Leen is hopeful that over time, her parents will come around.

Embracing both queerness and Sikhism 

Despite the lack of space afforded to queerness within the Sikh community, some queer Sikhs continue to find comfort and power in the religion. For 30-year-old Gurleen Kaur who is queer, Sikhism forms the core of her spiritual beliefs. She has never once doubted that she can’t be both Sikh and queer at the same time. 

"For me, Sikhi is a great power in my life—a great mental health resource. I've had to shed a lot of what people told me being a Sikh was to find out what it was for myself. Once I had done that, it made me really sad that [queer Sikh] people had to leave that part of themselves," said Gurleen over a WhatsApp voice call.

During the Covid lockdown in 2020, Gurleen was coming to terms with her queerness and wanted to find community for herself. So, she organised an online meetup for queer Sikhs and promoted it widely. To her surprise, a whopping 150 people from 8 different countries—including India—attended the meeting. Years later, some of those attendees would tell Gurleen that that meeting gave them the courage to come out to their friends and family. 

When Gurleen came out as queer, her friends were supportive, but her family did not react well. They pointed out that she had dated men in the past and asked her to stick to that. "As soon as I came out, I called the therapy hotline because I was so panicked. South Asians are typically obsessed with weddings, but my family is double-obsessed with getting me married. I actually don't live with them because of how intense it is," said Gurleen 

It wasn’t just her family who was dismissive of her sexuality. “There were community members who told my parents that I was spiritually lost, and they could help save me, and that was sh*t. There were people in the family who suggested that I be cut off to teach me a lesson. ’" recounted Gurleen. 

While she hasn’t been cut off by her family, she is often on edge around them, as they keep bringing up the topic of her marriage.

Her queerness has also come in the way of her trying to date Sikh men. Recently, she was chatting with a Sikh guy on Dil Mil, a South Asian dating app. Their chat was going well until the guy asked her if she had been with women, and didn’t even wait for her response before declaring—“I don’t think this will work.” This incident shook Gurleen quite a bit.

Despite the challenges, Gurleen has steadfastly held on to both her Sikh and queer identities. In 2022, she founded the Queer Sikh Network, which strives to offer a space for other queer Sikhs to do the same. 

She also organises Anand Karaj (Sikh marriage ceremonies) for same-sex Sikh couples in California. Gurleen recalled the Anand Karaj of her queer friends, during which she read from the Guru Granth Sahib and organised kirtan, as one of the proudest moments of her life. "Spiritually is kind of my whole life. I'm a bit of a mystic on top of it all," said a giggling Gurleen, reflecting on the moment.

The backlash that LGBTQIA+ Sikhs face for their queerness means that some—like Harjant and Leen—will continue to make the choice to distance themselves from the community in order to feel truly free. However, despite the regressive attitudes that have become commonplace, Sikhism has at its core the ideals of love and respect for all individuals regardless of their gender and social status. So some queer Sikhs—like Gurleen and Param—do not see their religious identity as being at odds with their gender and sexuality, and they will keep striving to forge a space for themselves within their community.

Despite all the antagonism Param has faced over the years from the Sikh community, his WhatsApp profile picture remains a picture of Gurudwara Nanak Piao Sahib, which is close to his house in Delhi. “There are people in the Sikh community who are still not ready to accept their own family and friends [who are queer]. But they don't represent the entire religion,” said Param. “On the other hand, there are people who support you for whoever you are." 

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The story is part of queerbeat's YouthStorytellingProject.