Saturday Night at the Akali Singh Sikh Temple
I walk thirty blocks
on an empty stomach
down East Vancouver's seedy old streets
My ragged wool sweater is heavy with rain
and my worn boots are chafing the blisters
on my feet
I'm on my way to the Akali Singh Temple
for my only meal
of the day
thanks to the benevolence of the Sikhs
Beyond the last hill before Boundary Road
I can see the blue and gold twin cupola
domes of the temple
with silver spires on their peaks
When I enter the open gate I join a small
line up
several young Indian women, some teenagers
and kids
and a few of
my fellow starving artists and freaks
all intoxicated
by the smells of a wonderful feast
In the dining hall an old man with a long,
grizzled beard
smiles a generous gap-toothed grin
as he doles heaping
dollops of mungbean dal
and a handful
of rotis on each stainless steel tray
Six nights a week you can come and have
a great meal
but tonight is
a feast like you wouldn't believe
All you can eat of the spiciest, sweetest,
most succulent Punjabi cuisine
It would
cost a fortune in any Indian restaurant
but here everything they serve is free:
curried cauliflower and eggplant subji
mashed spinach with peppers, chutney and sweetmeats
yellow rice spiced with saffron with raisins and cloves
and golden corn flour rotis steaming hot from the oven
with sweet cane sugar candy balls for dessert
and a pudding that tastes like tapioca
Saturday night is a big social occasion
with rows and rows of long tables lined
up
Sometimes a hundred or more people come
with several dozen exhuberant children
all dressed up in bright coloured satin
vests
racing around the room in games of tag
squealing and giggling in boisterous fun
Over the laughter of the kids and the
lively conversations
a delicate voice
quavers down from above
and the
evocative music of sitar and tamboura
fills the temple with peace and love
Young men in aprons circulate among the
tables
with buckets
of seconds and pitchers of tea
politely urging us to eat our fill
'til I'm so stuffed it's an effort to
finish my tray
The guru waves a benediction
from his picture
on the wall
and I pray a silent prayer of thanks
for the kind hearted charity of these
misunderstood people
so rare in these
years of greed and fear
and I pray another prayer for their generous
well-being
I have a great feeling as I get up to
leave
a feeling of communion with another world
My ugly stomach rumbling mood has disappeared
and I look forward
to the long walk home
Then just as I'm about to step outside
I notice the glass in the door is smashed
cracks radiate from the distinct impression
of a bootheel
thanks to the ignorance of some Paki basher
ass
and my peace of mind is shattered with
a kick of realization
that it's Saturday
night all over the country
for every
fragment of the cultural mosaic
© 2007 Gary Lee