Skip to main content

IIGS Camp - rejuvenation of the spirit!


Wow! this summer was really fast-forward for us. Between Marching Band practices and ASB meetings, my summer is already over. I have begun to follow the 5 Am to 10 Pm routine again to make the things work for all of us. During summer, most mornings went refreshing 'Punjabi skills' of children and evenings on the pool deck. It was full of fun for all of us. Last week came much awaited 67TH IIGS Sikh Youth Camp. It was another milestone in the journey towards self-realization! Even though each camp follows almost the same format, but each one has something new to offer, something new to learn. It was a great experience - once again. Today's kids never cease to amaze me with their love and understanding of Sikhi. There is so much to share from the inspirational stories that campers make in these camps, but I will keep it brief this time. Here is a poem by my son, AnupHarji Singh (Age 12) that says it all, about the camp and about the campers. Hope you enjoy it!

We all came feeling very enthusiastic
For IGS camp promised to be fantastic
We placed our bags around the bend
Then got back up to meet our friends
Into groups we were divided
By our leaders we were guided
In early morning we ran with speed
For the showers were of great need
We were told of Naam Simran, Waheguru in our prayer
The soft vibration and sweet chanting seemed to occur everywhere
Diwans were now regular, coming twice a day
With melodious kirtan the jatha would come and play
Everyone would sing as they tried to concentrate
Loudly we would do so, with our backs completely straight
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all very yummy
When each one came everyone would fill their tummy
In the lectures we learnt a lot
Some marvelous things we were taught
Quickly taking notes with a pen
Papaji’s lectures were something to attend again
Many duties we were told to complete
Even if it was in the burning heat
Responsibility was the lesson taught here
So to succeed you had to persevere
Discipline was shown with the formation of groups
With campers and leaders developing the parading troops
The whistle was blown leaving ringing in our ears
Some would shout through the noise, while others were left in tears
Gurpreet aunty taught vaja with the notes
Showing us how to clear our throat
Ranjit uncle shouting to start the Khalsa charge every night
Yelling “Bole So Nihaal” with all his might
We created noise like never before
Just like a lion’s roar
Washing our hair to keep it clean
It should become your daily routine
Showing our hair because we are proud
It shows our identity in a crowd
So much learning in this short week
Within a camp that is so unique

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Uh jo chhote han na vaade

“………….but I want to do what I want to do”. The loud voice of ‘once’ sweet son, came from the family room as I asked him to turn the TV off and ‘practice’ that he learns after school and on weekends. I was not only shocked but almost in tears as this was not my same son who religiously followed the evening routine and took everything seriously that he learnt in extra curricular activities, along with his learning at school. Above all that he has been ‘Mama’s helper’ in tutoring his younger sister, passing on all the good stuff that he learnt to his sisters. Like his first-grade teacher still says about him "They don't come in better package than this one". I had no complaints and said prayer of gratitude for these children every morning and before going to bed. But what happened this last week? I don’t know except that I know he is going to celebrate his 12 th birthday in few weeks and he is growing. I think that is what they call adolescence. If I remember it right it is...
8 comments
Read more

The Punjabi Garden - By Patricia Klindienst

Patricia Klindienst is a master gardener and an award-winning scholar and teacher. She lives in Guilford, Connecticut, and teaches creative writing each summer at Yale University. Excerpted from The Earth Knows My Name: Food, Culture, and Sustainability in the Gardens of Ethnic America, by Patricia Klindienst. Copyright © 2006 by Patricia Klindienst. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A California gardener used the farming wisdom of her native India to create a suburban paradise that restored her soil--and sustains her soul. “I told my father, ‘I will be poorer in America, but my conscience will be free.’” I write the words on a paper napkin and turn it to face her. “Is this right? Is this what you just said?” “Yes. I did not come to America to trade my cultural heritage for money.” I take the napkin back and write the second sentence as well. Her words are so striking that I do not want to rely on memory al...
1 comment
Read more

We Are Not Symbols

'We Are Not Symbols' is a letter from a Sikh Father to his son facing identity crisis at college. Hope the visitors at this blog would like to read it once again. (http://www.sikh-history.com/sikhhist/archivedf/feature-feb2001.html ) The centipede was happy, quite Until a toad in fun Said, 'Pray, which leg goes after which?' This worked his mind to such a pitch, He lay distracted in a ditch, Considering how to run. THE earth on that day was parched and brown, the roads were unusually deserted of the traffic and even the construction workers, otherwise so busy and undaunted by the heat, were looking for a shade to rest in. It was a very hot and humid day. In the well manicured lawns of an elitist college in the Delhi University , many students were stretched out on the grass or sitting on the worn out wooden benches, under a cluster of Banyan trees. They were taking cold drinks and gasping for fresh air. The clouds were gray, the...
3 comments
Read more