A young man in a hot-pink turban raises his hands humbly as he sits
crossed-legged on the floor. Into his raised hands falls a hot roti that
he plops into the metallic tray in front of him. Next to him is an
elderly woman wearing a saffron sari. She raises her hands next and is
offered the same. On either side of them are hundreds of others, all
seated cross-legged, and all with the same metallic tray.
Everyone eats the same food being dished out by the volunteers: dal, vegetables, and a thick South Asian rice pudding called
kheer.
It is lunchtime at the Golden Temple in Amritsar, India, and of the
nearly 100,000 people who eat here on an average day, not a single one
of them will pay for the food they consume. Who said there is no such
thing as a free lunch?
A meal of this scale is made possible by a cadre of volunteers and an
astonishing amount of raw materials: 12,000 kilos of flour, 1,500 kilos
of rice, 13,000 kilos of lentils, and up to 2,000 kilos of vegetables.
While much of the work is done by hand, a mechanized oven and conveyor
belt turn out 200,000 rotis on a daily basis. The
langar, as it’s called, never closes—and even late at night, pilgrims will stop by for a meal.
Nearly 500 years ago, a Sikh guru living in the Indian subcontinent
introduced a revolutionary idea when it comes to the consumption of
food. The idea was simple enough: a place should exist where everyone,
regardless of religion or social status, could sit on the ground
together as equals and eat the same food. The philosophy behind this
free meal was a radical departure from the prevailing norms, where caste
hierarchies decided what you ate and with whom you ate it.
Tradition tells that Guru Nanak, the first Sikh guru, disappeared at the
age of 30 after having a vision. Three days later, he reappeared,
saying only that “there is no Hindu, and there is no Musalman [Muslim].”
With these words, and the belief attached to them that all are equal
before God, the Sikh faith was born. At the core of Sikh teachings about
equality and oneness is the langar, a free community kitchen where
everyone is welcome regardless of social or religious distinctions. The
langar at the Golden Temple is a living example of the Sikh faith’s
rejection of the notion of caste.
Though Sikh temples around the world have free kitchens, the langar at
this colossal complex of white marble and gold is the biggest and most
elaborate. With more than 100,000 visitors on weekdays, and swelling up
to 150,000 on holy days, the Golden Temple attracts more visitors than
the most famous of India’s tourist destinations, the Taj Mahal. After
visiting the temple, devotees and visitors alike move in droves towards
the langar, where the hundreds of volunteers are busy preparing food
around the clock. The food never runs out, and no one is ever turned
away.
In a 16th-century India heavily organized by caste, the idea of the
langar was both spiritually and socially radical. In one sense, it was a
tool to alleviate hunger, and in another, a powerful call to social
reformation. The prevailing narrative of modern India is one that
boasts the rise of new money and an increasingly powerful middle class,
yet old social hierarchies tied to caste are still widely observed,
particularly in rural areas. Discrimination based on caste has been
illegal in India for more than six decades, but its presence is still
felt in those areas of life where it always had a strong hold: religious
worship, marriage, and food. In this climate, the langar remains almost
as radical and revolutionary as it was 500 years ago.
“The Sikh gurus worked very intentionally to challenge social
distinctions in various forms,” said Simran Jeet Singh, the senior
religion fellow for the Sikh Coalition and a PhD candidate at Columbia
University.
According to Singh, the writings of the gurus speak explicitly about the
problem of caste and reject any concept in which somebody has any more
divinity within them than somebody else. Beyond the langar’s use as a
lever for a more egalitarian society, Singh pointed to its more
practical contribution to a community in the Middle Ages, one without
modern technologies for agriculture.
“To create a space where people could just come for sustenance was
revolutionary in terms of creating healthier communities,” said Singh.
Even today, there is a large population of impoverished people who stay
outside of the Golden Temple and rely on it as their source of food. “It
created a resource for sustenance while also challenging the social
divisions that were prevalent at the time, and which continue to be
prevalent.”
In India, the phrase “you are what you eat” takes on a special
significance. For a millennium, food in India has been consumed
according to the rules of this vast and informal system of social
engineering. It is organized like a food chain, with those wielding
power and influence at the top, and those marginalized at the bottom.
Food has also been a trigger for intercommunal violence. Hindu-Muslim
riots have been sparked by the throwing of a pig’s or a cow’s head into
the grounds of a mosque or Hindu temple. In lavish areas in Mumbai,
housing complexes may use a “vegetarian-only” clause to keep out
Muslims, Christians, or lower-caste tenants who may eat meat.
The recent ban on consumption and slaughter of beef
in some states has been a particularly heated issue. Dividing lines
have been drawn along caste and religious lines. Most other communities,
except religious Hindus, include beef in their diet, mainly because it
is cheaper than other proteins.
Although Sikhs are not exclusively vegetarian, the langar at the Golden
Temple serves only nourishing vegetarian meals. The volunteers here come
from different faiths and socioeconomic backgrounds. They are young,
old, and in-between, and work in a highly efficient, almost machine-like
way. With each onion chopped or roti flattened, you can hear them
chant, “
Wahe Guru…Wahe Guru,” invoking the name of God.
One of the volunteers at the langar is Sukhdev Singh, a 55-year-old Sikh
devotee from Fresno, California, who moved to Amritsar in 2013. Singh,
with his flowing ivory beard and Khalsa blue vest, could easily be
mistaken for a temple elder, yet he is one of the hundreds of people who
flock to the kitchens of the Golden Temple daily to volunteer. Though
today it costs tens of millions of dollars to run this kitchen, Singh
reminds us that Guru Nanak began the langar with only 20 rupees and a
handful of volunteers. Even with the astronomical cost, Singh says the
donations for the cost of preparations are offered up to two years in
advance in some cases. For the largely anonymous group of donors and
volunteers, keeping this kitchen running is a religious and social
obligation.
“There are only three things in our religion,” said Singh. “Chant the
name of God, sing religious hymns, and volunteer. I work as long as my
legs allow me to stand.”
Source:
munchies.vice.com
