By Jarnail Singh Arshi | Opinion |
Today’s Sikhs have turned into junkyard operators.
Our gurdwaras have become spiritual scrapyards—I call them religious waste-recycling centers—and our Khalsa schools now serve as their training grounds.
When Guru Nanak Ji appeared in 1469, he travelled across the world observing its blind rituals, hollow superstitions and meaningless religious practices. He saw, noted and rejected them all. From that rejection, he painted a new canvas and laid the foundation of Sikhi—a fresh, fearless vision of truth and humanity.
But what did we Sikhs do?
We went back to the very refuse Guru Nanak had discarded, picked it up again, renamed it, polished it—and then declared, “This is Sikhism!” What Guru Nanak revealed in Gurmat—the wisdom of the Guru—we abandoned, and in its place, built a counterfeit religion of our own making. Now we rummage through the trash heaps of superstition, while the real treasure of Nanak lies buried and forgotten.
Guru Nanak and Vasco da Gama: Two Opposing Worldviews
We often call today’s world a “global village.” Yet within that phrase hides a remarkable coincidence—two men born just nine years apart, both of whom set out to traverse the globe.
Vasco da Gama, born in 1460, sailed in search of new trade routes and reached Calicut, India, in 1498—ushering in the age of European imperialism. Guru Nanak, born in 1469, began his Udasis—his spiritual journeys—around the same time.
Both travelled far and wide, but their destinations and purposes were worlds apart. Da Gama’s journey was driven by commerce; Guru Nanak’s, by compassion. One opened the seas for conquest and exploitation; the other opened human hearts with the cry of “Tera! Tera!”—All belongs to You. One turned money into the supreme god and robbed humanity of dignity; the other restored that dignity by reminding mankind of its divine worth. One prayed for personal gain; the other prayed for the good of all. It was, in truth, a clash between two civilizations—the world of greed and the world of grace.
Tragically, today the descendants of Vasco da Gama rule the global order of trade and politics—and even sadder, those who call themselves the followers of Guru Nanak have turned Sikhi itself into an international business franchise.
“Tera! Tera!” — the True Trade
Guru Nanak, too, was a trader—but his trade was of an entirely different kind. His first enterprise was Langar—feeding the hungry and serving the poor. His second was at Sultanpur Lodhi, where while weighing goods he repeated, “Tera! Tera!”—“Yours! Yours!” That was the opposite of Vasco da Gama’s “Mine! Mine!” It was a spiritual economy built on selflessness, gratitude and divinity. Guru Nanak declared, “The true merchant is one who trades in truth.” In this trade, no one exploits another—each dedicates themselves to the welfare of all.
But what has become of us now? Those who call themselves disciples of Nanak run factories, stores, and industries in his name—profiting off “Nanak’s people.” Everywhere you see it: Guru Nanak Grocery Store, Guru Nanak Jewelers, Guru Nanak Furniture House, Guru Nanak Medical Store—as if the Guru himself were their business partner!
Worse yet, many gurdwaras abroad have become private enterprises—registered under personal ownership, operated as family businesses. Even in India and Punjab, religion is now an industry—faith has become a commodity for sale.
The Business of Sikhi: Private Gurdwaras and Nagar Kirtans
It is no secret anymore—in many places, religion itself has turned into trade. Someone buys land, builds a house, then simply hangs a signboard: “Gurdwara Sahib.” Until the building is ready, Guru Granth Sahib Ji is placed in a rented house, a truck trailer or a makeshift hall—and “services” begin. Meanwhile, the owner’s regular business continues from the same vehicle—devotion and profit rolled into one.
This “model” still thrives today, most visibly through Nagar Kirtans—where the Guru’s form is carried on tractor-trolleys, paid performers sing devotional hymns, and the crowds trail behind like a festive parade. In other faiths it’s called a religious procession, where idols are wheeled through streets. We’ve simply changed the name. Thus, religion has become performance—display over devotion, show over spirit.
The 1969 Celebration and the Fascination with Sobha Singh’s Portrait
Just as the world celebrated Guru Nanak’s 550th anniversary recently, so too, in 1969, the 500th Parkash Purab was observed with grandeur. Seminars, conferences, and exhibitions were held across the globe, reflecting on the continuing relevance of Nanak’s message.
I still remember how reverently we celebrated it in Kuala Lumpur. In Amritsar’s Gol Bagh, a grand function gathered presidents, prime ministers, MPs, and spiritual leaders like the Dalai Lama. That same year, the Kapoor family’s film Nanak Naam Jahaz Hai was released, turning “Deh Shiva” into the unofficial Sikh anthem.
When we all attended the fairs that morning, what did people bring home? Pictures! Kara, kanga, kirpan and miniature khanda—all selling like hotcakes. But the bestseller was Sobha Singh’s famous portrait of Guru Nanak, hand raised in blessing. Almost everyone bought one, framed it in gold, and hung it proudly on their walls. Only later did we learn that Sobha Singh had painted his own reflection from a mirror—and simply named it “Guru Nanak.” And we are still buying those portraits—by the truckload!
We brought home the pictures, but left Nanak behind. The picture remains—the philosophy is lost.
Forget others—look within your own home. How many houses contain books that explain the philosophy of Guru Nanak’s life? Very few, I fear. But in almost every home, there hangs a portrait of Baba Nanak.
Even our ragis—those who sing Gurbani—have begun to imitate Sobha Singh’s image. They raise one hand heavenward, pointing upward just like the painting, so that the congregation need not even imagine Guru Nanak—they can simply look at the performer and see “Baba Nanak” before them. Today, the touchstone of truth—the living Gurbani—has been reduced to melodies, rhythms, and spectacle.
We nod our heads and exclaim, “How beautiful the voice! What a tabla player! What a graceful jatha!” Yet by the end of it, not one line of the shabd remains in our hearts. Its meaning forgotten; its message untouched.
Imported Flames and the Irony of Rituals
The tragedy deepens. We are no longer content with Sobha Singh’s paintings—now we import “sacred lamps” too! Flames are carried from Guru Nanak’s birthplace, installed in local gurdwaras, as if that “original light” were somehow holier than all others. Like the lamps of Diwali night, they must be refilled daily with ghee—or else they die out.
If this is our standard of holiness, why not also import ghee from the 180th-generation descendants of Guru Nanak’s cows, so that the “authentic light” remains truly pure? (After all, cows live shorter lives—so the arithmetic of 180 generations makes perfect sense. And we Sikhs do believe in pedigrees, don’t we?)
But it breaks the heart to see this—for the light Guru Nanak kindled was meant to dispel the darkness of ignorance, not to flicker inside smoky glass lamps fed by ritual. The Jot of Nanak was never in candles or flames—it was in the inner illumination of human consciousness. Alas—we have lost that true light, and in its place, we keep kindling its pale imitation.
(Jarnail Singh Arshi, a freelance content creator on Gurbani, Gurmat Sikh History and Punjabi Language, is a retired Malaysian government teacher and Giani in Punjabi Language. contributes to various discussion groups, including the International Journal of Sikh Affairs (INJSA) and www.sikhphilosophy.net. He is also the webmaster of the Sikhi Vichar Forum website. He can be contacted at jsgyani at gmail dot com)
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