Truth Seeking

By Krishna Singh and Christa Brodie-Levinsohn

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• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781467883719

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CHAPTER 1

My name is Krishna Singh. I was born in India—Hoshiarpur district, Punjab. My father was the late Mr Jackie Ram and my mother the late Pritam Kaur. I was born into this family and brought up there. We were a mixed faith family, my mother a Sikh and my father a nominal Christian. My father believed a bit of the Bible, but my mother was set against the Christian faith. She did not even like us to use the greeting Salam-jee, because she associated that with Christians.

My mother believed the Sikh religion was the only way to God. Early in the morning at 4 o’clock she would read her holy book, Granth Sahib, and pray to her Sikh god. She had been brought up strictly according to the Sikh religion, just like her family before her. Her father was an elder in the gurdwara, and she had been taught that the Sikh god was the only God in the world. So naturally my mother would teach us the same. We did not learn anything about Christ from her.

This was her whole life’s foundation: good works, prayer, don’t lie or steal, respect your mother and father. These were the things she taught us. Show respect for your elders and be kind to others. We learned morals and politeness, things which are a bit missing from English culture today! My mother said, That’s what you’ve got to learn. And this was the most important thing: Believe in our god. You will be happy and successful. That’s enough for you, ladies, she would say.

I didn’t expect to learn from my mother about other gods. The thought came into my mind from time to time, but I could never mention it to her—I knew what she would say. My father would say, Listen to your mother.

It would be very difficult to speak to her about another god because her roots went down so deeply into the Sikh religion. I can’t blame her for that—the Sikh religion was ingrained from generation to generation. But nothing is too hard for God.

My father as I mentioned was a nominal Christian. He had a bit of faith and he was happy with it that way. He read a portion of the Bible in Urdu aloud to us at Christmas, but he never explained to us what it meant. We were never told what Christmas was all about. Perhaps he did not know himself what it meant. And perhaps he did not want to know.

My father came to England in 1962. He was invited by the British army because he was a hard worker and had served the British army for ten years. He was given a work permit to live and work in England—this was a good opportunity for him. He worked extremely hard as a chef and in other factories and foundries. After two years, my elder brother, Sawarn Chand, came to join him and help him. They worked together and bought a house—in Buckingham St, Oxford—for £2,300. And then my father and brother called us to England.

I came with my mother in 1966. Four of us came with my mother to join them: me, my sister Drusilla, and brothers Daniel and the late Karam Chand. My eldest sister, Sawran Kaur, stayed in India because she was married.

We arrived in England on 15 November 1966. It was a new country, new culture, cold weather. Everything was new. When we arrived at the airport, my father came to meet us, and we all grabbed him. We hadn’t seen him for four years. At 12, I was the eldest. My little brother was four years old; he had only been a few months when my father had left for England. My father was so pleased to see us—we had all grown up. He brought us sweets and fruits.

Where is our brother? we asked.

He’s at home, he said. He’s cooking you a nice meal!

As we left the airport, we noticed everything was covered in white.

What is this? we asked.

It’s snow.

We were running around but my dad said, This is not India, you know! Watch you don’t fall!

I had never felt so cold in my life! He took us and we sat in the car to keep warm, driving from London Heathrow to Oxford. When we arrived at the house, we almost knocked the door down we were so eager to see our brother! He opened the door, embraced and kissed us.

You’re all grown up! he said.

We sat in the living room. He had prepared a fire for us: one coal fire heated the whole house. He had also prepared dinner—lamb curry with rice—and we all sat down together. I was so happy; we were joking and laughing. It was so exciting.

Then my father said, It’s getting late—there’s always tomorrow—you can share your stories then. Now it’s time to go to bed.

CHAPTER 2

My siblings and I all slept in the same room because we did not want to be apart. The next morning I was awoken by the noises of other children. I was the first to awake. I peeked out the window, and saw them throwing snowballs on their way to school. I had never seen this game before as we never had snow in India. Then I woke my sister Drusilla, Look! Those kids are playing with balls of snow! The excitement in our voices woke our brothers up. When we’d arrived the night before, everything had been dark. Now in the light, there was so much to take in—the rooftops all covered with snow… We must have been a sight, the four of us staring out the window, wishing we could go outside and play.

The next moment my father walked in, and said in English, Good morning!

Salam-jee papa-jee! we replied. We didn’t know how to say Good morning!

We told him we wanted to play outside in the snow with the other kids, but he said he would take us to the park later on. First we had to have breakfast.

My mum and dad cooked us nice porridge—nice and milky. My father advised that we put on our jumpers, so we put on the jumpers our mother had knitted for us. We didn’t have any coats. Then the four of us went outside to play.

Don’t break any windows! Dad called.

All the houses were very close together so there was a distinct possibility of that!

After one or two hours we came inside to help our mother clean the house, and stayed indoors the rest of the day. The next day, my father took us shopping. He bought us coats with hoods, sturdy boots, and more woolly sweaters. We didn’t want to wear the coats—we thought the hoods looked funny, a little scary even. But he gave us all kinds of reasons as to why we had to wear them.

After a week had passed, my parents decided we should be sent to school. Perhaps we had worn them out! My brother worked on night shifts and had to sleep during the day—I suppose we didn’t give him much peace.

We were shocked. We were really scared—we used to go to school in India, but school in England would be entirely different. I was the most afraid.

How will we cope? We don’t speak any English . . . we can’t even write English . . . If we have a problem, we won’t be able to tell anyone about it! How will we ask to go to the toilet?!

These thoughts and questions flooded my mind. I pleaded with my parents.

Send the others! I’m the eldest—I will help mum bibi-jee.

It was a nice try, but it didn’t work.

It’s the law, dad said. You have to go to school until you are 16.

So we started at South Oxford School—it’s all been turned into buildings now. We arrived with our hooded coats on, standing tight. Dad negotiated with the headmaster. They can join next week, he was told. There were a few other Indian children at the school so we would be all right. The headmaster was very kind. Don’t worry, he said. If I took my children to India, they’d be in the same position.

My little brother went to the nursery and another went to primary school. I went to the secondary school, but we were all on the same site. We had to wear a uniform, but I didn’t want to wear one. Can’t I go like this? But we had to wear a white shirt with navy trousers. So all the preparations were made and we started going to school.

Before we started school, my father once again gave us a little talking to.

Now, behave yourselves, all of you. Be good.

I said, Daddy, don’t worry about us misbehaving—we can’t even speak!

In India sometimes teachers would hit the pupils if they misbehaved but my dad reassured us that teachers here did not hit pupils. Just do what they tell you, he said.

On our first day, there was an assembly. The other Indian girls took care of me—they translated a little bit for me. I will never forget that first day at school. I was so nervous I was physically shaking. After a week or so I began to like it. So did my brothers and sisters. We all got used to it over time. And little by little, we started learning English.

I loved to wake up early and get ready so that I would be the first person at assembly. I loved it. I forgot all about my brothers and sisters! All the children got together, the teachers too. They sang a hymn, prayed, and the headmaster shared a bit from the Bible, with a little message. Even though I didn’t understand much, I found myself very drawn to it. I look back on this as my spiritual awakening. Some people missed assembly, but I always wanted to be there.

What were they singing about? I wanted to know. I hoped someone would help me understand. After assembly was finished, I had happiness and peace, and looked forward to the next one.

After a few weeks, my father and elder brother sat us down and asked us if we were happy with the school and everything.

Papa-jee, I love the assembly in the morning! But I don’t understand what they are saying.

Give it time, he replied. You will understand bit by bit.

CHAPTER 3

As I got older, day by day, my interest in these things grew. As I grew, my interest grew. I wanted to find out more about God and the Bible. What is the Bible? What does it say? What is it all about? Who is God?

I wanted