Part 1: Manifestation

I think we can agree that the idea of manifestation is everywhere nowadays. We hear about it in self-help books, on social media, and in the advice of “life coaches” who claim that we can create our own destiny if we just think positively, visualize success, and believe hard enough. It’s an idea that seems empowering, after all – who wouldn’t want to shape their own future?

But if you’re a Punjabi Sikh, this way of thinking may not be as natural as it seems. In fact, I don’t even think it’s ours to begin with. 

You see, our teachings offer a different perspective on life and destiny. Instead of trying to control everything, we trust in the divine order that shapes the universe. To be at peace, we’re taught to go with the flow, not fight against it. Ardaas, your deeply spiritual conversation with the Infinite, is a moment of surrender, gratitude, and petition – not expressed as a demand, but as an alignment with a higher will. When we view it through the lens of manifestation, Ardaas is the practice of intention-setting, vibrational alignment, and trust in the unfolding of life’s path. 

The essence of ardaas is that it’s dynamic, a flowing expression of devotion. The opening and closing portions remain consistent, but the middle-ish is personalized, which allows us or the collective to express struggles and aspirations. It acknowledges the vastness of the Divine while also acknowledging the role of human effort and resilience. 

So, what am I getting at?

Well, colonial rule introduced a capitalist, self-deterministic ideology that placed an emphasis on individual success and personal control over fate, which is in stark contrast to the Sikh understanding of acceptance. The colonial education system reinforced the idea that progress came through compliance with Western norms rather than reliance on Sikh spiritual and cultural principles. And capitalist structures rewarded material success, leading to a mindset where success was seen as the result of individual effort rather than Guru’s grace or Seva. Today, many Punjabi Sikhs engage with Western ideas of manifestation, which promote personal gain over collective uplifting. 

Being blunt, manifestation is a tool of colonial control. Western missionary education introduced ideas of personal salvation and ambition which subtly shifted Sikh thought from a state of Chardi Kala (a rising spirit in all circumstances) to a state of self-optimization. Then land reforms and taxation systems forced the people of the Land of Five Rivers into transactional, material-driven mindsets, making success seem like something to be “manifested” rather than something that’s organically cultivated through Seva and Kirat (honest hard work). 

Our people historically understood destiny as being intertwined with the collective and the divine order, but colonial conditioning promoted the idea that success was an individual endeavor, leading many people to adopt a mindset where manifestation became a tool of survival and upward mobility rather than a spiritual practice. 

Now, second and third-generation Sikhs, influenced by Western self-help philosophies – The Secret, Positive Psychology, and Social Media – increasingly embrace manifestation as a way to “control” their lives rather than accept what the universe is offering them through Hukkum. 

I think that decolonizing manifestation and returning to Sikh wisdom requires us to:

• Reframe it. Rather than seeing manifestation as an act of control, it can be reframed as ardaas and trust in hukkum. We can manifest, not by demanding outcomes, but by aligning ourselves with divine wisdom – recognizing that true fulfillment comes from seva and kirat rather than material gains. 

• Reconnect with Collective Prosperity. Sarbat da Bhala – the well-being of all. Shift from ego-driven goals to community-driven aspirations. 

• Return to Chardi Kala. Shift from the “success mindset”, something manifested through self effort, and return to a state of resilient optimism. 

Final Thoughts:

Manifestation, in its modern Western form, can subtly reinforce colonial conditioning by promoting individual success, materialism, and control over destiny – ideas that conflict with Sikh teachings on hukkum, seva, and chardi kala. By reclaiming intention setting through ardaas, humility, and collective well-being, we can decolonize our approach to manifestation and reconnect with a spiritual framework that empowers both the individual and the community. 

In the end…true manifestation isn’t about controlling life’s outcomes…it’s about trusting, serving, and aligning ourselves with something greater than the self. 

Part 2: Victim Mentality

The Cage with an Open Door.

Before British Rule, I know that my Sikh people were known for their resistance, self-determination, and fearlessness. From the early defiance of religious dogma to the later creation of The Sovereign, the people of The Land of Five Rivers have a history that is filled with stories of individuals who refused to be controlled – by emperors, by invaders, and by injustice.

But colonization doesn’t just take the land; it takes power away from the people – and one of the most effective ways to do that is to make people forget that they were ever powerful in the first place. You see, colonizers saw the spirit of the people of The Land of Five Rivers as a threat, and so they actively reshaped the Punjabi Sikh identity – from revolutionaries to colonial subjects, from fearless to dependent. The victim mentality, in this sense, became a colonial inheritance – passed down not through blood, but through narratives that told us that we’d lost, and that we’re now subjects rather than sovereigns.  

Before diving into it, it needs to be noted and understood that genuine victimization and victim mentality are two different topics and a distinction needs to be made. People who have experienced trauma may exhibit behaviours that resemble victim mentality – but their experiences should be acknowledged and addressed with sensitivity. The concept of “victim mentality” is quite complex and should be approached with nuance. 

There is a kind of prison that holds people captive and it’s not one made of steel bars. But of thoughts, beliefs, and the quiet whisper of “this is just the way things are.”

This is victim mentality – a way of seeing the world where life is something that happens to us, rather than something we participate in. It’s a place where blame is easy, where power feels distant, and where struggle becomes an identity rather than just a passing chapter in the story.

But what if the door to this prison was never locked?

There’s comfort in the cage and the victim mentality isn’t always a conscious choice. It can come from real pain, real injustice, and real struggle. Maybe life has been unfair and maybe you’ve faced betrayal, loss, or circumstances beyond your control.

And let’s be honest – sometimes, staying in the mindset of a victim feels safe. If we believe we are powerless, we don’t have to take responsibility for change. If life is just unfair, then we are free from the discomfort of stepping outside our familiar pain.

But the problem is, when we hold onto the identity of “the one who was wronged,” we also surrender our ability to become the one who rises.

There’s a cycle to victim mentality and it thrives on three beliefs:

• “This always happens to me.”

• The world feels stacked against you. Every setback is seen as proof that life is unfair. “I have no control.”

• Everything is blamed on external factors – people, systems, circumstances. While those things may be real, they are given full power over your life. “Things will never change.”

Even when opportunities for growth appear, they are dismissed as pointless or impossible.

The more these thoughts repeat, the stronger they become. The mind builds evidence for them, and over time, the belief solidifies: I am stuck.

But here’s the thing – struggle is real, but being trapped is an illusion.

The Sikh perspective can be understood through Chardi Kala and the warrior spirit. Sikh thought doesn’t deny suffering. It doesn’t ignore pain. But it refuses to let hardship define the soul.

Sikhi speaks of Chardi Kala – a state of eternal optimism, resilience, and rising even in the face of darkness. It’s a reminder that no matter what happens, the spirit remains unbreakable.

History has shown this again and again. The Sikh Gurus faced oppression but never saw themselves as victims. Instead, they became forces of transformation. They didn’t deny injustice, but they also refused to let it shrink their power.

Victim mentality says: “This is unfair, and I am powerless.”

Chardi Kala says: “This is unfair, and I will rise anyway.”

One is a closed door. The other is a call to action.

So, break free and take back your power. 

You may not control what happens to you, but you do control how you respond. That choice is where your power lives.

Rewrite the story by instead repeating “this always happens to me,” ask: What lesson is this teaching me? What strength is this revealing?

Step into Chardi Kala by understanding that hardship does not make you weak. It’s fuel. It’s fire. It’s the thing that will forge you into something unstoppable.

Blame keeps you stuck. Action moves you forward. Move from blame to action. Even the smallest step in a new direction is a rebellion against victim mentality.

Life isn’t always fair. Struggle is real. Pain is real. But you’re not your pain.

You’re something greater.

You’re something powerful.

You’re the one who rises.

Final thoughts: 

The cage was never locked. The door has always been open. The question is – will you walk through it?

Part 3: God

The word “God” is so deeply embedded in our language that it seems universal. But is it?

For many Punjabi Sikhs – especially those raised in the West – “God” is often the default term used when speaking about the Divine. It’s the word used in schools, in translations of Gurbani, and in conversations about faith. But here’s the question: Does “God” actually align with Sikh values, or is it a colonial construct that reshapes how we understand our own spirituality?

There’s a colonial imprint on the word “God” because it comes from a European, Christian framework – one shaped by colonial history, missionary influence, and a belief system that, for centuries, sought to define and control spiritual thought.

The British Empire didn’t just colonize land; they colonized minds. When Christian missionaries came to The Land of Five Rivers, they attempted to translate Sikh teachings using Christian terminology. “Ik Onkar” became “One God.” “Vaheguru” became interchangeable with “God.” These translations subtly reframed Sikh thought into a monotheistic, Abrahamic lens that doesn’t fully align with the fluid, non-dualistic understanding of the Divine in Sikhi.

You see, there was a British rewriting of the Sikh identity and during colonial rule, they categorized and classified religious groups based on their own understanding of faith. Sikhism was labeled a “monotheistic” religion – a framing that ignored the deeply experiential nature of Sikh teachings. By using “God” as the primary term, Sikh spirituality was forcibly reshaped to fit Western categories, moving away from its original roots in Naam, Hukkum, and Oneness.

The British education system in India also replaced indigenous spiritual vocabulary with English terminology. Over time, Sikhs – especially those educated in colonial schools – began referring to the Divine as “God” rather than Vaheguru. This wasn’t just a linguistic shift; it was a shift in perception.

So why does “God” conflict with Sikh values? 

Well, the Western concept of God is often seen as:

• A separate being, existing outside of creation.
• A judge, rewarding and punishing.
• A ruler, overseeing humanity from above.

But in Sikhi, the Divine is not a separate entity sitting in the sky. The Divine is Ik Onkar – formless, present in everything, and beyond human definition. Guru Nanak didn’t introduce a “God” in the way colonial religion understood. Instead, Guru Nanak spoke of Naam (Divine presence), Hukkum (Divine order), and Ik (Oneness) – ideas that reject hierarchy, external control, and fear-based devotion.

“God” implies a relationship of subservience, whereas Sikhi emphasizes a relationship of union. The Divine is not above you – it is within you. It is not something to fear, but something to merge into through love and awareness.

Are you wondering how the word “God” alters Sikh understanding? 

Well, it reinforces a dualistic view of the Divine. 

But also “God” suggests a being separate from us. Sikhi teaches us that the Divine is within and beyond, inseparable from all existence. 

It also implies a judgmental, anthropomorphic deity. In Western religious frameworks, God is often imagined as a judge, a ruler, or a father figure. But in Sikhi, the Divine is not a person – it’s an energy, a presence, a formless force moving through all things.

And lastly, it erases the experiential nature of Sikhi. Sikhi isn’t about belief in a deity – it’s about direct experience of the Divine through Simran, Seva, and understanding Hukkum.

Using “God” places the focus on belief and worship rather than Naam and realization.

Decolonizing the Sikh Relationship with the Divine

If “God” is a colonial term that doesn’t fully capture Sikh spirituality, how do we reclaim our understanding?

• Use the Language of Sikhi

Instead of “God,” reconnect with words like Ik Onkar, Waheguru, Nirankar, Naam, and Hukkum – terms that reflect the depth of Sikh teachings.

• Reclaim the Sikh Experience of the Divine

Move beyond belief and intellectual discussion. Sikh spirituality is about direct experience – feeling the presence of the Divine in Simran (remembrance), Seva (service), and Shabad (the Guru’s wisdom).

• Recognize the Power of Colonial Influence.

Question how Western ideas have shaped the way Sikhs understand their own faith. By returning to Guru Nanak’s original message, Sikhs can step away from external frameworks and into their own spiritual sovereignty.

Final Thoughts

The Divine is beyond any single word. But the words we use shape the way we see and experience reality. So, “God” is not an inherently bad word, but it is a colonial word – one that carries centuries of imposed meaning that may not fully align with Sikh thought.

Maybe the question isn’t “Do you believe in God?”

Maybe the real question is “Are you experiencing Oneness?”

Because the Divine is not something to be believed in – it is something to be lived.

Part 4: Guilt

It’s a colonial chain on the Sikh spirit. 

Forces that only need belief can control you without ever touching you and they don’t need violence, laws, or physical chains. Forces like guilt – the quiet, heavy burden that makes us police ourselves, shrink ourselves, and live in fear of stepping beyond the boundaries imposed on us. 

You see, for many Sikhs, guilt has become a tool of control, not just in personal lives but in spiritual and cultural identity. And like many of the deepest wounds carried by our community, this, too, is a legacy of colonization. 

• “You’re not doing enough”
• “You’re not worthy”
• “You’re failing your faith, your family, your ancestors”

Sikh spirituality, at its core, isn’t about guilt. It is about love, courage, and direct connection with the Divine. Guru Nanak didn’t preach fear. He didn’t say we were sinners (although some English translations will have you believe this because the English language lacks the depth to explain. But, in short, Sikhs don’t believe in sin, rather we believe in identifying ourselves with the five vices that hinder spiritual progress.), nor did he command us to live in shame. Instead, he spoke of Naam (Divine presence), Hukkum (alignment with the Universe), and liberation from fear.

But British colonial rule introduced a different framework – one that was rooted in obedience, punishment, and the idea that people must be controlled not by force, but by their own conscience.

During colonization:

• Christian missionary influence reframed morality in terms of sin, guilt, and confession.
• Victorian-era discipline imposed strict social expectations, making guilt a tool for self-regulation.
• British governance of Sikhs encouraged institutionalized religious authority, leading to a shift from personal connection to God toward external judgment.

Instead of teaching Sikhs to be fearless in their spiritual and worldly pursuits, colonial influence reinforced the idea that to be a good Sikh meant to be obedient, to feel guilty for stepping outside imposed norms, and to fear the consequences of imperfection.

Remember the most powerful forms of control don’t need physical force, they actually just need people to believe that they have to behave a certain way, or else they’re unworthy.

Guilt in Religion – Instead of approaching Sikhi with love and curiosity, many are told they should feel guilty for not reading enough Bani, not wearing a dastaar, or not following strict interpretations of discipline.

Guilt in Family – instead of being taught that their ancestors were warriors of free will, Sikhs are often made to feel guilty for not living up to expectations, for wanting independence, or for breaking with tradition.

Guilt in Identity – instead of embracing the fluid, open-minded nature of Sikh philosophy, many are conditioned to feel guilty for asking too many questions, challenging authority, or exploring their own spiritual journey.

The result? A community that governs itself through guilt rather than love. A community where many people walk away from their roots, not because they don’t feel connected, but because they feel they will never be “good enough” to belong.

Sikhi was built on love – Guru Nanak didn’t travel thousands of miles to make people feel guilty. Guru Gobind Singh didn’t sacrifice everything so that future Sikhs would live in fear of not being “enough.”

Sikhi was built on love, courage, and direct experience of the Divine.

The Gurus didn’t teach us to fear mistakes but they did teach us to learn and grow from them.

The Gurus didn’t say we were unworthy of divine love but they did remind us that we are already one with it.

The Gurus didn’t impose shame but they did invite us into a path of joy, connection, and freedom.

Yet, through colonization, this natural Sikh spirit was reframed into something restrictive, something bound by rules and consequences rather than by devotion and discovery.

If guilt is a colonial tool, then the way forward is to unlearn it. Decolonizing Sikh Spirituality will take: 

• Reclaiming Sikhi as a path of love, not punishment. Don’t engage in your faith out of obligation. Do it because it connects you to something greater than yourself.
• Shifting from fear of failure to curiosity and growth. Sikhi is about learning, evolving, and deepening your connection, not about checking off a list of religious duties.
• Letting go of the idea that you are “not good enough” for Sikhi. The Divine doesn’t operate on guilt. The Divine is already within you, you don’t have to earn it.

If a teaching makes you feel unworthy, shameful, or fearful of your own identity, ask where it comes from. Is it Sikhi? Or is it colonial conditioning?

Final Thoughts

Guilt is a cage and it keeps many Sikhs feeling unworthy, afraid, and disconnected. But know this, the door has always been open.

The Gurus never asked for obedience through guilt. They asked for fearlessness, for love, and for a willingness to step into the vastness of the Divine with an open heart.

If Sikhi was never meant to be about guilt then why should we continue to carry that weight now?

The moment we let go of guilt and return to love, we break a link in the colonial chain on the Sikh spirit.

Part 5: Psychological Labels

Do you remember a time when we didn’t define ourselves by fixed personality types? 

I don’t. But I do know there was a time when we didn’t.

I know in my heart that there was a time that my Punjabi Sikh people simply existed and adapted to the needs of the moment, shaped by their environment, their relationships, and their inner growth. 

But today, we’re asked to label ourselves – to fit into categories that tell us who we are, what we’re capable of, and where we belong. 

Introvert. Extrovert. Ambivert. 

The words seem harmless enough, even helpful. But have you ever asked where they come from, and why we feel the need to define ourselves in such rigid terms? Could it be that these labels, like many psychological constructs, aren’t universal truths, but products of colonial frameworks that reshape how we see ourselves?

The terms Introvert and Extrovert were popularized by Carl Jung, a Swiss psychologist whose work was deeply embedded in European, individualistic thought. Jung categorized people based on how they gained energy – either from solitude or from social interaction. 

For the record, I appreciate Jungian psychology and I use his works regularly – it’s excellent. But I believe that applying any theory universally without considering cultural nuances can lead to misinterpretations and oversimplifications. It’s also important to recognize that psychology as a field of study has evolved significantly since Jung’s time. I’ll leave it at that. 

So, at first glance, this seems useful. But here’s the problem – we don’t exist in fixed states, we’re not machines with only two settings.

Before these psychological labels, Sikh philosophy and many other indigenous traditions, taught that a person isn’t one thing or another, but is a fluid and evolved being shaped by the natural flow of life. 

Colonial psychology, however, seeks to classify, control, and categorize. Instead of seeing people as dynamic, it forces us into boxes and encourages self-definition through rigid labels rather than self-exploration through experience. 

How do some psychological labels act as a form of mental colonization? Remember, colonial rule wasn’t just about the land, it was about reprogramming the way people saw themselves. 

In pre-colonial societies, identity was relational, not individualistic. You weren’t defined by personality types but by your role in the collective. Some days you needed to be quiet, some days you needed to be loud. 

Colonial education systems trained people to self-identify based on Western psychological models. Somewhere along the line, it became important to “know yourself” through labels rather than through lived experience.

Psychological labels became self-fulfilling. When a person calls themselves an introvert, they may limit themselves from stepping into leadership roles, from speaking up, from engaging fully. And similarly, extroverts may feel pressure to be social, even when they need solitude. 

Full stop – we begin to shrink our own potential when we internalize these labels. 

The Sikhi approach is fluidity over fixed labels. Sikh thought doesn’t limit people with personality types. Instead, it emphasizes balance, adaptability, and alignment with Hukkum. Guru Nanak didn’t say that only extroverts could lead, but they did teach that leadership is about truth, courage, and service. Guru Gobind Singh didn’t say that only introverts were spiritual, instead they created the Sovereign, a collective that could meditate deeply one second and act boldly the next, as needed. Gurbani doesn’t encourage self-limitation, it encourages expansion, self-discovery, and breaking free from any identity that confines the soul. 

Let me say that again, our Sikh teachings, that many of us grew up on, encourage breaking free from any identity that confines the soul. 

A Sikh isn’t an introvert. A Sikh isn’t an extrovert. A Sikh is who they need to be in the moment. 

So if some personality labels are a form of mental colonization, then how do we decolonize our self-perception?

• See yourself as fluid, not fixed. Some days you need solitude. Some days you need community. You are both, and you are neither. 
• Reject psychological categories that limit you. Instead of saying “I am an introvert, so I can’t lead,” ask yourself, “what does this moment require of me?”
• Return to the flow of life. Personality is not a box. It’s an evolving state, shaped by the world around you. Let it change, return to Hukkum. 
• Engage without labels. Imagine meeting others and not asking questions about their personality but simply observing who they are in the present moment. 

Final Thoughts

The mind was never meant to be put in a box and the moment we identify too strongly with any one label, we limit our own potential. The Sikh way was never about finding yourself in fixed definitions, it was always about losing yourself to something greater. 

So the question isn’t “are you an introvert or an extrovert?

But rather, “who are you when you stop trying to define yourself?”

Part 6: Discipline

Discipline Is a Place: Found in the Details of Life

What do you think of when you hear/see the word “discipline”? Specifically, what’s painted in the theatre of your mind when you think of it?

We often think of discipline as a set of rules, a schedule, a system that we force ourselves to follow. We talk about it like a battle between willpower and weakness – a grind, a struggle, and a constant test of how much we can endure. 

But, what if that’s all wrong?

What if discipline isn’t a punishment or a task…but a place?

What if it’s not something you do, but something that you enter – a state of being you return to, over and over again?

What if that place isn’t found in big dramatic gestures or perfectly executed routines – but in the small, quiet details of daily life?

You see, most folks try to find discipline in the big moments:

• Waking up at 0400
• Crushing a long workout
• Fasting for 48 hours
• Writing a book in a month

But true discipline reveals itself in moments so subtle that you might miss them:

• Wiping down the kitchen counter when no one’s watching
• Tying your shoes with care before a run
• Folding your clothes instead of leaving them in a pile
• Pausing before you speak, instead of reacting

These tiny decisions are the gateways. They open the door to the place where discipline lives. And once you’re there, you can feel it…a rhythm, a steadiness. A kind of inner alignment that says, “I’m here, I’m awake, I’m choosing this.”

In Sikh wisdom, discipline is a sacred presence. It’s not about harsh control. It’s about Sahej – a state of balance, calm, and natural flow. It’s not about forcing yourself; it’s about becoming aligned with your highest self, one breath, one step at a time. 

• Nitnem isn’t about checking boxes. It’s about returning to yourself again and again, even when you don’t feel like it
• Simran doesn’t happen in loud performative ways. It happens in the whisper of the breath, in the way you move through the world when no one is looking.
• Langar isn’t sustained by big efforts, but by thousands of smalls, consistent acts of service. 

In Sikhi, discipline is woven into the fabric of life. Not separate. Not superior. Just quietly alive in everything that you do with intention and care. 

We want the transformation without the process. We want the clarity without the stillness. We want the strength without the repetition. 

But transformation doesn’t happen all at once. It happens when you show up for the small things: 

• Making your bed with presence
• Speaking kindly to someone you’re annoyed with
• Journaling your thoughts instead of numbing them
• Walking outside and paying attention to the light

Discipline isn’t built. It’s remembered. And it’s remembered in the details – the place where your life meets your values. 

Discipline is where you return to yourself. You don’t have to white-knuckle your way through life to be disciplined. But you do have to return to the place inside of you that knows what matters. 

That place where your breath slows down. That place where your hands move with care. That place where you feel grounded, even when the world is spinning. 

You don’t need more rules. You need more presence. 

Finals Thoughts

Discipline isn’t a war. It’s not a punishment. It’s not a finish line. 

Discipline is a place.

It’s found in the way you pour your coffee/tea, in the way you sit down to write, in the way you choose to stay instead of run.

It’s not loud. It’s not flashy. But it’s always there, waiting for you to notice. 

So the next time you think you’re lacking discipline, ask yourself: what small detail have I stopped paying attention to?

Because when you return to the details, you return to yourself. And that’s where discipline has been all along. 

With love,

Gurmukh