When Bana Inspires Without Words...

On 11th August, while travelling back from Khalsa Camp Europe, I was going through security at Amsterdam Airport. I was dressed in full Bana (Sikh religious attire) and, as always, wore my hazuria (the white cloth worn around the neck that represents readiness to serve and humility as a Sikh). I never take it off. Occasionally, staff ask me to remove it, but when I politely explain that it’s part of my religious uniform, they’ve always respected that. In fact, I’ve found it often sparks curiosity and questions — gentle opportunities to share awareness about Sikhi.

I also wear my Sarbloh Khanda on my dastaar, even though it sets off the metal detectors every time. But that’s fine. Sadly, I’ve seen some people even take off their karra to avoid the machine going off. To me, it’s no big deal if the detector bleeps. A minute or two extra in security is worth it if it means keeping our Sikh identity intact — and maybe even inspiring or educating someone along the way.

This time, the security guard was a tall man who looked Middle Eastern. He greeted me with a warm smile. Before starting the check, I asked politely if he could wear gloves. I usually explain it as that I have “OCD,” but really, it’s Gurmat Suchamta — hygiene according to Sikh principles. Most people don’t understand it otherwise. For me, it’s simply about not wanting someone who’s smoked a cigarette, not washed their hands when going to the toilet, or sneezed into their hands to then touch my clothes and hazuria. To me, it’s just common sense.

“I’m sorry to be a nuisance,” I said.

The man was very polite. “No, it’s perfectly okay.” He even spent a few minutes finding gloves, since he didn’t have any with him. When he returned, he put them on in front of me and said, “Are you okay for me to check you?”

As he looked at my small kirpan, he paused.
“You’re a Sikh, right?”

“Yes,” I replied, a little surprised he recognised it immediately.

He then leaned closer and said, “Are you someone important — high up in your community?”

I smiled. “No, I’m just an ordinary Sikh.” His question confused me, until he pointed to my small kirpan.

“But you’re wearing the holy dagger,” he said. “To wear it must mean you are a very special and important person. You must be someone high-up.”

I didn’t quite know how to respond, so I just humbly smiled. He seemed genuinely delighted to see my dastaar and Bana. After respectfully completing the checks, he placed both hands together, lowered his head, and thanked me before wishing me well on my journey. I was left overwhelmed by his respect — not for me personally, but clearly for the Bana I wore.

Soon after, I realised my hand luggage had been pulled aside for further inspection. I waited patiently until my turn came.

The lady officer asked, “Can you open your bag?”

I explained politely, “I have OCD — so would you mind wearing clean gloves before touching my bag?”

She smiled warmly. “I don’t mind… but how do you cope with the flight?”

I replied with a smile, “I keep anti-bacterial wipes with me.” She chuckled softly, “That’s good.”

As I opened the bag, I worried she might handle the langar inside. The passenger before me, a white lady, had her bag searched thoroughly — every pocket emptied, every item touched.

When the officer asked what I was carrying, I told her, “My laptop, and food.” She asked me to open each pocket, and I prepared myself to say, “Please don’t touch my food, otherwise I won’t be able to eat it.” But instead, she surprised me.

“Don’t worry,” she said kindly. “I won’t touch anything in your bag. I’ll just swab your laptop.”

Within seconds, she was done and waved me through with a smile. I noticed the passenger after me didn’t receive the same courtesy — his bag was thoroughly searched.

Walking away, I reflected on the experience. Both security staff had shown me such respect — not in spite of my Bana, but because of it.

It made me think of how many Gursikhs wear Bana happily at the Gurdwara or at smaagams (religious events), but when it comes to flying, they switch to jeans and t-shirts. Some say it’s for comfort, others perhaps to avoid standing out. But from my experience, Bana is actually more comfortable when travelling — and far from inviting discrimination, it has almost always brought me respect, kindness, and positivity.

I pray that more Sikhs realise the true power of Bana, and wear it with grace not only within the walls of the Gurdwara, but out in the world. Worn with love and remembrance of our Guru, Bana uplifts our own spirit and keeps us connected to Sikhi. At the same time, it silently inspires and educates others — without us even having to say a word.