Harjas Singh

And then another kid said, so you put a tomato on your head every morning and then you cover it with a piece of cloth?

Ew!

Five-year-olds can be pricks.

And then, out of nowhere, one of these kids comes and smacks my forehead, trying to squash that tomato.

Pride turns to shame.

And shame turns to fear.

And it's the first time I realized in my life that I could be hurt for no other reason than how I look.

I go back to the bus stop every morning and this game continues and I suffer this day after day and I don't tell anyone until one day it becomes too much.

I go back home crying to my mom and I ask her, why do I look like this?

My mom's first reaction, she rolls up her sleeves and says, who are these damn kids?

And what are your teachers doing?

Not protecting you?

And then she calms down and looks at me crying, wipes my tears, gives me a hug, and she says, beta, my son, we are six.

The turban is a part of our identity.

It's a gift given to us by our gurus.

And who are you to try and blend in when you were born to stand out?

Easier...

Easier said than done for a kid who's just trying to fit in with his friends.

But things only got worse after 9-11.

It was almost as if an anti-turban rhetoric had taken hold of the world, and it didn't leave my small town of Ranchi in India.