Introduction

1Founded as recently as the turn of the 16th century in the Punjab region of South Asia, Sikhism is now recognised as the fifth major world religion with followers settled in numerous countries across the globe. The widespread migration of Sikhs has been a result of both pull factors such as economic opportunities, and push factors such as the 1984 anti-Sikh Indian-state-sponsored pogroms in which thousands of ordinary male citizens were tortured and killed within four days, women raped, and property destroyed on a large scale. Wherever Sikhs have migrated and settled, the dominant means of worship and sociality has been congregating around sacred song and accompanying practices. Sacred sound has been an important artery linking Sikhs to each other locally and globally.

4To bring out the singularities of my interlocutors’ lifeworlds, I draw on the analytics of “worldings” (Stewart 2011, 2014 {based on Heidegger 1962}). The notion of worldings addresses the processes of an individual’s world making and thereby foregrounds the dynamics at play. In this paper, I propose “transnational worldings” as a concept that attends to the role of the transnational in the everyday. I focus in particular on processes of affective attunements – alignments of sentiments and feelings, to those in sacred song-texts and associated practices and places.

5I also offer an expanded notion of “transnational affects” from that proposed by Velayutham and Wise (2005), one that shifts from their focus on the translocal transposition of pre-existing affects and duplication of moral economies, to an attention also to accruals of affects emerging from the interactives between old and new localities – materialities as well as imaginaries. These modified analytics, of worldings and transnational affects, acknowledge and incorporate processes of individual agency and change along with those of accumulation and stickiness (Ahmed 2004), and thus can foreground new, diverse, and overlapping fields of distributions – of affects, subjectivities, belongings and identities.

6Additionally, I use non-representational methodologies (Vannini 2015) of storytelling and re-presenting the voice of the interlocutor more directly rather than representing the interlocutor. I base my arguments on fieldwork undertaken during the last decade in different parts of India and the USA, including concentrated fieldwork at the greater San Francisco Bay Area in California over the last two years. My ethnographic method consists of a mix of participant observation, semi-structured interviews with Sikhs living in the USA, Kenya, and England, and study of internet resources such as blogs, forums, YouTube postings, and other websites. To anonymise I use pseudonyms for my interlocutors.

Sikh Sabad Kīrtan (Sacred Song)

7Sikh sonic worship, and it can be said Sikhism itself, started with the sabad (sacred songs) of Guru Nanak (1469-1539) in the western part of Punjab, then India, and since 1947, Pakistan. Guru Nanak travelled widely with his Muslim companion and rabāb (lute) accompanist, Mardana (1459-1534), singing his songs of piety, ethics and social justice (Figure 1). Followed by nine successors (1504-1708), the ten Sikh Gurus (spiritual preceptors who held the status of prophets for their followers, Sikhs {lit. students}) shaped Sikh philosophy, practice, and music.

8The Sikh Gurus had over 5,000 of their sabad scribed into the Sikh primary scripture, the Guru Granth Sahib (lit. respected spiritual-authority book; Figure 2), and instituted it as the eternal Guru of the Sikhs after the passing of the tenth human Guru. They also included in the scripture a few hundred song-texts from poet-saints from the Hindu and Muslim faith traditions. They sang in diverse musical genres and styles, accompanied on stringed instruments and drums. They institutionalised sabad kīrtan (singing of sacred song) as congregational worship, employing professional rabābīs (Muslim hereditary musicians who sang with self-accompaniment on the rabāb) and rāgīs (Sikh musicians, lit. those who sing {in} rāg), and instituted the singing of vārs (heroic songs) by ḍhāḍīs (singers who sing with self-accompaniment on the hourglass-shaped handheld drum, ḍhaḍ). While a variety of musical genres and ever changing-styles continue to be used for sabad kīrtan in India and worldwide (Kaur 2011, 2016a, 2016b; Purewal & Lallie 2013), only the canonised text in the Sikh scriptures is considered appropriate to use. Sikhs hold a deeply affective relation to Guru Granth Sahib. It is honoured as the embodiment of the wisdom of their revered and beloved Gurus.

9Sabad kīrtan continues to be the central mode of worship and devotional expression in Sikhism. The key components of a liturgical service are the ceremonial opening reading of a sabad from the Guru Granth Sahib (hukum vāk, literally spoken command), recitation (pātth) of sabad compositions (bāni), sabad kīrtan, collective prayer (ardās) and the closing reading of a sabad from the Guru Granth Sahib. An additional optional activity is philosophical discourse on the opening sabad of the day, on bāni in general, or on a historical topic. At occasions marking historical events, an important expressive practice is the singing of non-scriptural ballads (ḍhāḍī vār). The end of the liturgical session is marked by the distribution of karah parshād (sweet flour pudding) to all the congregants, who then proceed to the dining hall to partake of langar (communal meal) prepared by volunteers in the kitchen on the premises.

10Sikh congregational worship occurs at the gurdwāra (place of worship, lit. doorway to the Guru; see Figure 3). A visit to the gurdwāra is a multi-sensorial and affective experience for Sikhs. Whenever possible, gurdwāras are constructed as grand buildings. The presiding entity in the gurdwāra is the Guru Granth Sahib, which is placed on a raised pedestal covered with ornate scarves under a matching ornate canopy, embroidered with Sikh symbols such as the double-edged sword, khandā, symbolising the significance of both spiritual and temporal engagement in life, mīrī-pīrī. An attendant is always present, fanning an ornate flywhisk, thus, giving Guru Granth Sahib the respect and authority due to a royal leader.

11As devotees enter the darbār (sanctuary; lit. royal court), they walk down a central aisle (Figure 4), bow to Guru Granth Sahib (Figure 5), circumambulate around it, receive warm fragrant parshād if they wish (Figure 6), and sit down to enjoy the sweet pudding and the liturgical session in progress (Figure 7). Congregants are encouraged to listen as well as sing in call-and-response format.

12The auditory, visual, haptic, olfactory and gustatory, all come together in a gurdwāra experience. The variety of sensorial and embodied kinaesthetic engagements, along with feelings of love and awe for Guru Granth Sahib, as well as the sociality of the congregation, infuse the gurdwāra experience with affective power. The gurdwāra is a compelling place, but not without sacred song. The two favourite activities at the gurdwāra are listening to sabad kīrtan and eating langar. Sacred song configures not only the congregation but also the subjectivities and identities of its members, as well as their sociality. Affect circulated via sacred songs has been a significant invigorator of the feeling of belonging to a Sikh community.

13Sabad kīrtan is believed to bring a number of benefits such as virtuous living, union with the divine, peace, and healing. Along with divine praise and worship benefits, these song-texts emphasise moral virtues and strongly condemn social difference. Importantly for my purpose here, the songs urge an activist approach to world making.

14As an example, the text from the popular Asa Ki Vār (Song of Hope) early-morning liturgical-session states:

15The sacred songs also break the binary between spiritual advancement and locational mobility with assurances such as:

16As another example of the melding of the transcendent and the immanent, the closing sacred song of the day, when the Guru Granth Sahib is ritually retired to the room of repose, claims:

17The affective force of such songs combines with that of symbols such as the khandā to unite spiritual and temporal aspirations. The Sikh aesthetic and ethic of chardi kalā (optimistic spirit) add further affective power to the pursuit of enterprise. The daily Sikh prayer, ardās, chanted at the end of liturgical sessions, concludes with an assurance that daily remembrance of the divine brings forth chardi kalā and sarbat dā bhalā (welfare for all).

Transnational Sikhs, Sound, Affect

18Sikhs have been on the move across borders for over a century, and along with them, Sikh sabad kīrtan. Technological advances in recent decades, especially in transportation, communication and media, along with certain push factors such as violation of their human rights in India, have increased both the scale and pace of Sikh migration. Jacobsen and Myrvold (2012: 8) note in their edited volume on transnational European Sikhs that “transnationalism is an increasingly important aspect of the Sikh religious and cultural life.” The contributing authors of the volume discuss a range of practices that Sikhs actively engage in to participate in transnational social, cultural and religious networks. These include worship practices in gurdwāras, festivals, religious tourism, marriages, and modern media and the internet.

19In this paper, I add three points. First, sacred sound is central to the avenues of Sikh religious transnationalism. Second, the affective dynamics of sound makes it the core strand that pulls together the assemblage of various elements, and invigorates the making of subjectivities and everyday transnational worlds. Third, the transnational affects, subjectivities and worlds show substantial variation at the individual level within transnational communities, and reveal significant nuances that have been collected along different life histories.

20The centrality of sabad kīrtan stood out clearly in my ethnographic work with transnational Sikhs in the USA, England, and Kenya, and this has also been noted by several authors for different countries and regions, e.g., O’Connell (2000) for Canada, Mann (2000) for the USA, Hirvi (2010) for Finland, Townsend (2011) for Southern California, Jacobsen (2012) for Europe, and Khabra (2012) for United Kingdom and Singapore. Several scholars have noted that transnational Sikhs typically meet to chant and sing initially in private homes, and gradually raise funds to rent a public place, and finally buy or construct a building for a gurdwāra. Sacred song is therefore what initiates and sustains the gurdwāra as a place of worship.

21What has not been noted by these scholars is the circulation of affect through sabad kīrtan. In my earlier work (Kaur 2016), I have discussed that the transmission of affect by means of sabad kīrtan and its associated practices is a powerful force bringing the congregants together into “an aggregation of the affected” (Born 2012: 262, self-quoted in 2013: 44).

22Here I want to add that the transnational and global circulation of sabad kīrtan and accompanying activities has not only enabled Sikhs to engage in worship wherever they have settled, it has affectively linked Sikhs around the world to each other, forming what Grossberg (1984: 227) has termed an “’affective alliance’: an organisation of concrete material practices and events, cultural forms and social experience which both opens up and structures the space of our affective investments in the world.” Through these transnational practices and affective identifications, Sikhs recognise themselves as a global community.

23My ethnographic investigation leads me to propose that this community is a heterogeneous one, with diverse subjectivities as well as multiple forms of belonging. This is especially true of Sikhs who have migrated across nations more than once. Thus, they defy the traditional definition of transnationalism as a link between a home and a host country. Not only do they have multiple “host” countries, the “home” country shifts as well, particularly for successive generations, as I will show in a following story.

24Related to such diverse histories, transnational affects take varied and complex shapes and hues. It is not merely a translocal transposition of affects from Punjab to other locations. Wise and Velayuthum (2008: 113) have used the term “transnational affect” “to describe the function of bodily emotions such as shame and pride that compel participation in and conformity to the transnational social field.” Their interest has been to show how such sentiments are replayed in translocal contexts to reproduce locality. My purpose here is to explore how affects accrue and take possibly varied forms; how they make for new subjectivities and worldviews, and pour into diverse and changing everyday world-makings.

Transnational Worldings

25Stewart has drawn on Heidegger’s notion of “worlding” which emphasises being in the world as emergent and generative, always in process, always bringing forth meaning. For Stewart a worlding is a coming together of affective elements of life. She writes, “The intensities of living through things accumulate and pool up in worldings and forms of attending to what’s happening.” (2011: 452). Worldings have sensory and aesthetic qualities; they are dynamic. A worlding comes forth when “[s] omething reaches a point of expressivity” (2014: 119). Stewart urges attention to the “atmospheric attunements” (2011: 445) that generate worldings and “to write theory through stories, or try, through descriptive detours, to pull academic attunements into tricky alignment with the amazing, sometimes eventful, sometimes buoyant, sometimes endured, sometimes so sad, always commonplace labor of becoming sentient to a world’s work, bodies, rhythms, and ways of being in noise and light and space (Nancy 1997)” (ibid: 446).

26Here I explore this approach by investigating similar processes of worlds taking shape, but those that are animated by transnational affects as I have conceptualised it above. These transnational worldings are made of things local and global at the same time; the attunements that make up these worldings across-nations.

Rupinder (from Kenya) in Texas: “Where the heck am I sitting?”

27Were it not for her husband’s choice, Rupinder would move back to Kenya in a heartbeat. She was born in Kisumu, East Africa (now Kenya) in the 1950s. Her grandfather had migrated from his village in Punjab, India, in search for better job prospects, and a life unhampered by caste.

My grandpa was well educated, but was not getting a job in his village because of his caste; he was downgraded. I’m not going to take it, he said. He was adventurous. When he went back to visit, they said, Oh, you live in Africa? Do you live in trees? He was not happy to go back there; koi lor nai utthe jān di, koi respect nahi karda (There is no need to go there, no one respects).

28Sikh migration to East Africa dates to the end of the 19^th century, when they were brought along with other Punjabis and Indians, as indentured labour to work on the British Kenya-Uganda rail line from the Indian Ocean port of Mombasa to Kampala. These Sikhs were largely from the artisan class in Punjab whom the land-owning class considered inferior. But in East Africa their status was elevated, though for unfortunate reasons. The British established a strictly segregated three-tier class system along racial lines with Africans placed at the bottom. Sikhs, as skilled labour, were able to make rapid economic gains, and their relative social uniformity was an important factor that helped forge a strong community.

I miss both time and place. Scruples and morals have been compromised, dīn imān nahi rahyā (faith doesn’t exist anymore). When I was growing up in East Africa, we did things properly.

29She is referring to the etiquette of attending to the Guru Granth Sahib, and the programs of sacred sound. She particularly remembers the occasions of akhand pātth (continuous complete reading of Guru Granth Sahib) which typically culminates in sabad kīrtan.

Akhand pātth kinne pyār nāl rakhde si (We did akhand pātth with so much love). We were hardly ten [years old], and we were taken [to the gurdwāra]; we did sevā (service). Getting there the night before, washing the gurdwāra floor, drying it. Women would get there ahead of time, make the menu … freshly made food … serve the langar. Also, akhand pātth at home. My duty was to make badāmāṇ da dudh (milk with almonds) at 10, to serve the pātthi (chanter) at night … When you have grown up with so many principles … now everything is money minded. Everyone kept to their Sikhi (Sikh teachings). We had a strict gyāni (religious scholar). We went [to the gurdwāra] in the evening, on Saturdays; you have to listen to kīrtan, then sevā, langar, bhānde mānjney hai (have to wash dishes) – first remove the food, scrub them in the sawdust mound, then use soap and water. Women also formed active women’s associations. We went regularly to St. Bernardo’s [orphanage] to donate clothes and other items. We would mix with the matrons, play with the kids. I’m so nostalgic for getting any form of sevā. Women that I grew up with, my mom, were very strong, dedicated, and extremely professional in their attitude toward Sikhi.

30Rupinder is passionate about sabad kīrtan.

• 3 Dhārna style is a simple, light style kīrtan popular in villages. Dhārna means concept. The singer (...)

Kīrtan is jān (life, in the sense of vital force). We were blessed we always had awesome kīrtan; never remember kīrtan as not good. When I was little, we used to go to the gurdwāra Landia Sahib – old gurdwāra, during railways being constructed; all working lived there and went there. It became a blessed place, because of Baba Isher Singh ji Rahrhe Wale (spiritual guide from village Rahrha, Punjab). You can ’google’ him. He did siddhi dhārna kīrtan (simple kīrtan in dhārna style).3 It is authentic kīrtan, without rāg; it was there along with rāg (melodic modes of Indian classical music). He first did shān (instrumental prelude), two to five minutes; it can get you to a meditative state, lot of spiritual bliss; on vāja (harmonium), he took high sur (notes) and bass sur; deep high bass tune, plain tune, with obviously something linking him to kīrtan. He had some way of hypnotising the sangat (congregation); there was always pin drop silence when he sang. I’ve been listening to siddha (simple) kīrtan in childhood, and up to now. I also love classical [style] kīrtan; jad rāg vich karde hun (when they play in rāg), you are in cloud nine man! Some modern tunes are also good.

31The sacred songs, singers, and instruments Rupinder loves are from India, but it is in Kenya that their potentialities fully bloom for her.

Yes, I’m an American citizen, but in my heart I will always be Kenyan. I tell my dad, as soon as the plane lands, my soul says I am home … I have amazing memories of that soil. Food is amazing there. Now American and British are getting there; they will spoil it. Food tastes like food, not GMO. I am so blessed with the food I ate there. And sports with local kids.

32But Rupinder also refers to herself as Indian, though in uncomplimentary terms.

We as Indian are by nature very racist. We say, gori kuri hai bahut soni hai (the girl is fair, is very beautiful). I’ve heard it from educated couples.

33Rupinder’s sensibilities have developed from her years in East Africa, along with Sikh teachings she has imbibed through the sacred songs. She regrets the racist attitude of early Indian immigrants to East Africa.

Initially, grandparent’s generation were racist toward kale (blacks); I did not like it, questioned it. On the flip side, the servants were part of the family. My generation was different, we had a different attitude to the locals. I had local friends, went to their home … ate their food. This generation, when I go back now, people in their 30s now, are even more progressive. They have an amazing sense of being Kenyan. I was there last year, they talk and act British. Everyone is very tolerant. Especially after the Westgate Mall terrorist attack. I never knew about the caste system till I came to the USA. My parents were never into jāt-pāt (caste). I grew up so cosmopolitan, my friends were Ismaili, Gujrati, local girls. All came home, ate. When we got to America, and England, Sikhs are so caste conscious, it blew my mind; that is when I went back to my parents and questioned, and they were disheartened that they had tried to go past it.

I am blessed to be born Sikh; I am a sucker for kīrtan, and for Kenya.

Kuljit (from India) in California: “I lived 21 years in India, but I learned Sikhi here”

36Unlike Rupinder, issues of caste do not ring strong in Kuljit’s intensities. She is from an upper caste family, and uses a last name that indicates this. While Sikhi condemns belief in caste and class differences, in practice many Sikhs have retained caste associations inherited from their family’s past. The last human Sikh Guru mandated that Sikhs not use last names that indicate caste, but instead use generic last names – Kaur for women and Singh for men (Sikh first names are ungendered). But many Sikhs, especially upper caste ones, continue to use their caste names, though many cite the reason as the problem of identity with a common last name instead of a family name. Caste differences, like economic class, play out in social life, particularly matrimony. Exclusionary practices at gurdwārās are not typical however, though there are gurdwārās with sectarian names and congregations.

37Like Rupinder, Kuljit loves sabad kīrtan and pātth, and listens to these not only at the gurdwara, but throughout the day at home, on her iPhone and television. Apps such as Live Kirtan and SikhNet Radio relay live broadcasts from many gurdwārās in India and around the world.

There is so much choice whenever I need it. Many times, I cannot get to sleep quickly. I just listen to the live relay from Harmandir Sahib.

38Harmandir Sahib, known popularly as the Golden Temple, is the holiest Sikh place of worship, located in Amritsar, Punjab. It is the most popular site of pilgrimage for Sikhs. Live sabad kīrtan is performed and broadcast continuously from about 2.00 am to 10.00 pm. Sikhs around the world tune in (Figure 8). For many, the hukamnāmā (day’s opening chant from the Guru Granth Sahib; lit. command) from the Harmandir Sahib is especially meaningful. The purpose of listening is to infuse the day’s dealings with the Guru’s guidance in that song.

I remember all the women singing; one would play the vājā (harmonium), another dholkī, also chhainé. It was so soothing … many times I would put my head on my mummy’s knees and fall asleep. I didn’t understand the words, but I loved the music. I also loved the raein sabāi (all night kīrtan sessions) at the gurpurab (celebrations; lit. Guru’s days) when they would set up huge tambu (pavilions) next to the gurdwāra. Now I am blessed that the gurdwāra here [San Jose] has all the programs and celebrations.

40Kuljit’s childhood worship attunements are to being soothed, to sliding in and out of states of consciousness. These infuse her present attunements. Her kids are grown and out of the house. Elders who she looked after at her home have passed on. She is alone at home all day.

• 7 Several smartphone apps, as well as internet sites, have the digital version of Guru Granth Sahib, (...)

I start the day, with listening to the hukam vāk from Darbar (Harmandir) Sahib. Kīrtan kathā (exegesis), it’s on all day at my home; sometimes I’m not paying attention, par gurbāni kannā vich té pae rahi hai (but the Guru’s word is at least pouring into my ears). Sometimes I feel I am at the Darbar Sahib. I love to sing along when I know the words. If it is an unfamiliar sabad it catches my attention. Yesterday the kīrtan from Darbar Sahib had many Farsi (Persian) words. I looked up the meanings on my iPhone.7 I like to contemplate on the meaning of the words; what is being taught to us. When I am at the gurdwāra, I listen with full concentration.

41Like Rupinder, sevā has been very important for Kuljit. But for Kuljit it has meant serving her aging father and mother-in-law in her own home.

I grew up with that. My dādi (paternal grandmother) lived with us, also my dad’s tāi ji (paternal aunt), because her children did not want to look after her. My mother died early, when I was only twenty, but I saw my father look after his ill mother with utmost devotion.

42But what Kuljit is referring to has been a (Punjabi, and more generally Indian) patriarchal tradition of elder care in a son’s home. In this tradition, not only is it customary for elders to be housed by their sons, it is a matter of shame to live in a daughter’s home, especially when one has sons. Kuljit was able to break from the traditional home-country mold in her transnational setting to have her father at her home when the arrangement fell apart at her brother’s home who lives nearby in the same town.

I could not bear it that my father would rent a room in someone’s home. He agreed to stay in my house, but only on the condition that he would give me monthly rent. I said, fine, you are my father, you can give me money.

43Perhaps for Kuljit being an exemplar to her three daughters played a part; perhaps also her attunement to the song-texts that valorise equality and courage. Unlike Rupinder, Kuljit has no nostalgia for her place of birth and growing-up. She was born and raised in Delhi, India. Interestingly then, the two share a common lack of wistfulness for India, and have no desire to live there.

Life is more peaceful here. I have more time to pay attention to my religion. I lived 21 years in India, but I learned Sikhi here.

She does not think living in the USA is a handicap.

Only for those who are not educated. They are pressured to remove their turbans and shave their beards; otherwise they don’t get jobs.

44Unlike Rupinder, Kuljit thinks of herself fundamentally as Indian, and loves to travel to India. She loves travelling in general, but travelling in India affords her the opportunity to also visit historic Sikh sites along with notable tourist attractions.

Two years ago we went to Hyderabad. We could visit the gurdwāra at Nanded, and also Aurangabad to see the marvellous Ellora caves. This year we are going to Hemkunt Sahib, but we will also see the Valley of Flowers. And on the way we will stop in Japan and tour the country for ten days.

Thus, for Kuljit, rather than travel as only pilgrimage, pilgrimage and general travel combine easily; she can move between sacred and secular effortlessly.

45Kuljit’s subjectivities, like Rupinder’s are not mere replications from a home to a host country. Travelling and dwelling combine in different ways for them in the making of their transnational lifeworlds. Spiritual and transnational ambitions and mobilities come together in diverse ways. Thomas Csordas (2017: 1) has discussed such convergences as “transnational transcendence.” Underscoring the under-theorisation of religious transnationalism, he uses this phrase “to point to the existence of modalities of religious intersubjectivity that are both experientially compelling and transcend cultural borders and boundaries;” to indicate that both senses of transcendence, of consciousness and borders, are aspirations to the universal. The sabad-texts quoted above, along with the Sikh ethic of mīrī-pīrī, are interpreted as such by Sikhs.

Concluding comments

46In this paper, I have investigated the role of sacred song in religious transnationalism through the lenses of affect and worlding. This new approach, combined with the storytelling methodology, has enabled me to provide insights on the complex, multi-layered and diverse processes of subjectivity and identity formation of transnationals at the individual level. I have thereby complemented the focus thus far of scholarship largely on group-level analysis of the role of affect on transnational social formations.

47Additionally, I have offered a more dynamic conceptualisation of transnationalism as a continually moving mix of mobility and locality.

48My ethnographic investigation shows that it is important to recognise transnational religious linkages as flows of affect, and transnational subjectivities and identities as dynamic affective becomings. Rather than a transnational transposition of fixed affects and locality, it is their transformation, however small and gradual, that is voiced by my interlocutors. I have therefore proposed an expanded conceptualisation of “transnational affects” to draw attention to the accrual of affects across borders not simply as a transference of affects, but as dynamic intensities that acquire different textures as people and generations cross borders.

49My interlocutors’ stories are of transnational embodied flows and accruals of affects that actualise in formations of subjectivities and identities with respect to social difference such as caste, race, and gender. Their worldings are outcomes of new affect attunements, with new hues and flavours. Rupinder and Kuljit recall and gather together elements and intensities not just from India; for Rupinder these are from India, Kenya, and the USA; for Kuljit, India, the USA, and all the countries she visits to combine her wanderlust with pilgrimage. Their worldings bloom forth from various cross-border zones of sensory and affective interactions and connections, each with many commonalities but also differences. I have conceptualised this in terms of “transnational worldings,” to foreground how elements from across borders enter into everyday process of world making. Sacred song is still central, still matters, but it matters in ways that have been changed, and are in continuous flux.

50I have made my arguments through two stories of transnational worldings, one of satisfaction, the other not; with sacred sound central to both, and sevā central to both, but in different ways; one sensitised to race and caste, the other to gender. The scope remains to tell many such stories that space constraints do not allow here, stories of simultaneous commonness and uniqueness, of simultaneous localness and globalness. For example, Harinder, who grew up in a small village in Punjab in the 1950s in the care of a strong and social-activist grandmother while her parents made a livelihood in East Africa. She now lives in California, and loves to listen to the sabad kīrtan and experience the sangat (congregation) at the local gurdwāra, but hates being preached to by old-fashioned male priests, and she wishes for greater social action by Sikhs. Or Baljeet, who grew up in Delhi with a progressive father, moved to California to join her husband, and finding him patriarchal and controlling, took solace from the daily chanting of sacred songs; then found wisdom and strength from these to eventually stand up against him when he disowned their daughter for marrying outside the faith. These stories point to the capacious potentials in sacred song, affect, and transnational worldings.

51My study of the transnational circulation of Sikh sacred song and of commonplace Sikh lives tells us how sacred sound is a critical connective tissue between Sikhs across nations; how it both enables and is enabled by affective embodied experiences, which mutually form what I have elsewhere described as a “Sikh affective ecology” (Kaur 2016a, 2019); and how while being part of this transnational ecology, transnational affects and worldings are individual, unique, and fluid.