If asked to provide a short summary of the Sikh way of life—no longer than an elevator ride—most Sikhs would likely choose the familiar triad: Naam Japna, Kirt Karni, and Vand Chhakna.
In essence, this means living an honest life, sharing one’s earnings cheerfully with those in need, and ensuring that both of these practices are guided by an awareness of the Creator within all beings. While Naam Japna refers to spiritual discipline, the other two—Kirt Karni and Vand Chhakna—are social principles designed to strengthen the community. The Sikh formula thus intertwines the spiritual and social imperatives of life. These two realms, the worldly and the spiritual, must never be separated. This integrated worldview, embodied in the Miri-Piri doctrine, remains fundamental to the Sikh way of life.
It is difficult to determine exactly when this triad became the defining summary of Sikhi, but its principles can be traced to the teachings of Guru Nanak at the very beginning of Sikhism about 550 years ago. In Sikh tradition, this three-legged stool represents a balanced and integrated structure, and any analysis must treat it as such. Each leg is equally essential to maintaining stability. However, in this essay, I will focus on only one leg—giving and sharing—leaving the other two for another time.
In a loose translation, chhakna means “to consume,” and vand qualifies it to mean consuming by sharing life’s rewards with others. But why such a stipulation? It is self-evident that humans, individually, are neither strong nor fast enough to overcome the dangers that surround them. Human survival and progress depend on forming collectives and communities bound by shared responsibility.
Modern sociology tells us that religions serve as the glue that binds people into communities through shared practices, traditions, culture, cuisine, and music—in short, through their identity and ethos. Traditions become sacred because they define communal life and support the mechanisms of survival. Distinct customs also set boundaries between neighboring groups—like fences between good neighbors. Ideally, these boundaries should not become impenetrable walls. This is how families, tribes, communities, and nations take root and flourish. But how do we strengthen the bonds among members of a community?
The idea of sharing and caring within families and communities is neither new nor unique to Sikhi; it is universal, transcending regional and social barriers. Marcus Aurelius, the second-century Christian icon, reminded us: “It is in giving that we receive.” But this idea is even older. As has often been said, one can give without loving, but one cannot love without giving.
Life teaches us that our successes owe more to the kindness of others—friends and strangers alike—than to our own talents or efforts. The only way to even partially repay this debt is to extend that kindness to another, a stranger in need. Thus, the cycle of giving and receiving continues endlessly, much like life itself. Sharing and giving are existential imperatives for humankind, regardless of wealth or poverty. The challenge is designing a system in which both the haves and the have-nots recognize that they are in the same leaky boat—and that the boat will sail safely only when both tend to its needs.
A prominent feature of Sikhi is seva, or selfless service—a cardinal virtue of the Sikh life. This service is not restricted to Sikhs alone; it may be rendered through money, goods, or personal effort. The financial foundation of seva in Sikhi rests on dasvandh—the principle that encourages every Sikh to contribute ten percent of their earnings to community service.
From the many references in Gurbani, I offer just four:
ਆਪੁ ਗਵਾਇ ਸੇਵਾ ਕਰੇ ਤਾ ਕਿਛੁ ਪਾਏ ਮਾਨੁ ॥(Sri Guru Granth Sahib, p. 474)
Lose the self in service, and only then is true honor attained.
ਵਿਚਿ ਦੁਨੀਆ ਸੇਵ ਕਮਾਈਐ॥ ਤ ਦਰਗਹ ਬੈਸਣੁ ਪਾਈਐ॥(SGGS, p. 26)
Those who perform service in this world are honored in the Divine Court.
ਸੇਵਾ ਕਰਤ ਹੋਇ ਨਿਹਕਾਮੀ ॥ ਤਿਸ ਕਉ ਹੋਤ ਪਰਾਪਤਿ ਸੁਆਮੀ ॥
(SGGS, p. 286)
Through selfless service, one finds the Lord.
ਘਾਲਿ ਖਾਇ ਕਿਛੁ ਹਥਹੁ ਦੇਇ ॥
ਨਾਨਕ ਰਾਹੁ ਪਛਾਣਹਿ ਸੇਇ ॥੧॥
(SGGS, p. 1245)
Those who earn by honest work and share with others—O Nanak, they have found the true path.
The Sikh langar, often described as an act of seva, is the free community meal served after every service in almost every gurdwara worldwide. The food is simple and vegetarian, ensuring that anyone, regardless of faith or background, can partake.
Traditional Indian society, historically divided along rigid caste lines, prevented people of different castes from sitting, eating, or worshipping together. These barriers of inequality had to be broken—and the Gurus chose langar as the vehicle for this transformation. Prepared and served by volunteers, the langar symbolizes equality, humility, and service. In large gurdwaras in Punjab, as many as 100,000 meals are served daily. The rich and poor, high and low caste, sit side by side. The homeless dine with the wealthy; the hungry sit with the well-fed. The simple meal feeds both body and spirit.
However, times are changing. In gurdwaras across the diaspora, particularly in North America, the menu is becoming increasingly elaborate and rich; the simplicity is fading. The homeless and hungry are rarely present, and some gatherings resemble lavish “dollar buffets.” At times, the langar is even catered. While such practices dilute the original spirit, new opportunities for seva have emerged. New immigrants to the West often need help mastering the language, adapting to cultural norms, and understanding civic structures. Perhaps less seva is now needed inside the gurdwara, and more outside it, within the wider community.
Our goal should not be assimilation to the point of invisibility, but integration—claiming an equal place at society’s table. As the saying goes: “If you don’t have a seat at the table, you’re likely on the menu.” Organizations like the Sikh Coalition and SALDEF work to secure equal rights for Sikhs in social and legal spheres. Groups such as United Sikhs and Khalsa Aid have led humanitarian efforts during disasters like Hurricane Katrina, the Asian Tsunami, and the earthquakes in Haiti and Nepal—even assisting Kurdish refugees from Iraq. The Sikh Research Institute focuses on developing Sikh education and identity.
These efforts echo the spirit of Bhai Ghanaiya, who, during Guru Gobind Singh’s time, served water to all wounded soldiers—friend and foe alike—and was praised by the Guru himself. Although initiatives like feeding the homeless and organizing health fairs are growing, much more can be done. It is also seva when lawyers work pro bono to defend civil rights or when volunteers run Sunday schools to teach Sikh fundamentals. These are acts of service and community building, and we should celebrate and expand them.
Sikh teachings elevate giving and sharing beyond mere survival—they are spiritual disciplines. It is said there are three kinds of givers: the flint, which yields only when struck hard; the sponge, which gives when squeezed; and the honeycomb, which overflows with sweetness on its own. The question is: which kind of giver are we?
According to the Arton Capital Major Giving Index, the average ultra-high-net-worth philanthropist donates about $25 million over a lifetime—more than ten percent of net worth. The typical American household gives about $3,000 annually to charity. None of us can row the boat of life alone—certainly not far, and not for long. Vand Chhakko: come and share the bounties of life.
As Erich Fromm reminds us, “Giving is the highest form of potency.” And Bob Hope wisely adds, “If you haven’t got any charity in your heart, you have the worst kind of heart trouble.”
(From Sikhi – The Journey & The Destination by I. J. Singh)
By I. J. Singh
