Talking Stick

What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas: The Talking Stick Colloquium #62

Convenor: RAVINDER SINGH

I view myself as a bit of a prude and somewhat old fashioned.

Faced with the prospect of visiting Las Vegas - billed as the Entertainment Capital of the World - I was filled with some apprehension, but also a little anticipation. Although I have lived in this country since 1976 and travelled quite a bit, Vegas and I have never met - until now.

A place with an epithet like 'Sin City' and that lives by the slogan “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” has never been high on my list of must-see travel destinations. I have no interest in gambling; don’t drink (my drinking friends call me a waste of a Sardar) and don’t believe in making a display of sex - all de rigueur in Vegas.

But a business conference there beckoned and here I was, seated on a flight to Vegas.

As we approached McCarran Airport and the city came into view on a clear afternoon, the sight of mountains surprised me because I had always imagined Vegas to be a vast arid stretch of desert with a concrete and neon jungle sticking out in the middle. Yet, here was a strange beauty to the brown soil.

Las Vegas, it turns out, is also one of the fastest growing cities in the nation!

I could see the tall buildings and concluded that must be the where all the gambling happens. As we approached the runway, in my mind I was convinced that I was descending into some kind of hell, where the snare of Maya was going to lead me astray.

Another part of me wondered if I was being too much of a prude. Priggish? I reminded myself that that Guru Nanak had travelled to all manner of places (on business) and that he had gone out of his way to seek out thugs, cannibals, and murderers?

Were he around today, would Guru Nanak travel to Vegas, I wondered. Despite my best efforts, I just could not picture Guru Nanak cozy up to a slot machine or be seen watching Jubilee at Bally’s.

But I discovered that there is a gurdwara in Vegas. The Baba is everywhere!

The minute you set foot in the airport terminal, row after row of slot machines greet you - as if to assuage impatient gamblers, who, like antsy children, “have to go.” Gleaming and shiny, with flickering lights and knobs, the machines seem to invite, as if to say, “Please, play me!”

A quick taxi ride and I found myself in the large, cavernous lobby of the MGM Grand, one of the landmark hotels on what is called The Strip - a stretch of hotel resorts and casinos with names like Luxor, Mandalay, Harrah and Bellagio.

The sheer size of the hotel (10,000 rooms, I was told) was overwhelming and all the glitz and dazzle quite disorienting. The hotel corridors were like a labyrinth, as if by design, meant to confuse the likes of me. It took me several wrong turns and stopping to ask (the signs notwithstanding) before I made it to the Convention Center.

Because of the lighting and ambience, one couldn’t tell if it was night or day. I suppose one is not meant to keep track of time in Vegas. I did not notice a wall clock in the hotel lobby either.

No surprise, but as I meandered around the hotel, gambling was ubiquitous by its all-pervading presence - slot machines, black jack tables and an assortment of other gambling arrangements would appear, seemingly endlessly.

Another surprise awaited me. As my head adjusted to the psychedelic ambience, I began to notice skimpily clad women in large numbers floating around everywhere. They seemed almost apologetic for what little clothes they had on. Later, I found out that they were so-called escorts, a euphemism for call girls.

I should have known from their giveaway revealing dresses and high heels.

Should I be looking away? Or should I gawk? That was the question.

The prude in me - not to mention the old fashioned fellow - quickly surfaced. My aversion to the things Las Vegas stands for runs deep, made all the more so by a close encounter of the Vegas kind - the blatant promotion of call girls.

As I walked the Strip in Vegas - a ritual that had to be gone through – and made my way up the 3-mile stretch, I felt assaulted from all sides by seminude vixens - on huge freeway billboards, placards and newsstands - strutting their stuff.

What’s a good Sikh supposed to do? Lower one's gaze?

A middle-aged man approaches me carrying a bunch of flyers and cards. Like the decorous Sikh that I am, I greet him warmly - not with a Gur Fateh, of course - and accept he flyers, thinking he was hawking some product (which he was) and moved on with a thanks.

What I had in my hands were flyers depicting garishly made-up women, with oversized bosoms and behinds and single names like Electra, Misty, and, get this, Chastity - all offering to calm me down in a variety of ways and in places with names like The
Pleasure Palace.

Didn’t the idiot notice that I was wearing a dastaar?

No trip to Vegas is complete without watching one (if not more) of the so-called shows. My wife, who was accompanying me, made arrangements for us to see Jubilee, a long-standing (30 years) show that promised wonderful acrobats, brilliant dancers and lovely music. Off we went.

We were in for a surprise. When the curtain opened, at least fifty beautiful women in exotic costumes sailed onto the stage - topless! My wife had no idea when she bought the tickets. The sensory overload just left me cold.

I did not want to be seen at such a venue with my dastaar.

In my mind, erroneously perhaps, I have always felt quite strongly that a dastaar-wearing Sikh carries a special responsibility and it extends to not being seen in certain places. That is why when I hear or read about a Sikh complain about being denied entry to a night club/bar because of wearing a turban, my first reaction, surprisingly always in Punjabi, is “utthe ambb lain gaya sein?" - Literally: 'What were you doing there, shopping for mangoes?' or, in common parlance, "What the hell were you doing there in the first place?”

Should I have gone to the show or just holed up in my hotel room? Well, left to my own devices, I would have perhaps just stayed put, but with my wife around, that was not possible. She loves to step out and see places, watch movies and yes, shop. I did not want to be a killjoy.

When I murmured something about my discomfort at being seen at these shows, she dismissed it as humbug and hypocrisy. She called me Talibanesque (puritanical) and questioned my holier-than-thou stance. Did my strong aversion to the things Vegas actually conceal a strong prurient interest in the very things that I wanted to avoid?

Knowing me as she does, perhaps she has a point.

My reaction to Vegas goes beyond my anxiety at being seen in such dubious venues with a dastaar. I saw a few Sikhs sporting baseball caps, but am not sure if that is the solution. A couple of them greeted me since I was hard to avoid.

Without wanting to sound like a right-wing extremist lamenting the loss of conservative values, I do wish to raise some broader concerns for our community. Not too long ago, gambling, drinking and the like were frowned upon. Today, I find that a lot of us specifically plan vacations to Vegas – to gamble, to drink and to...?

What used to be marginal behavior is now mainstream. Is this cause for concern? This raises deeper, more fundamental concerns around the moral relativism that is central to contemporary American culture.

I hate to confess this but Las Vegas, despite its self-proclaimed Sin City status, did teach me a thing or two. There was something to be said for its audacity and couldn’t-care-less attitude. To be able to gamble, drink and indulge (occasionally, I hope) may perhaps make us more accepting of each other.

Perhaps I need to lighten up a little myself! I don’t know.

Las Vegas may not just be a haven for gamblers and bar hoppers and swingers. It may well be a retreat for prudes like me - to reflect and contemplate.

Or let one's hair down, for a change?

POINTS TO PONDER

What do you think?

Have you been to Las Vegas?

What did you think of it?

Would you go back? Why?

If not, why not?

October 3, 2011

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