Nowadays, our airports are swarming with uniformed armed members of the National Guard. Whether they can effectively identify each and every possible terrorist hell bent on destruction is a different matter. They are there to lend an aura of security.

When we see a uniform we know that it is there for only one purpose - to protect us. When we see a gun in those hands we know that it will be used only in our defense. The soldier has taken an oath to risk his/her own life in service of country.

I am not naïve. I know this behavior is what society expects, but there are times when it falls disappointingly short. Soldiers can turn bad and plunder us instead of protecting. Police officers sometimes break the law, erasing the line between the police and criminals. Such bad eggs are few and when caught are universally condemned.

If a police officer is suspected of behavior unbecoming of his oath and uniform, society immediately demands that he surrender his gun and his badge, which are his power and the authority to use it. If he is convicted of extralegal or inappropriate conduct, he can lose his uniform and his professional identity.

The son of police officer or soldier in the army is not automatically entitled to his own uniform, badge and gun just because his father had one. The uniform does not come with his inheritance; he/she has to earn it. There are minimum requirements, qualifications and intensive training to ensure that those who are entrusted with the power and the authority to use it know the limits of power and have the discipline to use it appropriately.

A uniform makes a statement; the message of a uniform is strong and eloquent. We instinctively and intuitively draw conclusions about the person, his/her training and discipline; our expectations from that person stem from such inferences. Under normal circumstances, I assume that a person with a stethoscope is a health professional just as I presume that one in uniform with a badge is a police officer. Rarely would there be any need to question the credentials of a person in the uniform of his or her profession.

Similarly, a man with a collar is a priest and a woman wearing a habit is a nun, says my mind. And this was the intention when Pope Gregory mandated a uniform for the clergy in the Roman Catholic Church. He was creating an "Army of Christ" in service to the Church. He labeled this a higher calling than that of the laity. No matter what the calling, the specialized training, discipline and dedication of a professional is what a uniform proclaims.

When, in 1699, Guru Gobind Singh established the order of the Khalsa, he was creating an army. But this army of God (that is how I view the meaning of Khalsa.) was not created to wage aggressive war, conquer territory or subjugate others, but with a single mission - to discipline the mind. The battlefield of the mind was its domain and Guru Gobind Singh recommended that his Khalsa engage in this battle everyday.

Like armies everywhere, the Khalsa too had a discipline, a code of conduct, an oath of affirmation and a uniform. Even its commander - Guru Gobind Singh - himself went through the initiation ceremony and took the same oath of loyalty as was expected of the foot soldiers. In the "Army of Christ", designed by Pope Gregory, those that joined the clergy were the beneficiaries of special status because their calling was higher than that of the lay followers of the faith. But, Guru Gobind Singh did not limit this army to clergymen; instead his Khalsa was open to all who wanted to join - men or women. Significantly, there were none in the Khalsa whose calling was any higher than that of the others.

As I alluded to earlier, becoming a soldier, like signing up for a cause, is not a hereditary vocation or avocation. Each individual must take his own risks; earn his or her own stripes. It is not a business that a parent may leave to a child. Quite logically, therefore, one cannot be born a Sikh, though a person may be born in a Sikh home and to Sikh parents. The emphasis then rightly shifts from being a Sikh to becoming one.

Now, when I see a Sikh wearing the symbols and articles of his faith, I see a person wearing the uniform of his discipline. My mind rapidly calculates a few assumptions, just as it does when I see a recognizable Police Officer. (A recognizable Police Officer is in uniform just as a recognizable Sikh is.) I know that behind the uniform lies intensive training, discipline, code of conduct and an oath that speaks of duty above all else. Again, I know that not all soldiers will live up to their expectations, just as not all priests, nuns, physicians or Sikhs will.

What is my expectation when I see a Sikh in uniform? Indeed it should not be much different from what I look forward to when I see another professional. Even though I am prepared for occasional disappointment, from a professional person in uniform I expect training, discipline, dedication, honesty and integrity to his or her cause. How can then a Sikh in uniform profess ignorance of his discipline - the way of the Guru? The expectations from someone who wears the uniform of his calling are different from one who is in mufti.

Some brief examples will serve to illustrate what I mean. I remember a time when a recognizable Sikh was automatically assumed to be of good character. (Perhaps this view of Sikhs emerged from history.) In India, fifty years ago, it was not uncommon for people to request a Sikh on the same route to keep an eye on their child or a young woman who might be traveling alone. Going around unsafe areas of busy cities like Calcutta and Bombay late at night one was often advised to always find a Sikh cab driver; it was deemed to be the only guarantee of safe arrival at one's destination. The only way to find a Sikh, of course, was by his uniform. I know things have since changed, as have those who call themselves Sikhs.

What is the expectation now when you see a Sikh on the street? Is he the terrorist that the Indian government has successfully made him out to be over the past 20 years? Is he the shady businessman who will betray his mother for the quick dollar? Is he the warm hearted, hard drinking, loud, boisterous hail-fellow well-met man about town? What does his uniform proclaim to the world? Is he the man who has taken an oath that attaches him to the Guru and strives mightily to live by it? Each Sikh would have to look within and answer for himself.

I hasten to add that a professional's training doesn't end with his investiture. Continuing education is a life long process. In this matter my views of a policeman, scholar, scientist, banker or a Sikh are the same.

A recruit under training, a cadet or a medical student doesn't get the full uniform. He earns it after intensive study. That is when he is bestowed with all the rights, privileges and duties of his new calling.

Should becoming a Sikh be any different?

Inder Jit Singh is Professor & Co-ordinator of Anatomy at New York University. Among other publications, he is the author of two books of essays: 'Sikhs and Sikhism: A View With a Bias' and 'The Sikhs Way: A Pilgrims Progress'.

I.J. Singh is on the editorial advisory board of 'The Sikh Review', Calcutta and 'The Encyclopedia of Sikhism', Punjabi University, Patiala.