It can't be anything else but subjective. Once a week I would go down to Dharara in Kathmandu and shop for pickles. This Sikh stood in a doorway and hawked the best achar I've ever tasted. He told me his mother made them. As a testament to their succulent flavour, no matter how much I bought, they would always finish after a few days.There is a point to this. No matter how poor a Sikh is , they will never beg for food or money. They will do anything to preserve their dignity: work in a factory; service and drive a truck; serve in a shop. Although, I've seen them work as pilots and architects. A prouder people you won't find anywhere.
Also, they don't smoke. I've never met a Sikh who smokes, unless they have denied their religion by giving up the five Ks: khes (uncut hair); Kara (the wearing of a steel bracelet); kanga (wearing a wooden comb in the hair); kaccha (wearing cotton underwear); and kirpan (having a steel sword or knife).
But they do like their drink. I have fond memories of frequenting a Punjabi restaurant in Kichha Pokhari (dead dog pond in Newari) on a hot summer's day and eating chilli vegetable with rum and coke and fried potato parata on the side.
