Today marks the sixtieth anniversary of my family’s journey to Canada, a remarkable milestone in our family’s history. It began in 1964 when my father, Kuldip Singh Sodhi, made the monumental decision to move to Toronto, Canada. My dad originally planned to move our family to the United States. However, life had other plans. At the time, my dad worked as an HVAC mechanic at Claridge’s Hotel in New Delhi, where he met several Canadian diplomats and learned that Canada had a great need for skilled workers like him. My parents’ decision to move to Canada significantly impacted me and my brothers’ lives. I have traveled the globe and had temporary love affairs with cities like New York, London, and Berlin, but I simply cannot imagine living elsewhere.
Before the move, it was decided that my dad would be the first to leave for Toronto. The anticipation and excitement of his departure, with the promise of a new life, job, and home, was palpable. It took some time, but my dad eventually secured a well-paying job a little over a year and a half later and sent for my mum and my brother to join him. The joy of their reunion in a new land was a moment of pure happiness for our family.
My father was a devoted husband, family man, and activist. He was purposeful with his words, and if you ask the people who knew him most intimately, they will attest to his extraordinary character—my dad was always willing to lend a hand to anyone in need, regardless of their background, and he never, ever expected anything in return. As a kid, I marveled at my dad’s empathy for others. I once asked him how it came so easily to him, and in a moment that will forever be etched into my memory, he looked at me and said, “Wahe Guru (God) does not allow everyone to do seva (selfless volunteerism). I am truly blessed that it was given to me.” Before moving to Canada, my mum and brother lived in “Ambala Cantt” with my dad’s family. This is a common practice where multigenerational families live together. My grandfather, Sodhi Jit Singh, used to say, “A single stick can be broken easily, however, but a bundle of sticks is unbreakable.” My parents raised us, always keeping my grandfather’s words close to their hearts.
My older brother Teji was thrilled about seeing our dad and would tell anyone who would listen that he and my mom would fly in a “very big plane” to Canada. When they arrived at the New Delhi airport in April 1966, Teiji, who was two and a half at the time, was so amazed by the actual size of the aircraft that he could hardly contain himself.
His surprise and excitement were so contagious that he insisted on sharing his thoughts with all the other passengers throughout the flight.
In 1967, our family grew with the birth of my other brother, Tunu. It was evident that my brother’s genetics favored my father’s side of the family as he had a much lighter complexion and hair than our older brother, Teji. This led to many people mistakenly assumed that my mum was his babysitter, which, in her words, “really annoyed her.” But it wasn’t just a case of mistaken identity to my mum; these uncomfortable interactions were constant microaggressions that were a constant reminder to my mum that Canada had not yet become her home.
My dad was hired as a HVAC and Refrigerator mechanic at Oshawa General Hospital, so my parents decided to move. Oshawa, Ontario—a suburb of the Greater Toronto Area was a much quieter city.
I was born in the winter of 1968.
I was the first child of South Asian descent born at the hospital where my father worked. The nurses and staff nicknamed me “Indian Princess.” At the time, my parents thought the sentiment was sweet, but much like people mistakenly assuming that my mum was Tunu’s babysitter, calling their newborn daughter Indian was culturally insensitive in their eyes. Despite these challenges, we remained proud of our Canadian and Punjabi heritage, a testament to our family’s resilience in the face of cultural insensitivity.
Reflecting on this now, I recognize the ignorance and lack of diversity. That said, the “nickname” continues to make me uncomfortable years later. We are Canadian and Sikh and were raised to be proud of both.
My dad and Teji became Canadian citizens in 1969. My mum, on the other hand, remained a citizen of India until the late 1980s. Ultimately, my become a resident of Canada. Her decision to do this was a difficult one.
In 1970, our family moved to a small town about an hour northeast of Toronto: Bowmanville, or as my dad affectionately called it, “Beautiful Bowmanville.” This town is where my brothers and I would spend the rest of our childhood and graduate from high school. During our time in Bowmanville, my parents opened their business—a successful air conditioning and refrigeration business.
My parents quickly became active members of our local community. My dad joined the Bowmanville Lion’s Club, and I still remember the joy of the Lion’s Club’s annual Christmas party, where the kids’ received gifts from Santa Claus.
Their active involvement in the community fostered a sense of warmth and acceptance that we cherished.
My parents believed that education would help overcome the fear of the unknown. They were committed to sharing their culture and experiences with others. They reached out and educated people in community, business, and church groups, as well as our teachers and principals. Their dedication to community engagement and education was a cornerstone of our family’s values.
My brother Teiji, my mom, and my dad have all passed away. As I write this, I am reminded of the incredible life our parents gave us. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about them. They will forever be a part of me, as I was to them. Their love and guidance continue to influence me, and I am grateful for the time we shared together.
