Over the past month, Cristina, my mother, and I found ourselves drawn back to the Gurdwara in Small Heath, Birmingham—a place woven deeply into our family’s story. It was here, on 10th December 2025, that my father’s Ardas was held. Returning wasn’t just a visit; it felt like stepping into a living memory.
As children, this Gurdwara was a constant backdrop to our lives. Through the 80s and into the 90s, we came mostly for family gatherings. I can still picture the old wooden community hall, the folding deck chairs, the hum of activity. Back then, nothing was done for you—everything was done by you. The hall had to be set up, the kitchens organised. As kids, we didn’t question it; we simply did what we were told. Looking back, those moments quietly taught us the meaning of shared responsibility.
Years later, in 2008, we returned under very different circumstances for my grandmother’s funeral. Since then, the Gurdwara has transformed. Through the dedication and generosity of the community, it has been rebuilt and modernised, with a beautiful new prayer hall and Langar Hall. Today, it stands as one of the cleanest and most peaceful Gurdwaras in the city, its new hall overlooking Small Heath Park—a place of reflection as much as worship.
This recent return marked a significant moment for my mother. These have been deeply challenging times for her, yet her faith remains unwavering. It was her determination that brought us back, a quiet strength that carried us all.
I brought my camera with me this time. Before my father passed, we had attended several events here, and I had been struck by how much the space had evolved. But what interested me most wasn’t just the building—it was the people.
This Gurdwara is one of the earliest of its kind in Birmingham, rooted in the arrival of Sikh families in the 1960s—families like my grandparents and father, who helped lay its foundations. Everything it has become is thanks to the sangat—the community—who have given not just money, but their time, skills, and energy. Even now, if you step into the Langar Hall, you’ll see volunteers working side by side, preparing food with care and humility.
That spirit of seva—selfless service—is something powerful. I wanted to capture it through my photographs: not just images, but moments that reflect something timeless. Because what happens here isn’t new—it’s been quietly continuing for generations.
Cristina, my wife, experienced this in her own way. Sikhism is still new to her, and she’s naturally a little shy. But I gently encouraged her to step into the kitchen, knowing the warmth of the community would do the rest. And it did. Within moments, she was welcomed, included, and invited to help. Sometimes, all it takes is a small step into the unfamiliar to realise it isn’t so daunting after all.
Maybe I pushed her a little—but with good intention. Growth often comes from these moments. Just as she supports and challenges me, I try to do the same for her. That’s part of building a life together.
What stays with me most is this: even a relatively small community, facing life’s challenges together, can create something remarkable when united by purpose. It’s a reminder not to take these things for granted—the spaces, the people, the quiet acts of kindness that hold everything together.
On behalf of my entire family, I want to express our deepest gratitude to the Gurdwara community. Thank you for your support, your compassion, and everything you did—especially during my father’s funeral. It will never be forgotten.
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