It was not a good year to be a Sikh. 

On June 23, 1985, a bomb exploded on Air India Flight 182 en route from Toronto to London, England, killing all 329 people aboard, most of them Canadians. Canada mourned, but Canadians saw the names of the passengers on board the plane and declared it an "Indian problem." Canadian officials had many mistakes to answer for, like how a bomb planted in unattended luggage was allowed on board the plane, or how the suspects, who were already on the radar of CSIS, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, were allowed to make their move. 

The tragedy reverberated throughout the Sikh community, because everyone knew who was responsible, even though no one would say it out loud. It was dangerous to say it out loud.

Sunny had heard the talk over the years, while attending Gurdwara, while volunteering to distribute food during langar, the community meal offered to everyone who wanted to attend, whether or not they were Sikh. Langar was why he was a Sikh. One of the three pillars of Sikhism, as taught by Guru Nanak, was Vand Chhako, the sharing of wealth and consuming of it together, and langar was the purest expression of that pillar, because the event often drew the homeless, who could have a free vegetarian meal and sit with people of every economic status, all on an equal footing. Equality was an important tenet of Sikhism, as the religion resulted out of the struggle against the Hindu caste system by Indians in the Punjab region. Nobody was supposed to think themselves better than anyone else, and to ensure that, everybody ate the langar meal while sitting on the floor. Exceptions were made, for the elderly who couldn't easily rise again after sitting so long, and for pregnant women. Different factions in the Sikh community had different views on the subject, though; for example, why not have everyone sit on chairs at a table, and make it easy for everyone to sit? Sunny didn't see a problem with that, as long as nobody sat higher than anyone else. Traditionalists still held the majority, though, so the floor was still the setting of choice, at least in his gurdwara. Again, he didn't mind; what mattered was that everyone ate, and everyone was equal.

The talk Sunny heard was about the very Punjab from which his family had emigrated so long ago. He considered himself a Canadian, as he was born here, but he had sympathy for the community still living in the Punjab, who suffered discrimination from the majority Hindu population. Not that they fared much better in Canada; Lauren might have had Internment in her family's history, but Sikhs had their dark days in Canadian history too. One such incident was in 1914, when the SS Komagata Maru, a ship full of mainly Sikh men, was prevented from docking at the Port of Vancouver and eventually sent back to India, where the passengers met an armed encounter with British Indian police, who viewed them as dangerous revolutionaries against British Imperial rule. Twenty of the passengers were killed in the melee. 

A homeland. Every religion wanted one. Sikhs in the Punjab dreamed of Khalistan, a separate state from India for Sikhs, just as the Muslims had Pakistan. Every religion had extremists too, and governments often dealt with them in extreme ways. Operation Blue Star, launched by the Indian army, resulted in damage to the Golden Temple in Amritsar, the primary shrine of Sikhism, as well as the deaths of over five hundred Sikhs. Violence begat violence. Indira Gandhi, prime minister of India, was assassinated by her own Sikh bodyguards. In response, thousands of Sikhs were killed at the hands of Hindus in Delhi alone.

Somebody had the bright idea that blowing up an airplane would advance the cause of creating a Sikh homeland, and because the plot was hatched in Canada, it was heads down time for Sikhs living in Canada.

Sunny went through a crisis of identity after the events of June 23, unable to reconcile the wisdom of the Gurus and the ideals of equality and peaceful spirituality with the violence of a handful of men who used those same teachings as justification for their actions.

Thus, when he first met Tejinderpreet Dhaliwal on campus at the University of British Columbia, his hair was cut and he was clean shaven.

It was the first time he'd ever had a serious disagreement with his father, who couldn't see the logic of his diminishing his own holiness to protest the actions of others. He deplored the extremists just as much as Sunny did, but discarding the five Ks would have made him feel exposed and unmoored. Maybe Sunny didn't have as many years of hair growth under his belt, maybe he still remembered what it was like with less hair, but it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would when he went to the barber, a white barber, and asked him to take it all off.

Tej was a freshman and Sunny a sophomore. They met at a Sikh Student Association welcome event to start the school year. He spotted her across a crowded room, and...

She was on the arm of another. Of course she was. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Rachel and Lauren might have inspired his childhood crushes, but Tej, in her clingy black tunic style dress, inspired very adult feelings in the nineteen-year-old Sunil Parhar (he didn't think he could use Singh anymore.) It was no wonder she was already taken...

By a white boy? 

He studied the lucky guy as he edged closer to them. He was dark haired, handsome, of course, and tall, maybe Sunny's height. He seemed genuinely pleased to be there, attentively listening to Tej expound on a display table holding articles important to the faith and to Punjabi culture. She didn't wear a head covering herself, but she must have been Sikh because, from the way she described things, she knew what she was talking about. Maybe they were high school sweethearts attending university together, and she was immersing him into her culture. The other attendees, for their part, were thrilled to have a non-Sikh in their midst, someone new to show around. The two were the centre of attention, most likely because of Tej herself.

Tej's eyes flitted from one attendee to another, and her smile was radiant as she laughed at some joke. She commanded the room, she was so confident for someone just out of high school.

Their eyes met. 

Sunny felt as if a spotlight had found him and locked on him. Tej's doe eyes widened in fear, as if something about him spooked her. That couldn't have been a good sign, and he made himself look away. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was a creep. She was with someone else, after all, and he had no right to make eye contact for longer than a second; that edged too close to flirting, and he had no idea how to even start a conversation with her, anyway, he thought he would be too tongue tied.

He never locked eyes with her again that day, and left the event later with mixed feelings about it. It was nice enough mingling with other South Asians on a campus where the majority of students were white, but it was hard to work up enthusiasm for a faith that had taken such a beating in the media lately.

He kept going back for other Sikh Student Association events, though, unwilling to give up entirely. 

The second time he went back, he ran into Tej again.

She was not on anyone's arm this time, and when she entered the room she looked around wildly, searching, searching, until those eyes fell on him again, and the smile that grew on her face worked on Sunny like rain on a parched plant, filling him up, making him bloom.

She was dressed only in jeans and a sweater, not the clingy dress she'd worn the first time he saw her, but she was still the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. And she was walking to him. He could only stand there, like a deer in the headlights, unable to move, although flight was the last thing on his mind.

When she was before him, she said, "Hi," with a shaky breath, as if she were the nervous one.

"Hello," he said. "I..." And to his horror, nothing more would come out.

She didn't seem put off by it though. She smiled warmly and said, "You..."

"Forgive me," he stammered. "I saw you that other time and--"

"I know. I saw you too."

"I apologize if I was staring. I'm just... captivated by you."

She released a slow, shaky breath. "I'm Tej," she said, offering her hand.

"Sunny," he said, taking it, and holding it for too long.

"Is Sunny your Anglicized name?" she asked.

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. It's actually Sunil. And Tej?"

"Tejinderpreet. Try getting your boyfriend to pronounce that, though."

"I could," he said before he could stop himself.

Her mouth opened, and she took another shaky breath.

"Does your boyfriend," he said in an effort to recover from his slip, "the one you were with--"

"We're not together anymore," she declared.

"Oh!" he said, ashamed at how pleased he sounded. "I'm sorry," he said, to make up for it.

"Don't be. We... came to an impasse. He was worried about being seen dating a terrorist, and I wouldn't put up with that bullshit."

He shook his head in confusion. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The bloody fall-out from Air India," she said, waving her other hand as if performing a magic trick, as if making herself travel back in time to catch that luggage before it went on the plane, throw it high into the atmosphere, and watch it explode safely where no one would be hurt. It was what he wished he could do, anyway. "He was worried that if his friends knew I was Sikh, they'd be afraid of me and they wouldn't want to hang out with him anymore, and there was no way he was introducing me to his family, either."

"Then he's a fool, and he doesn't deserve you," he declared.

She looked deep into his eyes, and he realized he was still holding her hand, and she hadn't pulled it away. "When we broke up," she said, "I knew I had to find you."

Her declaration took his breath away. "Really?" he asked, feeling faint.

"Yes!" she said, almost manically. Her eyes were fever bright now. "It was like a sign, the first time I saw you. I knew I had to talk to you even that night, but I didn't know how to do it without making him jealous. Then we broke up and I knew now I could talk to you, but I didn't know how to find you, except I knew you attended this group, and that was it. So, I looked for you, and here you were."

"Maybe it was a sign then," he said, barely above a whisper, "because for some reason I kept coming, even though I was so despondent... but why, Tej?"

"Why what?" she asked.

"Why did you feel the need to talk to me, of all people? You, who could have anyone in this room," he said, gesturing to the gathered Sikhs, turbaned and bare headed, men and women. "How could I have been so fortunate to catch your attention?"

Her face softened, and Sunny was glad, because those eyes were in danger of burning him to a crisp, but she said something that surprised him. "Because you were so sad."

"What?"

"Like you said yourself, you were despondent, and I think I know why."

He blinked at her for a few seconds before asking, "Why?"

"For the same reason my boyfriend and I broke up. I could see it in your eyes, and on your head, and on your face. You're in mourning."

He gasped at her intuition. "You could tell just from looking at me?"

She placed a hand over his hand that still held her other hand. "You looked like an impostor, like you didn't belong in the room; even my white boyfriend looked like he had more right to be there than you did."

He blinked in surprise, and couldn't help feeling stung. "How so?" he asked.

"You're Amritdhari, but you're in disguise."

He gaped at her. "How in the world do you know that?"

She raised one eyebrow at him, as if in disbelief that he would ask that question. Sunny had never met anyone who could do that before. It was both cheeky and authoritative, and he would come to experience it many more times over their years together, feeling both chastened and aroused at the same time.

"It's like when you wear a ring on your finger for a long time," she explained. "When you suddenly take it off, it leaves an imprint behind. Maybe it's the pressure mark on your finger, or maybe it's a slightly lighter patch of skin because the sun hasn't kissed it in all the time you wore the ring. That's you, Sunny," she said, and hearing his name in her mouth made him shiver with pleasure.

"I'm like a finger without a ring?" he asked, even though he knew what she was getting at. He wanted to hear her say it.

"Well, figuratively, but you're definitely a face without a beard, and a back of the neck with a slightly lighter patch where the hair would have grown. The sun hasn't yet darkened the exposed places. That's what I noticed. You're so... naked."

Hearing the word naked out of her mouth made him crumple, and he quickly grabbed a chair and sat before he hit the ground. He nearly pulled her down with him because he was still holding her hand.

"Are you all right?" she asked, alarmed.

He released her hand, chuckled sheepishly and said, "Yes, sorry, Tej, you've literally made me weak in the knees."

She took a chair and sat beside him, and together they looked out at the other guests, who never noticed this beginning of a courtship that would result in over twenty-five years together, most of them married.

"What I mean to say," she said, "is that this look you're sporting isn't actually you. I know you cut your hair and shaved your beard because you're in mourning. Air India made you ashamed to be a Sikh. It made my boyfriend ashamed to be seen with one. This is why I had to find you. I had to tell you this isn't your fault, because you're not the one who put the bomb on that plane. It's not my fault either, but I'm not the one who has to remove their disguise."

It was so odd to hear her describe disguise that way. Usually disguise meant putting something on, not taking something off.

An idea suddenly occurred to him. "I'm my own alter ego."

Even her frown was attractive. "Sorry?"

"I used to watch superhero cartoons when I was a kid," he explained. "Every superhero has an alter ego, an everyday person who goes to work and blends in. Take Spider-Man, for example."

And to his surprise, he sang the first line of the opening theme to the cartoon he used to watch in the Seventies: Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a spider can...

Tej laughed in surprise, and he realized he loved making her laugh. "Anyway," he said, "Spider-Man's alter ego is Peter Parker, but when he puts on his costume, that's when he's the hero."

"Wait a minute," Tej interjected. "Isn't the hero the one in disguise?"

"Well... yeah, okay maybe my analogy is a bit clunky. I guess it depends on whether you think the hero is the true expression of the person; if Peter Parker is the one in disguise because he blends into the population, then his identity is given fullest expression as Spider-Man."

Tej nodded thoughtfully. "That is some serious first year psychology there. Is that your major?"

"No, but I haven't declared one yet. I've taken first year psychology, but my goal is to go to law school."

"Oh, you want to be a lawyer?"

"Yeah, not sure which law yet. How about you?"

"Not sure yet. I'm taking business courses, mainly, but I'm not set on a major yet. You need some pretty good grades to be a lawyer."

Sunny shrugged. "So far I have them. I don't like to brag, but I was top of my graduating class."

She looked over at him and smiled. "Khalsa School?"

"Good guess. You?"

"John Oliver Secondary School on Forty-First Avenue. It was closest to where we lived; my family has a store in the Punjabi Market area, you know, Main and Forty-Ninth."

"Ah, yes. Do they attend the Ross Street Temple?"

"They do. We do. Even now, after a few men, with one act, defined what Sikhism is to Canadians. That's what I'm telling you, Sunny. Don't let them define it for you. We can't tell the rest of the country what to think about our faith, but we know what it is, we grew up with it, and we know it's not that one event. So, grow your hair, grow your beard, and never be ashamed of it again. I bet you'll look a lot better when it's all back, and feel better too."

He stared at her for a long time. Who was this woman? Here he was, thinking she was a beautiful ideal out of his reach, and yet she'd come to him and saved him, saved his faith, his identity.

"Tej," he said, "it might take a while to come back, but would you like to have dinner with me in the meantime?"

She smiled lasciviously at him and said, "I thought you'd never ask."

Thanks for reading this far! Not being a Sikh or of South Asian descent, I'm well aware this chapter might be strewn with cultural landmines, but I didn't think I could tell Sunny's story without mentioning a historical moment that would have shaped him and the whole Sikh community living in Canada at the time. I wanted to also tell the story of how he met his wife, and I thought what better way to have them come together than for them both to help each other through that tragic time. I hope I wrote this with sensitivity and respect. If I made any errors, please let me know in the comment section; I strive for authenticity. If you liked what you just read, hit the "Vote" button to send this title up the ranks.

To read about the argument that left Lauren so upset at Sunny's office, click on "Continue reading."