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The streets brought me to my knees. My Sikh culture guided me home.

How did a promising young university graduate from Simon Fraser University end up on Vancouver’s Skid Row? My family had no answers, and to this day, neither do I.

July 3, 2025

It was a crisp summer day and the sunlight filtered through the high windows of the Sikh Gurdwara on Scott Road across from McDonald’s. Shards of light fell across the canopy, elegantly draped in vibrant, costly fabrics, where the Guru Granth Sahib — the central scripture of Sikhism — was carefully and lovingly placed. 

As I step into the temple, I start to cry. Something about this place touches my heart. 

It feels like a homecoming — a sanctuary filled with joyful memories from my childhood and teenage years. I cry because I am like the prodigal son, returning home after years of living a life of debauchery. And I cry because I am a recovering alcoholic who ended up on Vancouver’s Skid Row — homeless, relying on the goodwill of strangers, couch surfing and in shelters. 

My descent into this world began around the same time women were going missing from the Downtown Eastside. A palpable fear hung in the air as I wandered the streets, lost in a confused, psychotic stupor brought on by drinking. I was in and out of hospitals, and each time I was discharged back into the community, I returned to alcohol. Looking back, I sometimes wonder — did those hospital stays keep me safe from the dangers that lurked on the streets? Maybe they were a blessing in disguise. 

But how did a promising young university graduate from Simon Fraser University end up here? My family had no answers, and to this day, neither do I. 

 • • • 

Returning to my culture has been both life-affirming and life-changing — and it’s helped me stay sober for 21 years. I still remember that first time walking into the Sikh Gurdwara on Scott Road; it feels like yesterday. I find peace in temples, where the gentle rhythms of the tabla and harmonium soothe my soul, and the voices of the hymn singers rise in devotion. 

Sikhism teaches equality and service — especially through the act of feeding others — and its values continue to ground me in hope. My Higher Power is Waheguru, the “Wonderful Teacher,” and through this connection, I’ve found purpose, strength and healing. 

On my journey through recovery, I’ve felt a deep desire to understand the Guru Granth Sahib. That’s why I’ve begun learning to read and write in Gurmukhi script. The Scriptures are written entirely in poetry and draw from several ancient languages, which makes them challenging to interpret — something my Punjabi professor at Kwantlen Polytechnic University often affirms. 

But despite the difficulty, I refuse to give up. As a mature Sikh woman, I’m determined to connect with the history of my culture, and each new word or grammar rule I encounter fills me with joy.  

Culture is more than language, clothing and food; it is a deep familiarity of values that brings individuals together. As a South Asian woman born in England, I don’t need to explain myself to others from the same background. There is an unspoken connection, a mutual knowing that pulls us together. One thing I especially love about Sikh culture is our vibrant sense of humour. Just think of the sharp wit of brilliant comedian Russell Peters. Alongside that humour is a strong work ethic, a value woven deeply into the fabric of community.  

But I digress. 

I want to share my spirituality with others because a deep spiritual experience has been paramount to my recovery. I first had that moment one early morning in the Gurdwara as I sat and meditated on the mantra “Waheguru.” As I chanted, all of a sudden I felt a complete feeling of bliss come over me. It lasted for several minutes, and in that moment I knew that Waheguru was real. Meditation has always been difficult for me, but that experience continues to draw me back, reminding me of the peace found in those early morning hours at the temple. 

It has become more important to me to live a non-violent life, including nonviolence toward the environment and its creatures. In Sikhism, there’s a deep belief that everything unfolds according to the Creator’s will. Perhaps, then, my journey through the darkness of alcoholism was also a form of grace. Through lived experience, and through Waheguru, I’ve come to understand that nothing in life can be taken for granted.

The word “Sikh’” literally means student, and I continue to learn each day. 

 • • • 

South Asian Heritage Month (July) reminds me that I’ve had the privilege of living in two wonderful cultures, and I strive to carry forward the best of both. But in my experience, like that of many South Asian women, there is still the pain of navigating intersectional oppression: the patriarchy still present in some families, and the racism that persists in broader Canadian society. As a young person, I rebelled against the draconian cultural rules I was forced to endure. Living in Canada, I was given the opportunity to follow my dreams and would not have found the values most important to me if I hadn’t gone through a difficult but ultimately rewarding experience.  

I am a queer woman of colour who wants to learn about the world and fight for women’s rights. And that will always be my purpose.  

South Asian Heritage Month is held annually from July 18 to Aug. 17 to recognize and celebrate the diverse cultures, histories and contributions of South Asians. 

Jathinder Sandhu is a Surrey resident and a published poet, writer and member of  

The Shift peer newsroom. She won writing contests in high school, studied poetry post-secondary and went on to earn a bachelor’s degree in communications. Jathinder also plays bass guitar.  

Published in Megaphone magazine on July 4, 2024