This history exists now on these pages, in the forgetful minds of my elders, and amidst the collections of The Reach Gallery based in Abbotsford, BC in the exhibition, Des Pardes, “an exhibition in collaboration with Abbotsford’s South Asian Canadian community”. In the archives, I can find an image of my Dhadha Ji Gurdial posing in a negative dated 1965 in Punjab where he looks to the left, seemingly into the distance. Although much younger, this is how I remember him, always looking at something I never could see. For years this image was labelled as ‘anonymous’ inside the Gur Sikh Temple and Sikh Museum- a historical site built in 1911 by the early Punjabi-Sikh settlers of the area. It stands as the oldest early Sikh Gurdwara built by the hands of early-Punjabi settlers, and still standing today against years of systemic racial trauma- a place of refuge and love. I often think about my grandfather’s anonymity there in such a familiar place, rendering him into a stranger for those few seconds until that moment of recognition. Of how lonely that must have felt for his soul, how many people walked past his image without learning his name, Gurdial, the one blessed with the guru’s grace.  Once the mistake had been fixed, I spent my childhood googling “Gurdial Singh Powar” into the search engine years after his death so that I could stare at his likeness. By then it felt like a gift, to have my grandfather right there in the palm of my hand when I needed him. 

But it was only when I walked into The Reach Gallery’s opening of Des Pardes, an exhibit celebrating the vibrant South Asian community my grandparents were once a part of in the Fraser Valley, that I found her. I had only ever seen it digitally, the face of my great-grandmother Gian Kaur Powar who passed away before my birth.  And yet there she was, past the kirpans and textiles stored behind glass cases and sitting on a simple wooden table. I walked past it at first, giving it only a cursory glance as I looked at the other images scattered around, only to look back once I recognized the much younger face of my Gurbaksh Chacha Ji standing behind her. It had been years by now since his death, but his face would always be recognizable, and I found myself for a moment scrutinizing the image in disbelief. Labelled under “Gurdial Singh Powar” was a family portrait taken in Jalandhar, Punjab right in front of me that I had never touched. Before my grandfather’s oldest brother Gurbaksh Singh Powar took a leap to Canada’s shore in 1960, he was there standing in the image behind his mother with a Khalsa College uniform and short neatly cut hair. He was much much younger than the old man I played with as a child. And although Gurdial was nowhere in the image, my great-grandmother sits with her two youngest sons by her side. Gurbaksh towers over them, along with the youngest Harvinder (Harvey) Singh Powar whose feet barely touch the ground, and Bhupinder Singh Powar sitting at the far right in a turban. It felt like a homecoming in a strange way. Although I couldn’t do anything but stare at the frame, now in my hands, with wide eyes for what felt like hours. In a space filled with community photos, of personal family mementos I finally found the face of Gian Kaur, a woman I had never met except in stories, of a photo taken right before everything changed. There was a story here, the beginning of something I couldn’t yet perceive. 

It’s an incomplete family portrait; my grandfather Gurdial, the second oldest son, is notably missing along with his father Puran Singh Powar who passed away beforehand in Burma where he worked on the canal system for years. Remarkably, everyone in this portrait would eventually leave for Canada well before my grandfather Gurdial who stayed in India for as long as possible while working a central government job, only to finally come over when they had settled. And although they are my kin, I don’t have ownership of this image, it belongs in the archives now where it was once donated and is now adding to a larger Canadian historical canon - preserving my family in a way I never could. These two photos, at The Reach Gallery and at the Gur Sikh Temple, are a glimpse into the story of siblings who came to Canada, worked in the mines of Steward, British Columbia, and who lived and moved throughout the Lower Mainland of British Columbia’s Fraser Valley from Vancouver to as far as Abbotsford. Of my grandfather Gurdial who lived in Richmond for a breath, then in Punjabi Market Vancouver for an even shorter one, following his eldest son to Abbotsford where he set himself down with a sigh, “this is home”.

These reunions will always live with me—these moments I will never forget in my life. Of a grandfather who exists in the digital, a family placed in a community exhibit, and of stories only I know and keep in my heart. Where a daughter now uncovers them before they fade away from memory. Loving them the only way I know how. 

But this is only the prelude before a long and fulfilling journey as I continue to restore my family in the archives, track a genealogy that was once forgotten, sewing the pieces that have been left here for me to find to create a living document that continues to breathe once I’m gone. I hope to uncover more, find the names that need to be restored, immerse myself fully in the Powar name. Where I can imagine my great-grandmother Gian Kaur holding my hand as we both celebrate a love unrestrained by time.