I’d love to hear about the grandparents in your life—whether they were your biological grandparents or other grandparent figures who played a meaningful role. What did you call them? What were they like?

My paternal grandfather, who we affectionately call Bapu Ji (translates to elder one, wise one in Punjabi), was born in 1936 in modern day Pakistan. As a young boy, he endured the painful 1947 Partition of India, shifting life and resettling across the border drawn by the British. He spent much of his life in the same village, growing old while tending his crops with his sons—my uncles. I heard his voice for a few minutes every month over the telephone and dialing cards. Bapu Ji immigrated to the US in 2016, along with 22 other family members whose petitions were processed together after 13 years. His stern presence is a form of affection he passed to my dad.

What is a memory from childhood that always makes you smile? Maybe it’s a favorite game, book, or TV show. It could be a birthday party, a moment you were proud of, or anything else that brings back a happy feeling. I’d love to hear what stands out to you.

Documenting experiences, strangely enough. Growing up, I was obsessed with cameras, recording music—creating something. As a 10-year-old, I would carry around a duffle bag of random audio wires, just in case I needed to hook up to a media system or record sound. In the 4th grade, my dad bought me my first Canon camera which sparked so much joy. It was the start of a creative outlet that would carry on until today.

This next question is a bit deeper, and you’re welcome to answer it whatever way feels right—there’s no right or wrong. Have you ever felt unheard, unseen, or judged—when people made assumptions about you before really knowing you? Maybe it changed how you saw yourself or how you moved through the world. Is there a story you’d like to share?

Right out of high school, my first job was at Best Buy selling cameras. With a broad smile, I could talk anyone into capturing their family’s moments on a fancy mirrorless camera and financing it with a Best Buy credit card. I know, salesman. One day though, a shocking comment from a customer would send me back a decade to when I was bullied in school for my appearance.

I am a Sikh, a disciple of Guru Nanak who started the fifth largest religion in the world, Sikhism. As a symbol of faith, identity, and equality, I wear a Dastar (turban) on my head to cover my unshorn hair. The distinct appearance along with my beard, makes it for an easy target for prejudice and hatred.

Like every customer I met, I greeted this middle-aged lady with a warm welcome and a smile. “Welcome to Best Buy, could I help you find anything today?” I asked.

“I don’t want you to help me, you look like a terrorist.” she replied.

That moment didn’t change who I was or diminish my charm. But it helped me understand the world we live in a bit better. I forgave her that moment and left it to ignorance. Over the next hour, I would guide and sell her a MacBook Pro, instead of booting her out of the store. My manager was shocked at my composure. Did that change how she viewed me, was I still a terrorist in her mind?

Let’s shift gears a bit to something more upbeat. Can you share a time when you felt truly seen—when someone did or said something that made you feel happier and made you think, ‘Wow, they really get me’?

Small acts of kindness from my best friends, that feel like they’ve read my mind, will have me smile for days.

What’s the most important thing we haven’t touched on yet? Is there a piece of wisdom passed down from a family member or something you’d like to share that could make our readers’ lives kinder, more compassionate, and loving? Anything come to mind?

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” – Maya Angelou

This quote has been a guiding principle in my years of customer service, and now in my space of collaboration. I make every effort to make my peers feel heard, to give feedback, and to engage in a dialogue no matter how small or big.