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Good morning.

When my grandmother passed away, members of my family travelled to a gurdwara in Punjab to scatter her ashes into the same river where those of some of the Sikh Gurus were scattered centuries ago.

Sikhs don’t put up physical memorials such as gravestones over the remains of the dead. Virtually all Sikhs are cremated, their souls either reincarnated or liberated from mortal existence and united with the Divine – and their bodily remains are then dispersed in flowing water so that they can go out to the sea. The ashes are washed away and become part of the natural world, whilst family and friends are given closure and ask for the strength to accept the will of the Almighty.

This weekend saw the official opening of a new site for people to scatter the ashes of the departed. It’s located on the River Taff in Cardiff, and allows the increasing number of British Sikhs and Hindus, who want to conduct funeral rites for their loved ones in this country, to do so. Traditions and customs are adapting to fit the changing needs of congregations, and that’s why campaigners in Wales spent many years trying to find the right place for the site. This has led to perhaps the most British of partnerships with the local rowing club, who worked with Sikh and Hindu campaigners to raise money for a specially constructed pontoon which they could share - for both rowing and the performance of sacred funeral rites.

The announcement is a timely one, coming in the middle of South Asian Heritage Month, which I co-founded. The month recognises the unique and multi-layered nature of British South Asian communities, celebrates their histories, and shares them with wider society. It encourages us to speak about our own experiences as brown people, look at how our South Asian-ness can be found in every aspect of British life, and consider what the future may hold for us in this country.

The British Sikh community prides itself in how it’s been able to adapt to new circumstances. In the 60s and 70s, warehouses and deconsecrated churches were repurposed as gurdwaras. In some of the langars or community kitchens of those gurdwaras, you will often find chips and beans being served alongside the more traditional fare of dhal and rotis. Even the turban, that signifier of Sikh identity, has adapted itself to a unique and recognisable British style.

Our identities have evolved over time. My father has always been clear that he would want his ashes taken to Punjab to be scattered as my grandmother’s were, but I would much rather have mine scattered in the Thames, the river of the city I was born in and where I’ve lived my entire life.

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