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29th January 2026
Suresh Singh, better known as The Cockney Sikh, was the first Sikh punk. Immersed in counter-culture circles and spaces in the late 70's, with teachings sound system culture and the quiet guidance of his father, music sure enough became a way to survive these turbulent times for Singh.
Growing up Sikh in East London, Suresh Singh, or the Cockney Sikh, entered punk spaces that were often openly hostile, playing drums in rooms filled with skinheads during a time of division.
Growing up Sikh in East London, Suresh Singh, or the Cockney Sikh, entered punk spaces that were often openly hostile, playing drums in rooms filled with skinheads during a time of division.
Throughout this period he remained guided by his father in particular, who urged him to find himself and stay true to his ambitions without abandoning his dharm. Singh subsequently became the first Punjabi punk, drumming for Spizzenergi and touring with Siouxsie and the Banshees and The Cure. Today, Singh tries his hand at anything from architecture, composing and producing, writing books, or even giving guided tours around London.
Throughout this period he remained guided by his father in particular, who urged him to find himself and stay true to his ambitions without abandoning his dharm. Singh subsequently became the first Punjabi punk, drumming for Spizzenergi and touring with Siouxsie and the Banshees and The Cure. Today, Singh tries his hand at anything from architecture, composing and producing, writing books, or even giving guided tours around London.
‘If it weren’t for music, I’d probably be dead’
One of Suresh’s first remarks to us was that ‘If it weren’t for music, I’d probably be dead. Like at the age of 15.’
It's clear that he doesn’t say this lightly, and punk didn’t arrive as an aesthetic choice or teenage rebellion for him. As you can probably imagine, growing up Sikh in East London in the 1970s and entering punk spaces often meant violence and hostility.
‘Sometimes I used to play and they were like all skinheads, mate. They’d be bottling me and making racist comments.’ Yet, the music continued to propel him: ‘I thought to myself, bruv, I love drumming. So I kept drumming!’
By the time punk surfaced in the late 70’s, Singh had already nurtured a deep relationship with music. His mother encouraged him to play the flute as a child, inspired by Lord Krishna. And ‘If your mum says something’ he says, ‘you’ve got to do it’.
He took his parent’s advice seriously, where learning a craft was driven by discipline, devotion, and joy. When punk came along, Singh recognised something familiar in it – not just chaos, but freedom.
‘Don’t lose your dharm’
In 1979, Singh’s life shifted quickly. Spizz knocked on his door on Princes Street in Brick Lane, as they were going on tour with Siouxsie and the Banshees and The Cure. ‘I went downstairs to my dad and I said, ‘Dad, can I go on tour?'' he says.
His father, Joginder Singh, didn’t hesitate. ‘He goes, ‘You’ve got a drum kit.’ Then came the only condition: ‘Don’t lose your dharm.’ In other words, find yourself and stay true to what matters to you.
Raised in a Sikh household with strict principles (no drinking, no smoking) Singh didn’t experience punk as excess like it was for many others of his time. ‘It became my natural intoxication,’ he says. ‘Music saved me.’
Touring with Spizzenergi placed him inside the UK punk circuit, but his world was already wider than one scene. Dub, reggae, and sound system culture ran through East London at the same time, which opened his eyes to other side of the city. ‘My Jamaican mates started making speakers for big sound systems,’ he recants.
‘When you find peace, you find the sacred’
Looking back now, Singh speaks about music less as performance and more as practice.
‘You have to search for peace; when you find peace, you find the sacred. He goes on, 'it’s timeless and nameless… when you do something very beautiful, it’s the highest form of meditation.’
That thinking runs through A Modest Living: Memoirs of a Cockney Sikh (2018), his retelling of a life shaped by East London streets, venues, and communities shaped by music, traditional Sikh recipes, and intergenerational connection. Walking through Brick Lane today, each location carries memory – of his parents, of touring, of learning where he belonged and where he didn’t, and what spaces are worth the persistence to break down and experience fully.
At the centre of it all is his father, who Singh speaks very highly of with fond recollection. ‘It saved me because my dad loved me.' He goes on to reflect that ego, it destroys you.' Like his father and his faith, what matters is serving others, and passing on skills, giving others the chance to find their own way.
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