{"id":783637,"date":"2026-07-25T11:47:09","date_gmt":"2026-07-25T11:47:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/783637\/"},"modified":"2026-07-25T11:47:09","modified_gmt":"2026-07-25T11:47:09","slug":"i-thought-ive-tried-everything-else-why-not-give-ai-a-shot-the-long-lost-family-reunited-by-chatgpt-family","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/783637\/","title":{"rendered":"\u2018I thought, I\u2019ve tried everything else, why not give AI a shot?\u2019: the long-lost family reunited by ChatGPT | Family"},"content":{"rendered":"

As a small boy growing up in Amritsar, India, in the 1960s, Avtar Singh used to hear whispers. Your mum isn\u2019t really your mum, the rumours would say. Your mum lives abroad. Avtar didn\u2019t really pay any attention to it. \u201cI thought, the neighbours are just making up stories.\u201d But the stories were true: the woman raising Avtar was actually his grandmother. When he was too young to remember it, his father had emigrated to Canada to work as a teacher, leaving Avtar in the care of his paternal grandparents. His grandfather, a police officer, was a fearsome authoritarian, but his grandmother brought him up with tenderness, as if he were her own son. She called him by his nickname, Titu. He felt loved.<\/p>\n

When Avtar was around eight years old, he was told about his family in Canada: his dad, his mum and a little brother were waiting for him there, and he would soon travel to join them. Just after his ninth birthday, Avtar found himself sitting on a plane, dressed in a three\u2011piece suit and tie. He was travelling alone. He had never flown before. He didn\u2019t speak a word of English. He landed in Halifax, Nova Scotia, on Christmas Eve, 1968; his family met him at the airport and took him home. \u201cI didn\u2019t know what to think,\u201d Avtar, now 66, tells me in a video call from his home in Abbotsford, British Columbia. \u201cBefore I knew it, it was the first week of January, and I was put in school.\u201d<\/p>\n

Avtar with his grandmother in the mid-60s in Amritsar, India (above), and (below) aged 10, in 1969, the year after he moved to Canada. Courtesy of Avtar Singh<\/p>\n

Unable to communicate with any of the other pupils, Avtar watched what they did and followed along, storing his snow boots in the cloakroom, standing up to sing the Canadian national anthem and God Save the Queen. But with his long hair tied in the topknot often worn by Sikh boys, he stood out. His parents offered to buy him a hockey stick and a pair of ice skates if he agreed to get his hair cut. He learned English. His nickname changed from Titu to the more Canadian \u201cTito\u201d. He began to blend in.<\/p>\n

But Avtar didn\u2019t fit in at home. He was much paler than everyone else \u2013 \u201cthe white sheep of the family,\u201d he jokes. And they treated him like an outsider, an afterthought. When he was 14, his family went on holiday without him, leaving Avtar home alone for two weeks. He got on well enough with his father, but didn\u2019t gel at all with his mother. \u201cShe didn\u2019t have any of the warmth that my grandma had. She absolutely hated me.\u201d She seemed much more like a stepmother than a mother.<\/p>\n

That feeling was confirmed when Avtar got married and his grandparents flew over to stay with him and his new wife, Rosie. His grandma \u201cwhispered into my wife\u2019s ear\u201d that Avtar was the product of his father\u2019s first marriage. \u201cShe didn\u2019t say what my mother\u2019s name was. She just said, \u2018Her family was from Africa, and she left the child with us and went back to Africa. She might have gone to live in the UK.\u2019 That\u2019s it.\u201d It didn\u2019t feel right to ask his grandparents for more information: this was clearly a family secret that no one wanted to discuss with Avtar.<\/p>\n

double quotation markThe thought of my mother didn\u2019t leave my mind, ever<\/p>\n

When his son was set a school assignment to complete his family tree, Avtar felt emboldened to approach his father. \u201cI said, \u2018Dad, you\u2019ve got to tell me at least what my mother\u2019s name was.\u2019\u201d His dad eventually relented: her first name was Savinder. But he would not give Avtar any more information, no matter how many times he asked. \u201cI was stonewalled.\u201d Avtar had no idea why his parents had split up. \u201cAll I really understood was that my mother\u2019s family encouraged her to give up custody of me so it would be easier for them to remarry her.\u201d<\/p>\n

He thought about his mother constantly. When Rosie was pregnant with their daughter, there were anomalies in some of the antenatal tests, and Rosie and Avtar were referred to a geneticist. Avtar was asked about his parents\u2019 medical history. \u201cI couldn\u2019t tell them anything about my mother\u2019s family history. It hit me right in the heart. That\u2019s when I thought, I\u2019ve got to do something.\u201d<\/p>\n

He Googled and Facebooked, but there was almost nothing to go on; Savinder is a fairly common Punjabi Sikh name. In 2009, Avtar flew to London to visit the National Archives at Kew with the hope of finding immigration or marriage records that might lead him to his mother. \u201cI couldn\u2019t find anything at all.\u201d On a later visit to London, he emailed Sunrise Radio, a British Asian station, asking if they could put out an appeal to find his mother, but they told Avtar they don\u2019t do that kind of thing, out of respect for people\u2019s privacy. That gave Avtar pause. \u201cI thought, maybe I should just cool off. If my mother has some other family, I don\u2019t want to disrupt her life.\u201d Still, it niggled. Three or four years ago, he asked a British south Asian work colleague for advice; she suggested contacting the ITV show Long Lost Family<\/a>. He watched a few episodes and decided it wasn\u2019t for him. But he longed to know his mother. \u201cThe thought of her did not leave my mind, ever.\u201d<\/p>\n

The one thing Avtar did not do was a DNA test. He is retired now, but he used to be a chartered accountant, and he knows enough about technology, data and privacy to be wary of giving up his genetic code to a corporation. \u201cThey can sell it. Not only that \u2013 if they see something in my DNA, that affects my kids. I don\u2019t want that information up there.\u201d He deactivated his Facebook account 12 years ago for similar reasons. \u201cI don\u2019t have faith that these companies have the proper safeguards.\u201d<\/p>\n

double quotation markShe used to cry, \u2018Mera bacha\u2019 [\u2018my child\u2019, in Punjabi]. The dementia was bringing up all these memories for her<\/p>\n

Then, on 8 May this year, Avtar and Rosie were on holiday in the south of France. Avtar had been battling cancer; their long-awaited trip to Europe came after he had finished his treatment. \u201cIt was early morning, and I had read all the news. I was bored. I had nothing else to do. I thought, I\u2019ve tried Google and everything else, why don\u2019t I give AI a shot?\u201d<\/p>\n

Savinder Kaur in 1963. Courtesy of Nicci Dhamu<\/p>\n

He typed a prompt into ChatGPT<\/a>, based on the little he knew, and what else he could infer. He assumed that his mother would be around the same age as his father (who died 10 years ago); he knew that Sikh women of her generation were generally given the middle name Kaur.<\/p>\n

Avtar Can you find any information about a Savinder Kaur?<\/p>\n

Avtar She would be between 87 and 97 years old and would have lived in India and Africa and possibly in the UK<\/p>\n

ChatGPT The strongest match, based upon your clues, is this \u2026<\/p>\n

ChatGPT Savinder Kaur Nagi, born in 1936 in Kisumu, Kenya, to Indian Sikh parents.<\/p>\n

ChatGPT The article mentions family roots near Jammu and Kashmir in India and later migration connections to the UK.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know that AI can just make up shit. So I thought, OK, that\u2019s nice says Avtar. \u201cBut it actually referenced an article. I thought, I\u2019ll look at that, at least. Just to see.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wrote it out of grief,\u201d Nicci Dhamu tells me, in a cafe in west London. \u201cMummy never really had a voice, and that article was all about giving her one. I wanted to create a digital legacy for my mum.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicci is the jewellery designer behind the brand Sohavi. \u201cSohavi means beautiful in Gurmukh\u012b, the Sikh script. I learned about making things beautiful from Mum.\u201d Her article<\/a>, published on both the Sohavi blog and the South Asian Heritage Month website, was a celebration of her mother\u2019s creativity. \u201cShe suffered loss, and decisions were made for her when she young and wasn\u2019t able to assert her own voice, like many south Asian women of her generation. But she lives on through me and the profound influences she had on me throughout my life,\u201d Nicci wrote.<\/p>\n

Savinder Kaur Nagi died in her sleep in December 2024, aged 88. For the last five years of her life, she had dementia. Nicci, 58, had been her carer; they lived together and were very close. Nicci\u2019s family moved to the UK from Kenya in 1973. She has an older sister and a younger brother, as well as three half-sisters from her dad\u2019s first marriage; he was widowed before he met Savinder. \u201cWe grew up as one family. I didn\u2019t know until I was about 10 or 11 years old that my sisters were my half\u2011sisters, and that was only because one of my sisters told me.\u201d Theirs was a family that did not speak about the past.<\/p>\n

Savinder with Nicci Dhamu\u2019s father, c1963. Courtesy of Nicci Dhamu<\/p>\n

\u201cI remember once, Mum was in the kitchen making roti, and I asked her, \u2018Mummy, you were, like, 25 years old when you got married to Dad. Wasn\u2019t that a little old for somebody of your generation?\u2019 I knew that something was different about our family, but I didn\u2019t have the vocabulary to label it. My father never spoke to us about his wife who had died, and my mum never spoke about her life before him.\u201d<\/p>\n

When Nicci was in her 40s, an older cousin casually revealed that Savinder had been married to another man before she met Nicci\u2019s dad. \u201cShe was married off, very young. And it probably wasn\u2019t what she wanted,\u201d Nicci tells me. \u201cMy grandfather took her and her sisters out of school in Kenya and took them back to Punjab to a place called Dhariwal, just outside Amritsar.\u201d Later in life, her mother would openly lament leaving school \u2013 she could read and write English, and loved studying \u2013 but never explained why she had been forced to give up her education. She did not discuss her first marriage. She never told her children they had an older half-brother.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy cousin told me in that conversation that she had a son.\u201d Nicci\u2019s eyes are bright at the memory. But she never felt able to ask her mother about him. \u201cI couldn\u2019t. There was intrinsic pain there.\u201d<\/p>\n

There were times, Nicci says, when her mother would sink into a depression. \u201cShe would sit quietly, or take to bed because she was upset.\u201d Nicci would bring Savinder her dinner, and encourage her to sit up and eat. \u201cTowards the end of Mum\u2019s life, she used to cry, \u2018Mera bacha\u2019 [\u2018My child\u2019, in Punjabi]. The dementia was bringing up all these memories for her.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was then \u2013 a couple of years before her mum\u2019s death \u2013 that Nicci resolved to find the child her mother was crying for. But she did not know his name, and her mother was unwell so Nicci couldn\u2019t ask her. Instead, she turned to her wider family.<\/p>\n

She began with her mother\u2019s young brother, who lives in Birmingham. \u201cHe knew my mum\u2019s child as a two- or three-year-old,\u201d Nicci says. She picked his brains, and also her cousins\u2019. She learned that her mother\u2019s first husband was called Mohan Singh, a very educated man who taught at the Sri Guru Ramdas Khalsa school in Amritsar. Mohan\u2019s father had been a police officer, and \u201cquite a difficult man\u201d. Savinder had told her father that her husband wasn\u2019t treating her well. \u201cI think my grandad thought, this is not a good place for my daughter to be. He went around and took his daughter back to his home, and she must have picked up her little boy, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her mother raised the boy until he was three years old, Nicci was told. \u201cAs someone who is also divorced, I often reflect on the stigma my mother may have faced as a south Asian woman of her generation,\u201d she tells me. \u201cI think there was a lot of pressure from the family: let\u2019s get her married. Somebody as young as her was going to have a very difficult life as a single mother. She was too young to be on her own. Her son\u2019s family wanted him back. So they must have taken the child from her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nicci Dhamu with Savinder in 2018. Courtesy of Nicci Dhamu<\/p>\n

Savinder returned to Kenya, alone. At first, she stayed with her eldest brother. Nicci\u2019s cousins have vivid memories of her time in their home. \u201cShe would take his baby clothes out and cry. She never forgot him.\u201d She was soon introduced to Nicci\u2019s father, a man 16 years her senior. \u201cI think she carried that trauma throughout her life, but did a very good job of holding her head up high, making her life work, raising three more children.\u201d Family in Kenya heard \u201cthrough the grapevine\u201d that Savinder\u2019s first husband had moved to Canada, but they couldn\u2019t tell Nicci when. And no one knew the name of Savinder\u2019s little boy. They only knew his nickname: Titu.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo one\u2019s going to call themselves Titu on LinkedIn, are they?\u201d says Nicci with a deep laugh. That didn\u2019t stop her trying to find him online, and his father and grandfather, too, Googling the names of teachers and police officers in Amritsar. \u201cI didn\u2019t capture anything. How do you find somebody without a name? It\u2019s impossible.\u201d<\/p>\n

Three or four months before her mother died, she submitted Savinder\u2019s DNA to Ancestry.com. \u201cI set up a profile for her, saying, \u2018Profile managed by daughter, looking for her son, name is Titu, possibly living in Canada.\u2019\u201d She got some interesting titbits back about her mother\u2019s ancestral roots in Kashmir, Afghanistan and Uzbekistan, which would explain her light complexion, but no useful matches.<\/p>\n

A month after her mother died, Nicci contacted friends who knew people who had worked for the magistrates court in Amritsar, in the hope of finding records of the divorce. \u201cIf there were divorce papers, there would be names \u2013 and maybe a child\u2019s name.\u201d But she was told that would be virtually impossible; a needle in a haystack.<\/p>\n

In April 2025, Nicci\u2019s family took Savinder\u2019s ashes to India. During her stay in Amritsar, Nicci hired a driver to take her to Sri Guru Ramdas Khalsa school, where Titu\u2019s father had been a teacher. She spoke to the teachers and the security guard, but it was long after Mohan Singh\u2019s time there, so no one knew of him or his son. All she wanted was a name for her half-brother, but no one could tell her. It felt hopeless.<\/p>\n

\u201cI remember sitting there thinking, why doesn\u2019t he just knock on the door? I knew that his father was an educated man \u2013 I was pretty sure that he must be educated, too. Why isn\u2019t he looking for Mum?\u201d<\/p>\n

Avtar blinked at the article ChatGPT had presented to him. Rosie was just waking up. He made her a coffee and showed her what he\u2019d found, but she wasn\u2019t convinced. After all, the article didn\u2019t mention Savinder\u2019s first marriage, divorce or long-lost son. \u201cRosie didn\u2019t want me to be disappointed \u2013 she knows how hard I had looked for my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then he looked at the article again, and a picture stopped him in his tracks: not one of the many photos Nicci had posted of her mother \u2013 there was no flicker of instant recognition when he saw Savinder\u2019s face \u2013 but an image of a certificate her mother had earned for dressmaking at a college in Dhariwal, just outside Amritsar, in 1962. (\u201cShe was so proud of it,\u201d Nicci beams. \u201cShe would talk about it quite often: \u2018I went to college, I earned a certificate.\u2019 I think that was her quiet victory.\u201d)<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is two or three years after I was born, and it is in the exact city where I was born.\u201d Avtar exhales deeply, as if he still can\u2019t believe what he saw. He had to find out more. \u201cThis is the closest I\u2019ve ever come. It would be a shame to just stop here.\u201d<\/p>\n

At 8.36am that morning, he sent Nicci an email, thanking her for writing the tribute to her mother.<\/p>\n

Avtar What especially resonated with me was the part of her life connected to India. Reading about her journey raised many personal questions and reflections for me, and I found myself feeling there may be some distant family or community connections between us.<\/p>\n

Avtar I want to assure you that I am not reaching out for any business, financial, or other formal reason, only in the spirit of a friendly conversation.<\/p>\n

Nicci had spent the previous night praying at the gurdwara and watching Long Lost Family on TV. Avtar\u2019s email had arrived on the morning of what would have been her mother\u2019s 90th birthday. \u201cIt was wild!\u201d Nicci exclaims. \u201cI just had a real sense of knowing. I can\u2019t explain it. This is my mum\u2019s son. It\u2019s got to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

She agonised over how to reply, eventually adopting a similarly friendly but respectful tone.<\/p>\n

Nicci I am equally intrigued to know if there might be a family connection. I would be happy to have a conversation with you.<\/p>\n

Her phone number was in her email signature. Avtar sent her a message on WhatsApp as soon as he saw it, asking when they could speak. Nicci scrutinised his WhatsApp profile picture. \u201cHe had a very distinctive nose. Everybody in my mother\u2019s family has this prominent, distinguished nose.\u201d She messaged back \u2013 she was free to talk there and then.<\/p>\n

It was barely two hours since Avtar had typed his prompt into ChatGPT. He was driving with Rosie to get some croissants for breakfast. He parked up, clicked on Nicci\u2019s number and called her. There wasn\u2019t much of a preamble. Avtar was too eager to have his questions finally answered.<\/p>\n

Avtar Good morning! This is Avtar Singh<\/p>\n

Nicci Hello Avtar<\/p>\n

Avtar Hi<\/p>\n

Nicci So you live in Canada<\/p>\n

Avtar When Is a good time to talk<\/p>\n

Nicci I\u2019m London based. As you probably know.<\/p>\n

Nicci I\u2019m free to talk now<\/p>\n

Avtar \ud83d\udcde Voice call<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you tell me a bit about your mother\u2019s time in India?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cMummy was married and divorced in India,\u201d Nicci replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she have any children?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Nicci said. \u201cShe had a son.\u201d<\/p>\n

Both Avtar and Rosie burst into tears.<\/p>\n

\u201cTitu, is that you?\u201d asked Nicci. \u201cAre you Titu, my mother\u2019s son?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Avtar replied. \u201cThat\u2019s who I am. But I haven\u2019t heard anyone pronounce my nickname that way since my grandma called me that, when I was a little boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt that moment, time just froze,\u201d Avtar remembers. \u201cBut I quickly recovered. I said, \u2018You\u2019re my sister. Holy shit \u2013 are there more of you out there?\u2019 It had never occurred to me that my mother would have a family, and that I could actually meet them. That family, they knew about me \u2013 everybody knew about me, they just wouldn\u2019t talk about it \u2013 but I had no knowledge about them whatsoever.\u201d<\/p>\n

They spoke for two hours in that first phone call, until Avtar\u2019s battery started to die. Nicci had assumed he must be in Canada; she couldn\u2019t believe he was in France, so close by. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you fly over?\u201d she asked. Avtar\u2019s head was spinning. They agreed to speak again later that evening, in a video call.<\/p>\n

Avtar This was a dream of a lifetime!<\/p>\n

Nicci then gave Avtar a tour of the family photos displayed in the living room she used to share with their mother. \u201cI was just sharing everything I could with him. And sobbing. And remembering Mum. All that grief about her yearning to see him again, and not meeting him. It\u2019s like the universe just flung something at me \u2013 although I\u2019ve lost my mum, I\u2019ve gained a brother.\u201d<\/p>\n

When Avtar told his son the news, he urged him to go to London and meet his newfound family. By the time he reached his daughter, she already knew: she had been using Avtar\u2019s ChatGPT account and had seen his search history. \u201cShe said to me, \u2018Dad, if you do not go see her now, you\u2019re going to come back home and that\u2019s all you\u2019re going to think about. So go now.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Within days, Avtar and Rosie were in London. Nicci shows me a picture of the first time they met, at a hotel near Heathrow. Their faces are flushed with joy. \u201cI could see the raw emotion in her \u2013 she had been looking for me for so long,\u201d Avtar says. \u201cWhen I met her and hugged her tight, I thought, yes, this is my sister.\u201d They went out for dinner and compared stories and timelines, piecing together the fragments that their families had given them.<\/p>\n

double quotation markEvery time I see Avtar, I just want to cry. That\u2019s my brother. It\u2019s so natural to want to have him in our livesNicci Dhamu. Photograph: Cian Oba Smith\/The GuardianAvtar Singh. Photograph: Alana Paterson\/The Guardian<\/p>\n

The following morning, Nicci took Avtar and Rosie to Birmingham, to meet their mother\u2019s last-surviving sibling \u2013 their uncle \u2013 who had once shared a home with baby Titu. \u201cHe looked at me and said, \u2018I remember you. I held you in my arms,\u2019\u201d Avtar tells me, his eyes awash with tears. \u201cIt was a great, great visit.\u201d<\/p>\n

The next day, Avtar was introduced to his half\u2011brother \u2013 Nicci\u2019s youngest sibling. He had been shocked when Nicci first told him she had found Avtar. \u201cHe said, \u2018But I\u2019m Mummy\u2019s son,\u2019\u201d Nicci tells me, laughing. \u201cI said, \u2018Of course you are. Nothing\u2019s going to change our family.\u2019 When they finally met, Nicci says her younger brother shook Avtar\u2019s hand. \u201cI just knew it was going to be all right. My brother said, \u2018I\u2019ve always wanted a big brother.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Avtar and Nicci both tell me they have no plans to confirm their relationship with a DNA test. There\u2019s no need, they say.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just know,\u201d Nicci tells me.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis world has a few billion people in it. And if somebody can randomly call me Titu \u2026 \u201d Avtar shakes his head. \u201cI don\u2019t think I need any more verification than that.\u201d<\/p>\n

The joy at finally finding Titu is bittersweet for Nicci, because it came too late for her mother. \u201cMy biggest regret is that I didn\u2019t talk to her about her son and let her cry about him, let her have a release,\u201d she tells me. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t her fault. It wasn\u2019t anything that she did wrong. It just was a marriage that broke down.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI grew up believing that she gave me up because it was the best thing to help her move on with her life. I was OK with that. I thought, I hope that she had a good life. I\u2019m not the type of person to grieve or feel bad that I got abandoned or anything like that,\u201d Avtar says. \u201cNow I\u2019ve heard from Nicci and other people in the family that my mum used to cry for me. That\u2019s all I need to hear. It just feels so good to know that I was loved.\u201d<\/p>\n

Plus, Avtar adds, there is \u201cthe treasure my mother left behind for me \u2013 I have all this family to get to know\u201d. Word about Avtar is slowly spreading across the globe. He\u2019s in a WhatsApp group for his maternal family, including cousins based in Kenya; they have seen each other on FaceTime. There\u2019s discussion of a trip to Kenya so Avtar can meet them in the flesh, and see where Savinder once lived.<\/p>\n

double quotation markTechnology seems to be in alignment, in the same way that stars can be. There is a human touch to AI \u2013 look what happenedAvtar with Nicci in May during his first visit to the London home she shared with their mother. Photograph: courtesy of Avtar Singh<\/p>\n

\u201cMy cousins are so excited to meet him. He looks like them \u2013 same smiles, bald and bearded,\u201d Nicci says with another throaty laugh. She whips out her phone to show me an AI-generated image Avtar has made of himself arm in arm with two cousins he\u2019s yet to meet in person. Technology is bringing Savinder\u2019s family together in ways she could never have envisaged, or even imagined.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe had a video call last night,\u201d Nicci says. \u201cEvery time I see him, I look at him and I just want to cry. That\u2019s my brother. It\u2019s so natural to want to have him in our lives.\u201d She pauses. \u201cWho would have thought that life would unfold in this way? That ChatGPT would find an article that would lead to an email that would lead to all of this? Technology seems to be in alignment, in the same way that stars can be sometimes. There is a human touch to AI \u2013 look what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her half-brother sees things differently. \u201cRight now, AI is still a glorified search engine. It is a piece of software that recognises a pattern in a string of characters, and it can look at millions of responses that match that character set and give you the highest probability best answer. What did it do? It looked at a couple of character strings that I typed in and found the best match. There\u2019s no intelligence there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Avtar remains as sceptical as ever about giving big tech his data, even though it was ChatGPT\u2019s readiness to scrape blogs and give out personal information that led him to his maternal family. Had Avtar chosen to ask another AI, he might not have found Nicci at all. When he came back to Canada, he put the same prompt into Anthropic\u2019s Claude, to see what it would say, just for fun. \u201cIt replied, \u2018We don\u2019t want to infringe on anybody\u2019s privacy, so we don\u2019t give out that information,\u201d Avtar tells me. Then he shrugs. \u201cI think that\u2019s a good response.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"As a small boy growing up in Amritsar, India, in the 1960s, Avtar Singh used to hear whispers.…\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":783638,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[45],"tags":[182,181,507,74],"class_list":["post-783637","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-artificial-intelligence","tag-ai","tag-artificial-intelligence","tag-artificialintelligence","tag-technology"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/783637","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=783637"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/783637\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/783638"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=783637"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=783637"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=783637"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}