The phone rang in Milwaukee. On the other end, a man was crying.
Just hours earlier, this same person had thrown a racist slur about Nav Bhatia, the Toronto Raptors' most famous fan, calling his turban "underwear on his head." Now he was sobbing, asking for forgiveness from the very man he had insulted.
"I told him, I'm going to forgive you, on one condition. When I come back to Milwaukee, your family and me, we go for a bite to eat before the game. And let me take you to the game."
This is Nav Bhatia—a man who transforms hatred into dinner invitations, persecution into purpose, and pain into the most extraordinary story of resilience in professional sports.
The Night Delhi Burned
It was 1984, and Nav Bhatia's life was perfectly planned. The 33-year-old mechanical engineer had just married Arvinder and was plotting his business empire in New Delhi.
"I wanted to open a business in India, but sometimes life has other plans."
Those plans shattered on October 31, 1984, when Prime Minister Indira Gandhi fell to assassins' bullets—fired by her own Sikh bodyguards. Within hours, the streets of Delhi became hunting grounds. Mobs with petrol bombs and iron rods roamed neighborhoods, seeking turbaned men to kill.
More than 3,000 Sikhs were murdered in the riots that followed. Nav watched his community burn—literally.
"We as a family decided to get out of India. And Canada was the country which gave me the visa."
The escape wasn't just geographical—it was a desperate flight from genocide.
The Immigrant's Crucible
Landing in Toronto's Pearson Airport in 1984, Nav carried his engineering degree and his unwavering Sikh identity. What he didn't carry was any guarantee of acceptance.
"Nobody in '84 in Canada wanted to hire somebody with a turban and beard," he told CBC bluntly. Despite his qualifications, doors slammed shut. Friends advised him to shave his beard, remove his turban—become invisible to survive.
Nav chose visibility instead.
He took "odd jobs, cleaning jobs, janitorial jobs, landscaping jobs" until he landed at Mississauga Hyundai as a car salesman. The reception was brutal.
"I got people calling me names: Paki, towelhead. They called me the names, [but] I didn't worry about it."
His philosophy crystallized in that moment:
"I have to be better than good if I want to survive in this country and thrive in this country."
Better than good? Try record-breaking. Nav sold 127 cars in three months—a Hyundai record that stands today, 40 years later.
The Promotion That Broke Hearts
Success bred more challenges. When Nav became general manager in the late 1980s, nine of his ten white employees quit on the spot.
"They said they don't want to work with a guy with a turban and beard, and only one guy decided to stay. He's still with me."
The loyalty was mutual. That single employee who stayed saw Nav transform from a discriminated immigrant to the owner of multiple dealerships.
The Birth of a Superfan
By 1995, Nav had achieved the immigrant dream—successful business, beautiful home, financial security. Yet something was missing.
"I was a boring guy," he admits in his CBC documentary.
Then came November 1995, and the Toronto Raptors' inaugural season. Nav bought two tickets—just two—for their first game.
"I just fell in love with the game. It's the most diverse crowd in the NBA."
What started as casual entertainment became religious devotion. Nav attended every single home game for the next 25 years, never missing "a single minute of the Raptors home game."
The Vaisakhi Revolution
In 1999, Nav had an audacious idea.
"When I requested [the] Raptors to sell me 3,000 tickets so that I can celebrate Vaisakhi on the center court of the Raptors, they were confused."
Confused? They were terrified. No one had ever attempted to bring 3,000 kids from diverse communities to celebrate a Sikh holiday at an NBA game.
The result was legendary. School buses poured in from across the Greater Toronto Area. The halftime show featured traditional Punjabi dancers, Bollywood performances—and yes, a live elephant that decided to defecate on the NBA court.
"It's the only time an elephant has been on an NBA court," laughs Tom Pistore, former VP of Maple Leaf Sports Entertainment. "And ... also decided to crap on an NBA court."
But the magic wasn't in the spectacle—it was in the stands. Children of every background sat together, cheering together, belonging together.
From Hatred to Hugs
The Milwaukee incident perfectly encapsulates Nav's approach to racism. When that Twitter user insulted his turban, the internet mobilized to destroy the man's life. Nav intervened.
"If you're going to kill him, what's the difference between him and us? There's no difference."
Two weeks later, Nav kept his promise. He took the man and his son to dinner before the Raptors-Bucks game.
"While we were in the restaurant, 80 or 90 people hugged me, kissed me and took pictures with me. And he witnessed it, both son and the father. They witnessed it."
The man who came to mock stayed to marvel.
The Ring, The Hall, The Legacy
When the Raptors captured their 2019 NBA championship, team president Masai Ujiri did something unprecedented—he gave Nav a championship ring.
"It was the first time in history a fan has received a player's ring."
Nav's response?
"Since I got this ring, maybe 10,000 people have worn it and taken pictures with it. I want to give every fan an opportunity to feel proud about the championship ring, because it belongs to all of them as much as it belongs to me."
In 2020, the Basketball Hall of Fame inducted Nav as their first-ever superfan. Standing at the podium in Springfield, Massachusetts, Nav was "speechless."
"I especially want to thank my daughter Tia Bhatia and my wife Arvinder, who have made the ultimate sacrifice over the years so I could live as a Superfan."
The Philosophy of a Champion
Today, Nav owns multiple car dealerships, runs the Superfan Foundation building basketball courts globally, and remains the most recognizable face in Raptors history.
"Treat people like you want to be treated yourself."
"I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't womanize, I Raptorize—that's all I do," he told CBC with characteristic humor.
But Nav's greatest achievement isn't statistical—it's cultural. The Raptors now boast "one of the most diverse fan bases in North America," as CBC noted. Where once Nav was "the only guy with a turban and beard" in the crowd, now Toronto's basketball cathedral welcomes everyone.
The Man Behind the Turban
"I didn't think there should be a movie made on me," Nav told CBC Sports when asked about his documentary. "I didn't think so."
But Nav's humility can't hide his extraordinary impact. From genocide survivor to championship ring bearer, from racist target to beloved icon, from boring businessman to basketball legend—Nav Bhatia's story defies every expectation except one:
"That kindness, persistence, and authenticity always win in the end."
When that phone rang in Milwaukee, with a racist crying on the other end, Nav could have hung up. Instead, he extended his hand. When employees quit rather than work for a Sikh, Nav could have given up. Instead, he built an empire. When fans hurled slurs, Nav could have stayed home. Instead, he never missed a game.
"Sometimes life has other plans," Nav once said about fleeing India. Indeed it does. Sometimes those plans transform a refugee into a legend, a victim into a victor, and a superfan into the very soul of a sport.
In Nav Bhatia's world, there are no enemies—only friends who haven't shared a meal yet. And that might be the most Canadian story ever told.