A Post-Partition Diary
Most people who lived through Partition are understandably hesitant to talk about it. A decade long Ford Foundation study says that one fourth of those interviewed about Partition so far have never even recounted their stories to their children. So I was pleased to find this diary type piece about Delhi in the aftermath of Partition. It’s personal.
When I was a little girl I was living in Sita Ram Bazaar in Gali Kulub Din which was at a twilight
zone between Turkman Gate (an all Muslim area) and the temple of Chaurasi Ganta, the 84 bells, an all Hindu area. Both the communities met midway and had lived together happily for many centuries till the partition occurred in 1947. We had moved there in 1948, when I was four months old; however, my memories of the place date back to the time when I was four and my younger brother Ravi was about to be born in the year 1952. Several Muslim properties, belonging to the families migrated to Pakistan, were lying vacant in our street, the Gali Qutub Din. However, a sizable Muslim population had also stayed back.
It also invokes visuals. 2 things caught my attention. First was the mention of abandoned homes:
These properties were taken over by the department of custodian and re-allotted to Hindu Punjabi families migrating from Pakistan. The street contained a big Haveli belonging to some Nawabi family. In the centre of its huge courtyard stood the Tomb of the Patriarch. It must have been very painful for the owners of the haveli to leave their dear departed behind. We children often played around the tomb and marvelled at what was inside or wondered if the dead man would rise during the nights. We tried to imagine that it was haunted but it did not last for long as the custodian allotted the portions of the Haveli to five migrant Punjabi families. Other smaller houses were allotted to either a single extended family or one or two nuclear families.
Hearing about the children playing in abandoned havelis and what they thought of the abandoned homes was very different from the images my imagination had concocted after reading or watching fictional accounts. Maybe I just don’t have a very vivid imagination. The other aspect that caught my attention was the quest for a life abroad:
My early memories of the post-partition scenario are that people were just about picking up the pieces of their life. Life was hard. Almost all the Punjabi families were into some business, mostly into used car tyres and other second hand motor parts. Young Sikh youth were trying to go to U.K. and Canada. Some of them made it and others did not. I remember one sickly youth who was sent back from Heathrow airport, as he was deemed too weak to work as a factory worker. If one was strong and fit he could land a factory job in England. The branch of Ford Car Company, near Oxford alone had 27000 workers from India and Pakistan at one time. When a Sikh youth had to embark on a foreign journey all relatives pitched in bits of their savings and paid for his one-way ticket. Those were the days of poverty and struggle for the refugees. But what we must appreciate is that they were willing to help someone who could make it to the dreamland.
Comprehensive efforts have finally been launched to record stories of Partition’s survivors in India led by the Ford Foundation. Most stories I’ve run across in the past recount tragedy, of which there was plenty. All stories are always welcome, but does anyone have stories they’re willing to share of people from different communities helping each other? If not, I’m sure the Ford Foundations study’s results will be available soon enough. It’ll be interesting to see whether this oral history project has any healing effect on the sometimes strained relationships between Muslim, Hindu, and Sikh neighborhoods in India.
9 Responses to “A Post-Partition Diary”
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My grandma used to play with the Muslim girls when she was little, in her pind, around a kooh (well). When the partition happened she said all the men & women had to leave, it was early in the morning. Some of them weren't even properly dressed. They had to grab their kids and leave everything behind. She said she would go to the khooh and cry there all alone because all her friends were gone and she was left alone.
I've heard stories from other people who came from pakistan, how they had to let their livestock go one by one because they could no longer feed them. And how they got ill on the way. It's really sad.
kprincess,
That's really sad (and sweet) that your grandmother went to the khooh alone afterwards.
My dadaji was older (married) but I've recorded his story of how he left thinking it was just for a few days, maybe weeks (his wife and family didn't go with him, though they were able to leave later) and the journey itself took about a month. The story of the journey itself is so dramatic and he has a deep and raspy voice, full of integrity, which makes for an even more dramatic telling. I always get chills when listening to it.
My grandma used to play with the Muslim girls when she was little, in her pind, around a kooh (well). When the partition happened she said all the men & women had to leave, it was early in the morning. Some of them weren’t even properly dressed. They had to grab their kids and leave everything behind. She said she would go to the khooh and cry there all alone because all her friends were gone and she was left alone.
I’ve heard stories from other people who came from pakistan, how they had to let their livestock go one by one because they could no longer feed them. And how they got ill on the way. It’s really sad.
Reema, reading about the recording of your grandfather is just amazing. I think it's so significant for us to record their stories – they underwent an extremely daunting experience and hearing a personal story from someone in your own family who has these vivid memories of the situation is powerful. My grandmother passed away a few months ago, and now i look back in regret for not having recorded her recollection of events…
kprincess,
That’s really sad (and sweet) that your grandmother went to the khooh alone afterwards.
My dadaji was older (married) but I’ve recorded his story of how he left thinking it was just for a few days, maybe weeks (his wife and family didn’t go with him, though they were able to leave later) and the journey itself took about a month. The story of the journey itself is so dramatic and he has a deep and raspy voice, full of integrity, which makes for an even more dramatic telling. I always get chills when listening to it.
Reema, reading about the recording of your grandfather is just amazing. I think it’s so significant for us to record their stories – they underwent an extremely daunting experience and hearing a personal story from someone in your own family who has these vivid memories of the situation is powerful. My grandmother passed away a few months ago, and now i look back in regret for not having recorded her recollection of events…
Sundari,
I'm so sorry to hear about your grandmother's passing away. If you and your parents and others remember your grandmother's stories, I bet your younger cousins and later generations would still find it really valuable if you were to record what you and other older family members can recount of your grandmother's stories… it would still be a family collection…
Sundari,
I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother’s passing away. If you and your parents and others remember your grandmother’s stories, I bet your younger cousins and later generations would still find it really valuable if you were to record what you and other older family members can recount of your grandmother’s stories… it would still be a family collection…
[...] Panjabi villages and cities in their stead in 1947. Another langa(w)r-iter had commented on the traumas of Partition. The opportunity to revisit one ancestral home may be part of the process in healing old [...]