It’s easy to say let bygones be bygones and let the past remain in the past. I am in a whole other country across the world, but as I look in the mirror, I see the damages that were inflicted upon my ancestors. As I look at the skin that hangs off of my arms, I remember how my body has adapted to the famines they lived through. As I look at my long dark brown hair, I remember how many had to cut their hair, their pride, in order to camouflage during one of the world’s biggest partitions. I look at myself and see the product of the pain my ancestors endured.
Bhukh. Hunger.
Me: Biji, can you please tell me about how it was living when the British ruled?
Biji: What does that mean? (referring to the word British)
My Brother (interjecting): Goreya Da Raj (The rule of the White Man)
Biji: Oh. I was very little when they had power. I think 6-7 years old. I didn’t know much. But my father used to tell us stories about his experiences. We were farmers. We did not have much, to begin with. But, what we did have, was taken away by them. They would take most of our crops. They would leave very little for them (her grandparents and father) to eat. My father was very skinny (as she motions to her pinky finger.)
Me: What would happen if you did not have enough crops or refused to give them?
Biji: That was never an option. If they wanted to live, they had to pay the tax.
I was surprised that my grandmother did not know the name of the British Raj at first. I thought the name would hold a lot of weight, but her utterly confused face illustrated the opposite. I know it is what we, as English speakers, refer to it as, but that is what it was referred to as in Punjab as the reign was being executed. However, it just went to show how it was never about who was in control of the reign but how the reign was implemented. She did not remember the name of the oppressor, but the oppression that had taken place.
Alagh. Separated.
When both India and Pakistan were declared independent countries, it took five weeks for Cyril Radcliffe to draw a line that would serve as the India-Pakistan border. It was designated that India would keep Charhda Punjab, denoting where the sun rises on the East, and Pakistan would keep Lendha Punjab, denoting where the sun sets on the West. There would no longer be a Sanjha (Unified) Punjab, and one’s home was determined by the faith one followed. As tens of millions of Punjabis, irrespective of creed, made the journey to what would be their new home, violence erupted. Murder, rape, arson, and forced conversions occurred. Over a million died as they were forced to migrate.
Dadaji (Grandfather): I was very young. I think ten or eleven. We had a really nice house in what is now Multan, Pakistan. We knew that we were going to have to leave our home soon, but nobody really took the initiative to move first. Then, one night, we heard that the attwadi (terrorists) were going to burn our house. We took very little. We left so much behind. We walked a lot. We were hungry and thirsty but knew we had to keep moving. As we were walking, my paternal grandmother was shot. We just looked at her, prayed, and left her behind. We knew we would be next had we stayed with her. We walked even more until we got to a train. There were dead bodies all around the tracks. We squished ourselves into the train, not knowing what was next. We then went to Delhi with other Sikhs. We ended up settling there. I never went back to my home. I have no desire to. It’s just going to remind me of the life that was stolen from me.
Bhuke Tay Alagh. Hungry & Separated
I bring up the partition and the famine to brighten my illustration of colonial Punjab and the aftermath of the colonization. Not only were Punjabis stripped of any food that they grew, they were stripped of the only home they ever knew. In terms of the partition, like Dadaji, we have no idea what our ancestral homes look like now. All I can conceptualize about Punjab is Eastern Punjab, the product of the line drawn by Radcliffe, but still have a longing to visit my home, now blocked off by barriers and soldiers. I can’t easily travel from what would have been my mother’s home to my father’s home, without a Pakistani visa and countless security to make sure I am not an undercover Indian agent. I could only laugh at whoever thought it would be a great idea to let some random white guy rip apart the homes of millions of Punjabis. To rip apart my home.
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