Construct your house of independence

The copywriter who wrote the aforementioned ad for the Friday August 15, 1947 edition of ‘The Daily Gazette’, surely knew how to catch people’s attention.

Sold for 8 annas at that time, the first page of this newspaper’s ‘Independence Day Supplement’ depicts India’s newly-formed National Government, with the father of the nation at its centre. The next page honours Pakistan's ministers, and first governor general, M. A. Jinnah.

I got my hands on it in an uncanny way. ?

I partook in an open-mic night during my master’s degree in 2016, where the theme was ‘ancestry’. Since partition has played a big role in my ancestry, why not write a story about it? I thought. Soon, that story became the idea behind a book. Shortly after, I was requested to read that chapter on ancestry at a U3 in Lancaster, UK, by an instructor who had seen me perform that night.

When I read the first excerpt of my book to the U3 attendees that day, I received a copy of this newspaper from a British lady as a gift. Her father had served as an army general in India, and she thought it would be a gift I'd cherish. I was speechless, to say the least. I had received a beautiful present in return for telling my story.

While I was flipping through this precious gift after long, I realised that most pages were filled with messages of hope and expectations, from spiritual masters and political leaders alike:

Shri Aurobindo Gosh wrote about aims and ideals: “A revolution which should achieve India’s freedom and her unity; the resurgence and liberation of Asia and her return to the great role which she had played in the progress of human civilisation.”

Smt. Kamaladevi Chattopadhyaya wrote about ‘90 years’ struggle for freedom.’

Sadhu T. L. Vaswani proposed that "August 15 should be for self-examination, rather than celebration alone." He expressed his sadness as he saw his own province becoming part of Pakistan, and how he felt as one without a country.

That last one struck a chord again this morning, when I was reading the FT’s weekend edition. The picture of an Afghan woman holding her two sad-looking children on the front page reminded me of what war does to us. It breaks families, ruins livelihoods and drains us of all (perceived) stability. It strikes me that the woman in the picture could have been one of us. Almost in an instant, my eyes well up out of pity for her.

When my grandparents fled Sindh amidst the war, they had nothing to call theirs anymore. They locked the house and left, hoping they could return someday. They left behind their lifestyle, city, home and belongings. Their guru’s Darbar (place of worship), where my grandfather and grandmother had practically been raised and had met each other, was left behind with much sadness too.

On that note: Someone in Pakistan recently reached out to my father through social media. He conveyed that many of our homes can be found locked and untouched, just as our ancestors had left them on the day of their hasty departure. I know the region, street name and city. But can I ever see it again? That’s a good question nobody can answer. Only time will tell.

Back to my story. My daadi (paternal grandmother) couldn’t give us much in terms of artefacts and surroundings, but she imbibed in us her values, her guru’s teachings, and our language and culture. ‘We are real Hyderabadis, so you must know your lineage,’ she’d often say. ?(Thanks to her, we know our great-great-great grandfathers’ name with pride)

I believe that something must have broken inside her the day she left her birthplace. ?Her pictures in India don’t show the same spark she had while still residing in Sindh. In India, she lost her first child to tuberculosis, and one eye due to her own illness. She witnessed my grandfather struggle for work in a country that was trying to rebuild itself, and saw two of her children migrate to the west at a young age. One never came back to see her after that, which broke her heart. Her faith is what kept her alive, and her stories kept Sindh alive for us, even when it became out of reach.

She had chosen her freedom to give us ours. She left behind that place which was hers, to give my father and his siblings possibilities that they’d otherwise have missed out on. Until today, I read about women and girls in Sindh being kidnapped, converted and wedded against their will. How many of them are able to survive those atrocities? How many are given justice? I’ll never be sure, but I have faith that fate changes for them someday soon.

The same goes for Afghanistan’s inhabitants. I’ve always felt connected to so many Middle-Eastern and Asian countries. Perhaps it’s because my paternal grandfathers would travel from Sindh to Iran for their work. My grandfather could speak, read and write Persian. I think I get the writing gene from his side too, apparently he could write beautifully.

For a third culture child like me, it’s been nothing less than a rollercoaster ride growing up in the Caribbean. But I am sure of what I have been given as a woman of Sindhi origin in this day and age: I have freedom of speech. I have religious freedom. My human rights have not been violated. I can vote. I chose the man I married myself, and I have the privilege to practise whichever profession I desire. Plus, I have my language, my culture and my traditions with me as a member of the Indian diaspora. ?

Many people in life have told me that freedom comes at a price. I truly believe that, and I also have an addition to that statement: The price of freedom is often so big, that it feels consuming. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. Freedom is an investment that oncoming generations can reap the benefits of. I am both a witness to and proof of this.

So, normally on this day, you’d find me at the Indian Embassy for the flag-hoisting ceremony. I’d be singing the Indian national anthem with my father, and upon returning home, my mother (born to Sindhis in Suriname) would tease me saying: ‘Had your heart’s fill, my Indian daughter?’ She knows that my love for my fatherland won’t ever cease. I’d lovingly tease her back by saying: 'It’s your fault, you had to go and give birth to me in Chennai’.

This August 15, 2021, I’m in Barcelona, my home after marriage. I celebrate our Independence with contemplation amidst the world’s complexity. I am grateful for my freedom and what our house of independence was constructed of. I am grateful for all that we as a nation have achieved in terms of economic, scientific, scholarly, cultural, and democratic progress.

My wish for this Independence Day is that we become independent of those thoughts and beliefs that no longer serve us. That we are free from that which holds our current and upcoming generations back from growth, expansion of the mind and expansion of consciousness. And to carry on the legacy of the unknown copywriter who graced this independence edition with their cement ad:

May we always construct, rebuild and renovate our house of independence with positive energy, equality, equity and inclusion. May we use our diversity as an example and keep thriving as a nation.

Jai Hind!

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