The elders from a neighbouring street came to warn these passionate and fiery youths about the impending danger, and cautioned them to be on guard – it was scheduled to be an ugly night.

In one corner of this mayhem stood a young man, a recent graduate, pondering his future. Is it worth fighting for your right, your heritage? Yes, most certainly. But is it worth sacrificing your life for this meaningless mayhem? Dejectedly, he put down his stick, went home, and began packing. “I now leave my home, never to return again”, he thought, as the world around him burnt in flames and history crumbled all around him.

Sukkur, 1947: A city bus was plying its usual route. The front seats were reserved for women. Suddenly, a Muslim lady sitting in front noticed an elderly Hindu man standing. She got up and insisted on the man taking her seat. In vain did the man protest. He had to sit down as the lady persisted with an anguished voice, “I know, you too will go away”.

Hyderabad, 1947: Some Hindu college students were walking down Tilak Chaari. An elderly Muslim lady coming from the opposite direction stopped them and asked, “Brothers, will you, too, go away?”

Larkana, 1947: A Hindu family went to their Muslim neighbours, and handed over their house keys to the neighbour. They said, “Please look after our property and our valuables. We are temporarily going to Bombay.” Out of concern for the safety of the Hindu family, the neighbour arranged a police escort for them up to Karachi. The family never returned.

Bombay, 1947: A Deewan from Hyderabad went to Bombay for surgery. Upon his discharge from hospital in October, 1947 (by which time Partition had taken place), he pleaded with Pakistani authorities to let him go back to Sindh. He got a visitor’s visa for Pakistan, valid only for one month. This Deewan was deeply in love with the land of his birth, and he had to fight the courts to accept his application for permanent residency, and for the right to get back his land, classified as evacuee property.

And so began the exodus of the Hindu Sindhis from their Motherland, an act promulgated by politicians striving for personal glory and a name in history.

In the streets of Ajmer, and the camps of Kalyan, many a Sindhi Sufi lamented about days gone by. They sang songs in praise of their Motherland, and prayed that the communal hatred will subside. They dreamt of the day when they would return to their Motherland. Alas, that day never came. The valour of the Sindhis enjoys an unequivocal respect in my thoughts and prayers due to the simple fact that they bravely faced the consequences of Partition.

I am classified as a member of the “diaspora” community. The definition, it seems, is a person or a descendant thereof, who left Sindh in 1947 or shortly thereafter. So needless to say, I have never been to our Motherland. So, what are the dissimilarities between a “diaspora” Sindhi, and a Sindhi from Sindh?

For those of us who have been born outside Sindh, the very mention of the land of our forefathers brings about a heavy feeling in the heart, a yearning to witness the people of the land, to touch the soil, and to feel at home in our own Motherland.

For those of us who were born outside of Sindh, we from the baby boomer generation or from Generation X, we regard ourselves (quite proudly I must add), as citizens of the world. Is this something to be proud of, or is it something to be ashamed of ? We converse in English, we conceptualize in English, we visualize in English. And when somebody once asked me what my native tongue is, I replied, without reservation, "English - because I dream in English!".

Conversely, a Sindhi from Sindh regards Sindhi as his / her first language, has studied in a Sindhi medium school, and regards Sindh as his / her home. We the “diaspora” Sindhis converse with each other in English, simply because, when emotions are at their zenith, it is easier for us to communicate in English. I would make a mockery of myself if I were to try and express my emotions in Sindhi (this albeit my claim of being fluent in Sindhi).

Is this what we post-partition children and people of future generations are headed for? Is this the end of our civilization? Is this the end of our culture? Will we ever see our Motherland? Will we even be interested in going to our Motherland? Rhetorical questions, don't you think?

What happened here? Was the exodus necessary? I am told by my elders that there was relative peace and harmony in pre-partition Sindh. Two societies co-existed. Some assimilated. Others chose not to. Still, they co-existed, did they not? Does anyone think that the Sindh of days gone by can return? Will we be welcome back to our Motherland?

Yes, I am a Sindhi. Yes, I am a proud Sindhi. Being a Sindhi is not defined as a person who lives in Sindh, can speak Sindhi, and has studied in a Sindhi medium school. Being a Sindhi is a way of life, it is a philosophy, it is a mind set, it is upbringing, it is what your elders have instilled in you as values in life. It is being proud of your heritage, proud of your food, proud of your culture, proud of your beliefs. I think that our downfall will be when we start considering ourselves as non-Sindhi. We know our past, we know our history, and we are proud of our heritage. We are nomads; none the less, we are proud Sindhis. Sindhi culture has no parallel. Its ideals are beyond the frontiers of religion. Swami [Saami] said so, Kanwar sang such, Latif liked that, and Sachal was the most outspoken.

I asked a fellow Sindhi to describe what he likes the most about Sindh. His answer was, "the fragrance of the soil after a rainfall. That simply cannot be paralleled anywhere in the world." Will we ever get to experience that fragrance?

The change came, but it did no good,
The Palace of my dreams has crumbled down.
It could not bear even the light touch of reality.
……Narayan “Shyam”
 

Deepak Mirchandani, a nomadic Sindhi, lives with his wife Renu and 3 year old son in Toronto, Canada. He has traced his ancestry back 11 generations to the great city of Hyderabad Sindh. Up until the Partition, his Father lived in Karachi, and his Mother lived in Sukkur. Renu has traced her ancestry back to the town of Gambat, Sindh. Their lifelong ambition is to experience every inch of Sindhi soil, and also to experience the fragrance of the soil after a rainfall.
 

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Grateful thanks to the following. Sections excerpted from:

K.R. Malkani, The Sindh Story
Popati Hiranandani, A History of Sindhi Literature
Professor Gul Agha’s Thoughts, University of Illinois, Urbana-Champagne
Inder Kirpalani’s Essays, Bathurst, Australia
Shewak Nandwani’s Feelings, Bangkok, Thailand