A recent conversation with a fellow history enthusiast, sparked a comment, " Every South Asian Historian has to walk through the hallowed grounds of partition before they embark on their own chosen path of research."
Reflecting back on this statement prompted me to examine my own journey through stories and facts about partition and the common theme (or how I feel it, the common fragrance) of nostalgia for a pre-partition era that reverberates through its records. Simultaneously, sifting through Malhotra's Remnant of Separation (2017) aggravated this desire and I felt the need to pen my thoughts.
I first read about partition of British India in my school textbooks. Unlike many families, belonging to South Asia, mine did not have a bank of memories associated with it, so it was soon lost in time and didn't create a significant impact. However, when I encountered it again during my graduate studies, all of a sudden, it transformed from an event to a concept. Most institutions of South Asian studies, across academic discplines, include partition studies as a focal point. Viewing it through the lens of historiography, ideas about migration, gendered violence, elite and subaltern manoeuvre jumped from pages into the imagination of an impressionable mind.
If compared, it would be a fair conclusion to draw that this event has witnessed the production of more literature than any other South Asian historical event. Multiple schools of historians have been intrigued and inspired to carry out research on it. From a plethora of studies, focused on the Nehru-Jinnah dilemma, Ayesha Jalal's (1994) work sprung out as a succinct analysis of elite politics. Urvashi Butalia's (1998) seminal work acted as a catalyst for a feminist analysis of the tragedy. Following closely on its heel, Vazira Zamindar's (2007) book highlighted the repercussions of this monumental event, felt after seven decades as well. Before these factual recordings, writers such as Saadat Hasan Manto and movies such as Garam Hawa voiced the emotion felt by survivors and captured the mixed feelings of pain, betrayal, resignation and nostalgia for a bygone era.
I would not have truly understood these emotions, if I had not stumbled into the opportunity to speak to a few survivors first hand. History of independent India has a unique advantage, it is possible to interact with it's witnesses. With the advent of digital archival projects such as, 1947 Partition and Citizens Archive of Pakistan, multiple enthusiasts have been given the opportunity to unravel this event. Following suit, I indulged in conversations with generations of survivors. It will be difficult to cover all the conversations but to provide snippets-
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The old auto driver, who migrated from Lahore to Delhi recalled the day-long, cheap tonga (horse-ridden carriages) he and his family took from Chandini Chowk to Qutub Minar, a respite from his traumatic memories.
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The old lady from Amritsar who recalled the envolped warmth feeling of growing up amidst the chaotic by-lanes of Amritsari Kinari bazaar (market).
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The joy an exiled ex-journalist felt when he re-visited his home in a village Shujabad, Multan. He recorded his story in his book 'Pakistan mai waqt se Mulaqat' ( Pakistan- A meeting with time, 2013)
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The anguish a teenager felt when he witnessed his city being torn apart by gendered genocide.
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The feeling of confusion a grandson felt whenever he heard stories from his grandfather about pre-partiton India. The anguish a nephew felt when he realized his aunt's story might not recieve the same level of recognition due to identity politics, since they identified themselves as Anglo-Indian.
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Collective confusion felt by a group of Sindhi chidren when they were forced to abandon their resident in Karachi and sail to Bombay.
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Through all these stories and all these conversations, I could not resonate or make sense of this anguished past, that my people faced. How was I supposed to make sense of their pain? Or reconcile with this reality and view it objectively?
That is when I came across Aanchal Malhotra's book. It proved be a guide book on empathy and reconciliation and encompassed the common goal that could prove as a healer for those who were affected by partition- There is a pressing need to listen and bridge the gap. She manages to sensitively cover the salient message- almost all survivors live with the pain of being bereft from their homeland, with which they attached emotions of safety. Those who migrated, could not wash away the identity of being a muhajeer, stripped from a intrisinc life choice. Her book records how survivors held on their emotional memories through material objects and it provides a nuanced insight into the familiar feeling of nostalgia. However, more imporantly, it encouraged an important message, that will hold true for most survivors of communal violence- it is so important as a community, for us, to come together, allow survivors to have the dignity of speaking their story and provide them with a healing, compassionate environment.
It seems that through most of the studies on partition, the voice of people has managed to resonate. As opposed to elite perspective, it has provided more scope for subaltern and humane interpretation than other themes. It continues to shape nations, in invisible ways, even after seven decades. I suppose, it will remain alive through the works of scholars and memories in the future as well.
