‘Sunrise Over Valivade’: a historical record and an intimate family account
After Partition, the Gajwani
family left their business and lands near Shahdadkot in the north of Sindh,
travelling through a tormented, blood-stained terrain to Karachi, where they boarded
a ship to Bombay along with crowds of others like them. In Bombay, they
remained for several days on the Alexandra Docks, where the ship had discharged
them, somehow eking together a living, unsure of what to do next. One day, they
were removed, along with the large group of others who had also made a
temporary home on the docks, herded into a train, and deposited in Valivade. It
was in the Sindhi refugee camp at Valivade that Susheel Gajwani was born and
raised. His memoir, Sunrise Over Valivade, is a historical record and an
intimate family account.
While capturing the resilience,
struggles, and identity of Sindhi Hindus displaced from their homeland, this
book is also the first recorded instance of the presence of a Sindhi refugee
camp near Kolhapur, reflecting the sad absence of comprehensive information
about the Sindh Partition experience and the glaring gaps of accurate knowledge
about it.
Another fascinating aspect of
the book is that the camp was originally built for Polish refugees during World
War II. The context of this from online sources, appended with Susheel’s interviews
of local people who had served in the camp during that time, provide the
opportunity to muse on the two sets of refugees rendered homeless in the same
era of history. While the Poles experienced more atrocities during the war than
the Sindhis did during Partition, the Poles were given a chance to rebuild with
dignity, while the Sindhis had to fight for even basic recognition and make
their own way.
Susheel was born in the Valivade
refugee camp, a world where Sindhi culture and traditions were kept alive, but
where the reality of having lost their homeland was inescapable. His family and
other refugees had fled escaping violence and uncertainty. Many had left behind
their land, homes, businesses, and even close relationships. He recalls growing
up in a purely Sindhi environment within the camp – where everyone spoke
Sindhi, ate Sindhi food, and celebrated Sindhi festivals – and experiencing the
feeling of stark alienation outside the camp. This paradox of being in their
own country yet clearly not accepted, is a recurring theme. Sindhi refugees
were not given a province of their own, unlike other displaced communities
after Partition. The Indian government saw them as temporary settlers, refusing
to grant them official recognition as a linguistic group with rights.
Despite these challenges,
Sindhis rebuilt their lives. Susheel’s family, like many others, started small
businesses, with his father and uncles selling onions, potatoes, and ginger in
Kolhapur's markets. They worked hard to earn respect, but ingrained prejudice
persisted.
By grounding his narrative in
small, intimate moments, Susheel makes history personal, allowing readers to
feel the heartbreak, humiliation, and resilience of the displaced community. Through
a series of vignettes, he captures the sounds, smells, and emotions of refugee
life. In A Glass of Milk a child’s anxiety over whether there will be
enough milk for him in the government ration line serves as a metaphor for
uncertainty and scarcity. Other vignettes, such as Laundry and The
Photograph, bring out the small yet significant aspects of life in the
refugee community, showing how people tried to preserve their dignity and
traditions despite their circumstances. Eyyy Nirvashya! highlights the
social stigma that followed Sindhi refugees long after they had left the camps.
Susheel’s graphic description of verbal abuse by a policeman, followed by a physical
assault when he answered back, reveals another untold aspect of the Sindhi
story.
Susheel also details the
adaptation to Maharashtrian customs, as Sindhi women began wearing saris and
cooking local dishes. Over time, the displaced Sindhis integrated into the
local society, but never stopped longing for their lost homeland. A crucial
moment in the book is the realization that Sindh had changed too. The land left
behind had been transformed, with migrants from other regions replacing Sindhi
Hindus. This severed the last ties to their roots, making return impossible.
While this
book contributes to the neglected history of Sindhi refugees, it also
highlights larger themes of displacement, cultural erosion, and resilience, making
it a valuable contribution to Partition literature and diaspora studies.
If I had
to look for inadequacies – well, it lacks women’s perspective and women’s
stories. It overlooks the internal class and caste divisions within the Sindhi
community. Many wealthier Sindhi Hindus were able to migrate to Mumbai, Pune,
or settle in other countries where Sindhi traders have had a presence since the
1850s, while poorer refugees were left in camps for years. Sindhi Hindu society
is not homogeneous, and social hierarchies existed even in exile. However,
these are gaps that must be filled by other books.
It was a pleasure for me to work
with Susheel on his stories, weaving historical research into the personal vignettes and oral histories, igniting
an awareness in him that could be passed on to his readers, of the evolving identity
of a community for which multi-faith worship was once the only way of life they knew.
It also brought me a strong reminder
of the realities of the day, impossible to deny, yet waved away as inconsequential
by many in this materially successful community:
-
Why did the Indian government refuse to grant
Sindhis a state?
-
Why were Sindhis not included in the linguistic
reorganization of India?
-
How did early government policies contribute to
the decline of Sindhi language and identity in India, and can the sincere
efforts being made today ever compensate?
-
Will the shallow stereotypes with which Sindhis
are perceived in India – and as a consequence many other countries where the
diaspora is settled too – ever be replaced with the nuanced realities, which
books such as these provide?
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