Hosted by a curious history researchers exploring human triumphs, struggles, and defining moments tucked away in family stories and in the annals of history. Dedicated to knowledge, curiosity and reflection!
As I sit in the airport lounge in rainy San Francisco, heading to India via Helsinki, I can feel my excitement to go to India finally building. Although I feel terrible leaving my two pets for 3 weeks, this trip has been 6 years in the making! I am finally thrilled that I have been able to get myself strong enough to not my disease dictate my life (did I tell you guys that I have stage 4 metastatic breast cancer of the bone & 2017-18 was touch and go!). Even though the day of the trip is here, it’s been quite a chaotic day. Since I left home this morning, I have given a phone interview en route to the John Wayne Airport (keeping my fingers crossed to see I make the next round of the promotionally interview :)); handled some very heavy suitcases (I mean really heavy ones) including my carryon; tactfully avoided the extra weight charges by having to really sweet talk the agent!; had my flight to San Francisco (SFO) diverted to San Jose; having had to retrieve my bags which I thought were booked to Delhi; then bussed to SFO; had to wait again for couple of hours to have the Finnair counter to open (and deciding to take advantage of the food court and try San Francisco’s clam chowder, which I must say was D-E-L-IC-I-O-U-S!); again dealt with saga of the suitcases and avoiding $100 charge….phew! Finally, I am cosily settled into the lounge with a warm cup of tea and a crostini, and contemplating the joys of travel 🙂
Update on the travel – My Finnair flight got into Helsinki ahead of schedule. I now have couple of hours of transit and I am enjoying the Ikea-ish minimalist but stylish decor. The landscape has a dusting of snow and I am trying not to do any duty free shopping 🙂 All I can say is that this is the final leg & I am half-way to India! So before I know it I should be in New Delhi and seeing my gorgeous sister Neenu after such a long time. She is one of the most bravest, honorable & feistiest person I know. She has handled life’s lemons so gracefully and with great inner strength, and I just simply love my little sister 🙂
Okay it’s 8:20pm Finland time & the flight is full, boarded and on the verge of takeoff. So here I come India, like it or not 😜
Interview by Sufiyan Siddiqui & Lindsay Eriksson-Siddiqui (for1947 Partition Archive.com)
This weekend my father was interviewed for the ’1947 partition archive’ by Dr. Sufyan Siddiqui and his lovely wife Lindsay Eriksson-Siddiqui. They were a delightful couple who came all the way from Denver to videotape my father’s recollections of life and events before-, during- and after- the partition of India, that saw the creation of two independent countries on religious lines (Muslim-Pakistan and Hindu-India). This decision to split India by the British (Mountbatten), Indian National Congress leaders (Nehru, Patel) and Muslim League (Jinnah) triggered one of the bloodiest upheavals and the biggest mass-migration of humans in modern times. I characterize it as a unspoken genocide/holocaust, as growing up, it was not something that was taught in the school curriculum, one didn’t see documentaries or shows pertaining to it, not much seemed to be written about it in popular media, as a matter of fact neither did the government or national leaders talk of it. However, it was omnipresent and always in the background of the families who went thru it and was often talked about to us by our grandparents regarding how life used to be before, the people, friends, customs, what they lost, the travel to India, the hardships, etc. So, my family and I are very thankful to Sufiyan and Lindsay who volunteered their time and effort to document my father’s version of events that sheds light to a common misfortune both these countries suffered. Amazing part for me was how much my father remembered given that he was a toddler of 4 years old at the time of partition, perhaps too you to recall the events. In talking to Sufiyan & Lindsay, we realized that humans tend to remember traumatic events that they witness irrespective of age. Although I will try to post the interview if allowed, in the meantime, following is what I was able to capture of his recollections –
Pre-Partition
Subedar Sawan Singh (middle), Subedar Indar Singh (Right)
My father was born in the village of Chak 232 GB, Lyallpur in undivided Punjab. His family consisted on his grandmother and matriarch (Ajaib Kaur), father (Ranjit Singh), mother (Mohinder Kaur) and two younger brothers (Sukhbir and Malkiat). This village was a Sikh village, part of the canal colonies & composed mostly of ex-soldiers of the British-India armies. The family had migrated there from Jagraon when his grandfather Subedar Indar Singh of 34th Royal Sikh Pioneers was awarded 5 Murabaas or 125 acres of land (He was a veteran of WW1 who participated in the German offensive on the western front and the Ottoman empire in Mesopotamia).
He also remembered that his father bought land in the village of Chajwal (Chak 172 GB), a predominately Muslim village, where the family lived until they had to leave when it got too dangerous and unsafe for them. He vividly recalled both homes- with the house in Chak 232 being ‘Kacha’ (mud construction), whilst in Chajwal (which was newer) had a ‘pakka diwan’ (cemented formal living area) and the rest was ‘Kacha’. He remembers that the living area was elevated and away from the animal area, and they kept buffaloes for milk, oxen to plough the fields, and goat etc., at home itself. There also wan as area for grain storage at home and that they grew wheat and cotton in their farms/fields. He talked about being self-sufficient and didn’t have to buy too many things from the market including cloth/fabric (Khadar) for clothes was weaved at home by his mother and grandmother. Although he was not going to school, he remembered that the nearest school was 6 miles away in ‘Satiana Bangla’. His fondest memory seemed to be that of a gramophone that served as entertainment for the villagers, where each night, his father would put it out and the whole village gathered to listen to the old records. He remembered it to be a happy childhood where everyone supported and respected each other irrespective of their religious, political ideologies or economic status. He fondly remembers the ‘Motbar’ or headman of the village whose name he did not recall during the interview and later remembered him to be “Nur Muhammad” who considered his grandmother to be his sister. Another recollection that he remembered later on was that there was ‘Gernali road’ (or General’s road) that ran close the the village and was meant for the british, and on which he saw an occasional jeep once in a while, and was kept pristeen by a road roller. The locals were not allowed on that road so the Indians travelled on a parallel road which was not as nice (that road now seems to be called ‘Tadlianwala road’ in the current map of that area!).
His recollection of when things started to heat up was when his father returned from Lyallpur (now Faisalabad), where there was a firing and from which he saved himself by hiding under the bus. Upon his return back, he told the village elders that the tide is turning and time would come soon when they will all have to leave the village for good. The elders didn’t believe him as they considered him too young to assess the situation! It’s during this time, my father remembers going to the historical gurudwaras’ of Nankana Sahib and Panja Sahib where he recalled putting his hand in the imprint of Guru Nanak’s hand, as it was uncertain when and if they would ever return.
Partition He recalled that things deteriorated fast after that. He recalled the day the headman ‘Nur Muhammad’ came to Manji (his grandmother Ajaib Kaur) and said that things no longer are safe. Although he guaranteed them that none of the villagers would harm them but could not vouch for folks outside the village (which he was hearing of). Manji asked how much time would they have to pack up? He told that they just had 30 minutes, and that he will accompany them right to up to the canal and would ensure that get safely into Chak No. 232, the Sikh village. To their bad luck the wheels of the ox-cart were removed for greasing, so they could only take whatever they could grab and carry in their hands (which was not much), and that Nur Muhammed kept his word and only left when they were safely inside Chak 232.
Per my father’s recollection, the first attack on the village was by ‘Janglees’ (the local jungle folks/nomads) who came beating the ‘dhol’ (Indian drum) and were being led by a leader who was dancing on the mule. This attack was thwarted by the ex-soldiers who fired and shot the leader that scattered his followers. However, the attacks on the village kept mounting and my father clearly remembers that women were instructed to kill themselves by jumping from a tall building (and not be captured alive in case the defenses of the village fell). He also remembers his grandmother’s panic as during one of the attacks he got separated and hid, and her refusal to go into safety unless he was found! He was eventually located when the curiosity of a child got him to peek outside to see what was going on and someone spotted him. Eventually the decision was made to leave for India to Dhilwan on the river Beas.
This was done in two ways, one where young women, children, elderly and handicapped went via a truck, and that is how he travelled with his mother and two younger siblings. It took them 5-6 hours to travel to East-Punjab. The route they followed was along the ‘Grand Trunk road (GT road) and went thru Lyallpur, Lahore, Amritsar, Jullundur and Beas, and my father remembers that there was excitement in the air when they reach ‘Balloke Headworks’ a dam site, on their route to India. Along the way my father remembers seeing some dead bodies, some shot, some decaying! The other was via a ‘Kafila’ (caravan) of ox-cart, horses, etc. that carried household items and that is how his grandmother and father came (they agreed to bring an ox-cart for someone provided they could also take their stuff, given they were not able to bring their ox-cart in their hurry to leave Chajwal). It took them over 3 months to reach Dhilwan given the slow nature of ox-carts to move. In the meantime, there was no news of them until one day news came that the ‘Kafila’ had reached the village and that is how they reunited as a family.
Here he also remembered an enduring memory that is etched in his brain. Apparently, to get to Dhilwan from Beas (where the truck dropped them), this stretch needed to be done on foot. However, they were told that a large Muslim Kafila has encamped on the side of the road and it would be safer if they went via the bus. My father remembers seeing this large caravan resting before it could resume its journey towards Pakistan, however, this was the monsoon period in the subcontinent with the torrential rains deluging the landscape, and as a result the Beas river started to swell. At night time, my father remembers hearing the people’s shrieks as they were being swept away by the flood waters! Another vivid story that he remembered during this time was that the floods which was chest high also caused food shortage. He remembers that one of the shopkeepers was stockpiling rice, sugar and soda (washing detergent) intended for the black market, which he refused to sell or give to these starving refugees. Only when the flood water started seeping into his storage area, he made a deal to split whatever they helped save 50/50. This is what got them thru these days where they ate raw rice mixed with sugar to survive!
Post-Partition
Once the family reunited, the arduous task of re-settlement began. The decision was made to move to the village of ‘Badhni Kalan’, which was my father’s grandmother’s parental village and where she had some land on her name. They first moved in with some of her extended family members (given she was the only child) and these relatives really welcomed them. Next came to decision to acquire their own dwelling, so it made sense when it was suggested that being refugees, they take over a house that was abandoned by a Muslim family who relocated to Pakistan. One such house was located which belonged to a teacher by the name of Sher Muhammed. Only problem was that it was being used for storage by the ‘Jan Sangh’ group, a local Hindu political party! When approached, they reluctantly agreed but told them to return the next day to get possession. However, upon their return the following day, they found that there was no one to receive them and hand them the key, instead the house was bolted shut and sealed from inside by a layer of bricks. My father recalled that then his hot-blooded uncle broke the lock, scaled the house, got inside and opened all the doors, and that is how they got possession of the house. Also, this was pre-dominantly a Hindu neighborhood so they did not want Sikhs to move in, as they thought they will be rowdy and misbehave with their women, so each night thereafter they would congregate and hold demonstrations outside their house. They even got a police constable to come each night but to the family’s good luck they had a relative at high police post in Moga (the neighboring town) so none of the police constables intruded. This was also a time when a huge tragedy and setback happened for the family. His father got admitted to the hospital due to Typhoid (apparently a doctor told them they were refugees and did not have much money, so their best bet is to go to the hospital) and during this time his one-year brother Malkiat got dysentery and he died from it. This news was kept from the father for a few days until he started to ask for him. My father recalls witnessing his grandmother crying profusely, covering her face so no one can see her grief, and took the body for burial (as infants were buried as opposed to cremation).
Manji, Sukhbir (Left) and Harkirat (Right)
Front- Mohinder Kaur (Mother) and Ranjit Singh (Father); Back – Sukhbir (Left) and Harkirat (Right)
My father said it took them about 6 months to get used to of their new environs. He remembers fondly starting school here where first the instruction was done in Urdu and quickly changed to Gurmukhi. He remembers his teacher very fondly (although he didn’t name them all, but they were Chajju Ram who was his first grade teacher, Uttam Singh his math teacher who loved his grandmothers Dahi-Bhalla, Channan Singh, Gajjan Singh his english teacher, Mal Singh his punjabi teacher and Sant Singh his second grade teacher who was extremely near-sighted and one knew they were in trouble when he looked up from reading his book and hooked his walking stick to bring a student closer), who all although strict were excellent teachers. He proudly remembers being the monitor of his class from grade 1 to 8 and how he ran the school store, and he was loved by everyone because he was so responsible! They eventually moved to the town of Moga for higher secondary education (where the family made a house) and went on to Ludhiana for his college education. He remained a good student throughout!
H.M. Singh (Standing – 2nd from Right, with #13 tags)
H.M. Singh (Standing, 2nd from Right)
He eventually joined the Indian Air Force and where he rose to the rank of Air Commodore (Brigadier General) as a navigator.
In closing, I am so proud of my father as his achievements are all his own and gained thru great hardships and perseverance. What amazes me is that he remains humble, grounded and reverent, and doesn’t let the ghosts and setbacks of the past hinder him in anyway. He is one of the most positive person I know and I am very lucky to have him in my life. I also want to take a moment to acknowledge all the families on both sides of the border who also endured and overcame such hardships. And to the citizens of both Pakistan and India who are celebrating their respective Independence days on August 14th (Pakistan) and on August 15th (India) to take the time to remember, honor and pay homage to these families and our shared history that saw 12-14 million people displaced from their homes & the refugee crisis it created, over 2 million that lost their lives, countless that became orphans or went thru great autocracies. They are our unsung heroes and we need to acknowledge that his violent partition is an important chapter of our combined histories. And for those who may have forgotten or don’t know the impact, the following youtube video captures the time and sentiments beautifully.
As I am doing research on WW1 and have been able to trace my GGF Subedar Indar Singh to the western front at Festubert and Neuve Chapelle, I came across this fascinating article Karan Deep Singh that I would like to share with you. To access the original posting, please the click this link – (Original articleWSJ)
In India’s Folk Songs, Echoes Of WWI
— Karan Deep Singh
A century after World War I — a conflict in which some 1.3 million Indian soldiers fought — echoes of the Great War can still be found in fading folk songs and poetry once popular in corners of rural India.
Academics have long been intrigued by the expressions of love, separation and death imbedded in Indian folklore from the time, particularly in Punjab, an area that contributed nearly half of the Indian army’s volunteer soldiers then. The songs and poems were typically sung by women.
Recently, a London-based poet Amarjit Chandan has been translating some of the works and reciting them in public addresses and performances. “Nobody ever talks about them, not to speak of singing them,” he says. He attributes that partly to a sense of shame over the fact that the soldiers had fought for the British Empire, a colonial oppressor.
Many of the songs are heart-wrenching accounts of women left behind, longing for their husbands, brothers and sons to return from “l’arme,” or “war” in Punjabi — a word, interestingly, that was adopted widely into the Punjabi language around the time of World War I and is based on the French word for “weapon.”
Here is an excerpt from one song as translated by Mr. Chandan. The word challa would be translated as “my darling”:
Challa here comes the lorry
I carry a heavy basket on my head
I stand and wait for him on the road
With tears in my eyes
Some songs display fears among women that the British were losing the war to Germany. Rawail Singh, a professor in the Punjabi Department at Delhi University, says anti-German sentiment expressed in folk wisdom from the time likely reflects the view of Germany as evil for starting the war.
An excerpt from one such piece:
May you be defeated, O Germany
You have taken my man as a prisoner
May you be wiped out, O Germany
Who has torn the sisters apart from their brothers
The power of folk music wasn’t lost on the military. A popular song of the time, performed and recorded by Bhai Chhaila Patialewala, a famous singer then, was used in effect as an Army propaganda piece, according to Mr. Chandan. “It would have been played in village fairs and recruitment gatherings,” he says, urging the Punjabi men to join the war effort in return for benefits such as tastier food and better clothing.
Here is an excerpt as translated by Mr. Chandan. Roti refers, of course, to the flatbread:
The recruits are at your door step
Here you eat dried roti
There you’ll eat fruit
Here you are in tatters
There you’ll wear a suit
Here you wear worn out shoes
There you’ll wear boot[s]
“This song must be seen in the context of Punjab’s socioeconomic conditions at that time,” says Mr. Singh, the professor. People were poor, and the British offer of 11 rupees a month (just pennies today, but a more sizeable amount at the time) was tempting for would-be soldiers.
The Punjabi role in World War I is starting to draw wider attention today, a century after the conflict. Recently the singer Daler Kaur covered one such song, “Ve mur aa lama ton,” the title of which translates loosely as a woman calling on a loved one to return from war. It was originally sung by Surinder Kaur and written by Punjabi poet Kartar Singh Blaggan.
And the noted Punjabi playwright Atamjit (who uses one name) says he has begun research for a full-length play based on the war. The main focus, he says, will be on remembering the loss of lives as told through from the Punjabi community. “We owe a responsibility to remember. It is already too late,” he says.
I didn’t realize that Basakhi this year marked the 100th anniversary of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. I would say that this tragedy, a ghastly & major traumatic event in pre-partition and undivided India, is seared in the brains of every Punjabi irrespective of the border. It saw hundreds of innocent men, women and children die and/or get seriously injured; its sheer brutality wrenched an entire nation, led to a major loss of faith of its British colonial rulers, and accelerated the pro-independence movement.
So what were the events that unfolded and actors involved? History states that on 13th April 1919, a Basakhi day, there was a peaceful gathering for a pro-independence campaign, which brought local folks from all walks of life (men, women and children) to Jallianwala Bag, a public park! This was the time a newly appointed General Dyer was the commandant of the Area, and he had banned public gathering post curfew. Unfortunately this news hadn’t trickled to the masses and so people were unaware of this ruling, and thus were gathering in the park. This meeting was seen as an act of defiance by the General who took a Gurkha battalion, blocked the only narrow entry/exit point, and ordered indiscriminate firing on unarmed and mostly innocent bystanders. In this mayhem and firing that went on for 10 minutes until all ammunition was exhausted, was a carnage on all accounts.
This story also has a personal twist. My ancestor (maternal grandfather Sardar Bhagwant Singh), who at the time was a student at Khalsa College, was also present in Jallianwala Bagh at the time of the massacre. My mother shared here recollection of events that he shared with her. Apparently, he went there with a few friends as a curfew in the city had recently been lifted, it was Basakhi (that fell on Sunday that year) and with Harmandir Sahib only a stone throw away, this gathering got their curiosity aroused, so the young men who had nothing much to do went to this gathering! She also remembers that the principal of the college did warn the boys that although he could not stop curious young men from attending, however, in case there is an unfortunate event, they were to lie flat on the ground and whenever safe leave for their homes (and not the college) so that he can cover for these young Kent and say they had gone home. Apparently this was a time when pro-independence movements and national Ferber were gaining momentum in India! So when the firing commenced, my grandfather and his friends hit the ground and remained there. One of his friends did get curious and lifted his head to see what was going on to find a bullet graze his ear! So they remained there and did not move till the middle of the night and between 2-3am climbed the steep walls surrounding the park and made their escape!
Came across this beautiful article by Kirit Singh regarding the ‘Rababis’ and their lost standing is Sikh traditions especially post-colonization & partition. It’s truly sad given the Rabab and Rababis are so intrinsic to Sikh traditions right from Guru Nanak’s time, with Bhai Mardana being such a beloved of Nanak.
I mentioned the Rababis in my last post, in particular with regard to how their musical tradition represented one of the authentic Kirtani lineages dating back to the guru’s times and how their tradition is practically lost today.
Before coming to Calcutta I was actually searching old record shops in Delhi in the hope of finding some 78rpm recordings of the Rababis.
Me doing the dirty work, sifting through dusty old 78rpms, whilst my comrade Jas Bhai sits back and takes photos!
So who are the Rababis exactly? The Rababis belong to the Mirasi caste whose hereditary profession and specialisation it is to perform music for their associated patron families. Mirasis are essentially musical service providers and are considered of fairly low social status. Guru Nanak’s renowned companion and musical accompanist was the Mirasi known as Mardan Khan. He played the Rabab, a plucked lute of Persian origin…
I forgot to finish my previous post regarding my ancestor’s sister and brother-in-law.Earlier in my blog, I had shared that it was during my great-aunt’s (Sirdar Dewa Singh’s sister’s) wedding to Raja Ajit Singh, the Regent of Ladwa (also written Ladva), that my great grandfather came into distinction.I now want to expand on what became of this great uncle (the Raja), his wife (my great aunt) and the Riyaset (Kingdom).I promise it’s’ riveting stuff and one that makes history exceedingly real!
‘Ladwa state’ in essence was the territory around Thanesar in Haryana, which was acquired by Raja Gurdit Singh. a close confidant of Maharaja Ranjit Singh (being from the same clan, village & ’Karoringhia Misl’).Later on around1764 the village of Baddoval (near Ludhiana) was also given as a ‘Jagir’ to him by Maharaja Ranjit Singh, as part of the conquest against Mughal Sirhind.Eventually his son, Raja Ajit Singh, succeeded him to the throne, and he was recognized as the ‘Regent of Ladwa’ by George Eden, 1st Earl of Auckland, the then British governor-general of India.And like his father, Raja Ajit Singh continued to remain a staunch ally of Maharaja Ranjit Singh & supported his various campaigns of conquests, and for which he continued to receive favors from him.
Then in 1839, upon Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s demise, the East India Company set sights to annex his wealthy kingdom.This let to the first ‘Anglo-Sikh’ war (which was fought between 1845 and 1846 in Pheru Sheher, Moodkee, Sobraon and Chillianwallah) where Ajit Singh fought on the side of the Sikhs and against the British.He and Ranjodh Singh Majithia (a famous general), not only seized the forts of Fatehgarh, Dharamkot, Baddoval, but also entered Ludhiana cantonment where they set the barracks on fire!However, on January 28th, 1846, during the ‘Battle of Aliwal’ the Sikhs suffered defeat and Raja Ajit Singh fled the battlefield.His actions and support of the Sikh cause was considered to be treason against the British, so his Kingdom and estates were confiscated, and his wife (our great aunt) arrested and imprisoned at the Govindgarh fort.He eventually was captured in Allahabad, and during his captivity, he orchestrated yet another escape and was never captured again by the British. He is considered the only Raja who helped the Sikh cause below the Sutlej, so I would safe to say that he perhaps was amongst the first freedom fighter in Punjab.
PS- You can read more about him in the following article- http://www.anglosikhwars.com/battle-of-buddowal-21st-jan-1846/.Also, some interesting youtube post on ‘BBC Celebrity Antiques Roadtrip programme’ about some article from anglo-sikh wars https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=33L9N8-BGQI&feature=youtu.b
Today is magical as Punjabis all over the world celebrate Basākhī (also pronounced Visākhī).It’s a festival of great joy, fervor and reverence.Not only does it mark the start of the harvest season in Punjab but also celebrates the day Guru Gobind Singh created the ‘Khalsa panth’ that organized the Sikhs into a military/martial race to be reckoned with.This is a very significant festival that I look forward to celebrating all year.
For me this festival will be tomorrow, and about 12 hours behind LA time!I will be going to the LA convention center, where i will land in a sea of color (all punjabis know to wear their best and boldest colors); the gurudwara will be decorated beautifully and I will feel the divine in the Shabads;the ‘kara parshad’ and ‘langar’ will be warm and delicious,plus there will be warm jalebis coming right out of the pan; the bazaar will be buzzing with folks buying and bargaining; I will hear the energetic and mesmerizing ‘dhol’ (and maybe see some spontaneous ‘bhangra’ and ‘giddha’ dance performance, or singing of ‘boliyans’ or ‘tappas’); I will see ‘gatka’ for sure; and of course the ‘nagar kirtan’ (street procession) thru the streets of downtown LA where lots of free food and drinks will be offered to Angelenos!
I can’t wait for tomorrow & hopefully I will upload all the pictures.Now its time to iron my clothes and prep for tomorrow….
PS- Uncovered an interesting fact from my father. The Khalsa was formed on March 31st by the 10th Guru (based on the punjabi calendar) but now it’s celebrated each year on April 13th.
Today we celebrate my father’s 76th ‘fake’ birthday!It’s the day his primary care teacher ‘Master Chaju Ram’ chose while admitting him to his class! How he settled on this date (or year) is unknown but the family feels that perhaps the common thought of the time was that any child seeking admission to the 1st grade was at least 5 years old (Keep in mind that this was post-partition India, when the family was a refugee, so things were in disarray)!Also, during those times, official or anecdotal records of the year of child’s birth were neither kept nor was it of important to the people. I know many instances during weddings the age of the bride was more than that of groom (including my own paternal grandparents).I fathom that maturity/wisdom was of importance and not the age!Regardless, we did some major sleuth work (with my mother as the chief investigator) and based on family stories & recollections that ‘Kirat was 3 days old during ‘jyethi sangranth’ (full moon during the desi/nanakshahi month of Jyesth)” and/or “when cousin Amrit was born, Kirat used to crawl”, we determined that his actual birth was May 12th! So, he is a man of two birthdays…and we will celebrate his ‘real birthday’ next month or will we? Growing up, today’s date of April 6th is the only one we have known to be his birthday, thus its pretty much seared in our DNA, so needles to say it will remain the ‘actual one’ for sure. Dad, wish you a very Happy Birthday and we all love you to the moon and back 🙂
Although Sardar Kahn Singh of Nabha is the most recognized and celebrated scholar in assisting Macauliffe in translating Sikh scriptures and Adi-Granth ‘Guru Granth Sahib’ into English, but little is known of countless other savants and intellectuals who also collaborated or from whom Macauliffe sought assistance in writing his famous 1909 publication ‘The Sikh religion: it’s gurus, sacred writings and authors’.Once such philosopher/thinker of the time was my ancestor Sardar Gahil Singh.He was my mother’s grandfather (or Beji’s father) who was the Nazim of Patiala riyaset/state during those times.He did so as a ‘Gupt Seva’ (Anonymous/selfless service), and did not allow his name to be written anywhere in Macauliffe’s’ writings.
From what I know is that he was a very stylish person and always had his tea in proper english style.Only grandkids who dressed properly was allowed to have tea with him.He died in 1948 in Talwandi Malhian (He was from ‘Sangha’ clan).I now am on a hunt for the original publication.So anyone who knows of a good bookstore that deals with rare books, or if you know of someone selling the 1st edition, please let me know.Also if you would like to read more about MacAuliffe, click on the link below-http://sikhchic.com/history/max_arthur_macauliffe_he_introduced_sikhi_to_the_englishspeaking_west
Each year, I hear about the festival of ‘Hola Mohalla’ from my Chachaji from ‘Pind’ (village).His fervor and eagerness to go to Anandpur Sahib to partake in the festivities and set up for the ‘Langar Seva’ (selfless service as a free kitchen), plus the photos that I have seen of the jubilation and revelry intrigues me to not only attend it one day, but also is very reminiscent of a bygone era!It also invokes great reverence for the 10th guru, Guru Gobind Singh, who was getting ordinary Sikhs physically and mentally ready to take on a mighty Mughal Army and challenge its emperor Aurangzeb, who was conducting unimaginable and bloodcurdling autocracies.The quote of Guru Gobind Singh’s that comes to mind is “chirian te mein baaz ludaun, gidran to mein sher banaun, sawa lakh se ek ladaun, tabe Gobind singh Naam kahaun’ (only shall I be called Gobind Singh, when I train the sparrow to fight the hawk, I turn jackals into lions, and I make one Sikh fight a legion of hundred thousand’).I feel if I was there I would invoke the spirit and presence of the guru himself!
So what is this festival ‘Hola Mohalla‘?It is a three-day martial arts festival which is held annually during spring time, in Anandpur Sahib, the day after ‘Holi’ (the festival of colors) is celebrated. So this year Holi falls on March 21st, so Hola Mohalla will be celebrated March 22nd to the 24th! Some say that the word ‘Hola’ is a masculine variant of the word ‘Holi’, but the best explanation I found is by Bhai Kahan Singh, who points that the world ‘Hola’ is derived from the word ‘Halla’ (pronounced Hul-la) which means to attack, to assault or to descend upon, while the term ‘Mohalla (pronounced Ma-halla) stands for an organized parade or procession.So together, it means the ‘the charge of the cavalry or armies’.This makes sense given that the Sikhs and Nihangs gather to display their valor and prowess in a militaristic manner, and the festivities include demonstrations of swordsmanship, fancy foot works, ‘Gatka’, horsemanship, tent pegging, bareback horse riding, etc. Also battlefield mastery is demonstrated thru mock battles & combats.Although all this are from a bygone era, the essence of the festival is ‘bravery’ and a reminder to that Sikhs that they are soldier-saints who have a duty to protect and honor the helpless and downtrodden.
This decision to split India by the British (Mountbatten), Indian National Congress leaders (Nehru, Patel) and Muslim League (Jinnah) triggered one of the bloodiest upheavals and the biggest mass-migration of humans in modern times. I characterize it as a unspoken genocide/holocaust, as growing up, it was not something that was taught in the school curriculum, one didn’t see documentaries or shows pertaining to it, not much seemed to be written about it in popular media, as a matter of fact neither did the government or national leaders talk of it. However, it was omnipresent and always in the background of the families who went thru it and was often talked about to us by our grandparents regarding how life used to be before, the people, friends, customs, what they lost, the travel to India, the hardships, etc. So, my family and I are very thankful to Sufiyan and Lindsay who volunteered their time and effort to document my father’s version of events that sheds light to a common misfortune both these countries suffered. Amazing part for me was how much my father remembered given that he was a toddler of 4 years old at the time of partition, perhaps too you to recall the events. In talking to Sufiyan & Lindsay, we realized that humans tend to remember traumatic events that they witness irrespective of age. Although I will try to post the interview if allowed, in the meantime, following is what I was able to capture of his recollections –
He recalled that things deteriorated fast after that. He recalled the day the headman ‘Nur Muhammad’ came to Manji (his grandmother Ajaib Kaur) and said that things no longer are safe. Although he guaranteed them that none of the villagers would harm them but could not vouch for folks outside the village (which he was hearing of). Manji asked how much time would they have to pack up? He told that they just had 30 minutes, and that he will accompany them right to up to the canal and would ensure that get safely into Chak No. 232, the Sikh village. To their bad luck the wheels of the ox-cart were removed for greasing, so they could only take whatever they could grab and carry in their hands (which was not much), and that Nur Muhammed kept his word and only left when they were safely inside Chak 232.
This was done in two ways, one where young women, children, elderly and handicapped went via a truck, and that is how he travelled with his mother and two younger siblings. It took them 5-6 hours to travel to East-Punjab. The route they followed was along the ‘Grand Trunk road (GT road) and went thru Lyallpur, Lahore, Amritsar, Jullundur and Beas, and my father remembers that there was excitement in the air when they reach ‘Balloke Headworks’ a dam site, on their route to India. Along the way my father remembers seeing some dead bodies, some shot, some decaying! The other was via a ‘Kafila’ (caravan) of ox-cart, horses, etc. that carried household items and that is how his grandmother and father came (they agreed to bring an ox-cart for someone provided they could also take their stuff, given they were not able to bring their ox-cart in their hurry to leave Chajwal). It took them over 3 months to reach Dhilwan given the slow nature of ox-carts to move. In the meantime, there was no news of them until one day news came that the ‘Kafila’ had reached the village and that is how they reunited as a family.
Today we celebrate my father’s 76th ‘fake’ birthday!
Erudite Kahani 