Susheel Gajwani’s memoir, the first record of a refugee camp near Kolhapur, captures the resilience, struggles, and identity of Sindhi Hindus displaced from their homeland
By Saaz Aggarwal
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.
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.
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 people integrated into 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 also 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?
Read: Haridwar – Records of Sindhi Pilgrims’ Travel and Worship
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Saaz Aggarwal is an independent researcher, writer and artist based in Pune, India. Her body of writing includes biographies, translations, critical reviews and humour columns. Her books are in university libraries around the world, and much of her research contribution in the field of Sindh studies is easily accessible online.
Courtesy: Hindustan Times (Posted on Jan 29, 2025)
