Mohammed Wajihuddin

When the Hindu Sindhis lost Sindh, their ancestral homeland, in the holocaust of partition (1947), they lost more than a piece of land. The sufferers were not just men and women butchered in the bloodlust and families dislocated, but a culture that never recovered from the jolt it received. The Sindhis who were uprooted in the stormy winds that struck the subcontinent in 1947 may have picked up the pieces and the Sindhis today may count among the most prosperous communities on the planet, but the loss of the land has left a permanent scar on their psyche. Yet humans must overcome monumental tragedies, mindless vivisection of a country they call home. Academic, historian, diligent researcher, and former Principal of the iconic R D National College in Mumbai’s Bandra Subhadra Anand’s novel “Tryst with Koki: A Post-Partition Journey of Survival, Sustenance and Strength” takes you down memory lane.

There are books on Sindh and Sindhis dime a dozen. But unlike history books or sociological studies, Anand’s own doctoral thesis “National Integration of Sindhis” is a sociological study on the survival and assimilation of the Sindhis in India post-partition, “Tryst with Koki” captures not just the trauma that the Sindhis faced during partition and its aftermath but also how they rebuilt their lives from a scratch. Through clever use of fiction, Anand tells us also how the Sindhis, through hard work, entrepreneurship, business acumen and with an urge not to survive like refugees eternally, the Sindhis rebuilt their lives.

There is surprise—how many non-Sindhis know what Koki is? —drama, suspense, twists and turns, all the ingredients of good fiction. The Syeds and Advanis are good neighbors in Clifton, Karachi and live in peace and harmony, a Unicorn gate opening paths to the two homes. A few months after partition, Sheila, along with mother and two siblings, journey to a distant and strange land aboard a steamship. They reach Mumbai (then Bombay) and end up at the refugee colony of Ulhasnagar. From the spacious and comfortable house in tony neighborhood Clifton in Karachi to the depressed, infrastructure-starved ghetto Ulhasnagar, their fortune’s fall is unfathomable. Yet, Sheila shows a rare grit, an exemplary courage in the face of hardships and obstacles. By the time she turns 75, the family has prospered, with its members becoming part of the global Sindhi diaspora.

But why is the tile tryst with Koki? I had heard of and read the famous speech “Tryst with Destiny”, that our first Prime Minister Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru delivered so eloquently on August 15. At lunch on a recent afternoon, I asked Mrs. Anand this question. “Koki is a long-lasting Sindhi flatbread. Here it can be seen as a metaphor because it was Koki on which Sheila and her family survived while travelling from Karachi to Bombay.  Koki keeps appearing in the novel, from squalid Ulhasnagar to rich and fabulous homes of Sindhis across the world. It symbolizes resilience and the powerhouse of energy Sheila had,” explained Mrs. Anand. Please give me my Koki.

Though she talks about the trauma that partition carried, she does not preach enmity or animosity against those who occupied homes, courtyards, orchards, factories, farms, and gardens vacated by her community members.

But hey, I am not going to tell the entire story and rob you off the joy of reading the book from cover to cover. Since the author was born in 1947 and came from Karachi to Bombay in a steamship in 1948, she can easily be called a midnight child who moved with millions and grew up with a feeling that partition stole their land, language, culture. As a historian who has studied Sindhis’ life, spent countless hours researching their status in squalid hamlets and interacted with both the poor and the prosperous among her community, Mrs. Anand has a thing or two to tell the new generation of Sindhis. This book is a sort of catharsis for her. Writing has a therapeutic impact. She must have felt this wonderful feeling a writer gets after finishing a book, a labor of love.

Though she talks about the trauma that partition carried (she obviously is not saying what the other side suffered as that was beyond the scope of this novel), she does not preach enmity or animosity against those who occupied homes, courtyards, orchards, factories, farms, and gardens vacated by her community members. This message of harmony and human bond is beautifully hammered home through an episode in the tale. Post-Sheila’s death, her niece Sonia, a journalist, reaches Karachi, looking for Salim, Sheila’s neighbor. She hands over half of the unicorn Sheila had kept carefully to Salim. Salim, now old and fragile, brings out the other half of the unicorn and joins them before they together bury them where the gate once stood. Salim also accompanies Sonia to the ancient Indus River to immerse the ashes of Sheila. The readers carry home two strong messages.

The author was born in 1947 and came from Karachi to Bombay in a steamship in 1948

 Sheila and, by extension all the Sindhis who were uprooted due to partition, do not harbor animosity against those whose forefathers might have joined the mobs which maimed innocent women and children and looted their properties. Another message is that the Sindhis urge for their homeland even today. This urge is described by the very fact that, to fulfil Sheila’s will, her ashes are immersed in the timeless Indus River.

I have known Mrs. Anand for over a decade. Much younger to her, I have enjoyed her hospitality, eaten Sindhi delicacies, including Koki, and accompanied her to the great spiritual and cultural canter that is coming up in Kutch, Gujarat. When complete and fully functional, this massive complex will be like the Vatican, Mecca, Kashi, and Amritsar for the global Hindu Sindhis. For long, Mrs. Anand has shared this fascinating dream of a great center to which Sindhis one day will flock to like moths do to light. Meanwhile, pick up this fascinating book and get immersed in the wonderful story she has spun.

[The book ‘Tryst with Koki’, released by Shobhaa De, was launched on Saturday evening July 1, 2023 at Crossword Bookstore, Kemps Corner. The launch was followed by a reading by Denzil Smith and a conversation between the author and Kittu Gidwani about the Tryst with Koki]  

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Mohammed Wajihuddin is a Senior Assistant Editor at The Times of India, Mumbai. Earlier, he worked with the Indian Express and the Asian Age.

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Umeeta Sadarangani

Our childhoods remain with us, coloring our experiences as adults, affecting how we make sense of the world. The older I get, the more I realize how much of my past I keep with me, how vivid my seventh birthday is, how clear the memory of a high-school field trip in Kuwait. My memories include emotions and physical sensations. As I have entered middle age and this awareness about my past has grown stronger, I have realized that my parents, thirty-one years older than I, also have their childhoods inside them–an obvious conclusion but one that is also startling.

In recent years, I have been talking with my parents and their siblings about a crucial turning point in their lives, the move from Karachi to Bombay after the Partition of India in 1947, when they were still children. During these conversations, I have been listening, through these adults’ memories, to the experiences of those children.

My short essay, ‘How to Interview Your Mother About Her Lost Childhood’ was published in Bluestem magazine.  The link given here will take you to the essay and to an audio recording of my reading of the essay. (Here is the link to my essay)

Before that issue of the magazine was released, I showed my mother the essay, nervous about her response.  “It’s all the truth.  It’s short and sweet,” she said.  And then she added, “You write really well.  You should write a book.”  I thought of the essay and laughed.  After you read it, you’ll see why.

I have shared some photos I took in 2012 in the Sion Sindhi Colony, the location of the first permanent homes in which my parents lived in Bombay. They happened to live two doors from each other.  When I returned there, after a gap of many years, I was struck by how narrow the lanes were.  The homes on that lane now are sturdier and fancier than the ones my parents’ families built in the late forties.

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Umeeta Sadarangani is a reader, a writer, a teacher, and an artist. She was born in India, spent her adolescence in Kuwait, was educated in the eastern United States, and is settled in the Midwest. “Raised in multiple faith traditions—Hinduism, Sikhism, Sufism—I am an agnostic Unitarian Universalist. These identities and experiences are the lenses through which I see the world. Paying attention to the small acts and interactions, the moments that make up daily life, I learn about myself and about the world,” this is what she says.

Courtesy: Transplanted on the Prairie (Published on October 31, 2015)

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Sindh Courier Monitoring Desk

On April 16, 1853, the Indian subcontinent saw its first ever passenger train journey. Four hundred lucky guests had signed up for a historic trip from Mumbai’s Bori Bunder to Thane in Maharashtra, on a train run by the Great Indian Peninsula Railway.

Pulled by steam locomotives with fancy names—Sindh, Sultan and Sahib–the rail carriages were flagged off with wide applause and a 21-gun salute. But little did the passengers know, the chain reaction they’d be setting off with a single trip.

On April 18, the inaugural report noted with pride, “The 16th of April 1853 was, and would long continue to be one of the most memorable days, if not the most memorable day, in the annals of British India.”

“This was not the triumph of nation over nation, of race over race, of man over his fellow man. It was the triumph of mind of matter, of patience and perseverance,” the report quoted a British official at the inaugural function.

The inaugural report started with a three-stanza poem talking of the “this spectacle of wonders manifold!” vividly describing the scene. An earlier advertisement on April 8, 1853, invited passengers: “The Indian Peninsula Railway Opening For Passenger Traffic: The public are respectfully informed that on Monday 18th instant, and until further notice, trains will be dispatched daily at the hours and fares in the annexed table.”

Opening the way  

The distance of first passenger train was small, a mere 34 kilometers. But once the GIPR (Great Indian Peninsula Railway) tasted success, they began to rapidly connect Mumbai to the rest of Maharashtra, to Chennai, and finally to Kolkata. New rail lines were laid over the next few decades, spreading out to Allahabad and Kanpur, Durg and Jabalpur.

Eastern India’s first passenger train travelled from Howrah to Hooghly in 1854, while the South’s first ran from Royapuram–Veyasarapady in Chennai to Arcot in 1856.

By 1880, a massive railway system had been formed, with a mileage of over 14,400 kilometers.

Within 50 years, there were 41,000 km of railway lines across the country, administered by 33 different railway companies, only four of which were run by the state.

Idea of Railway System

In 1832, the idea of setting up a railway system in British India was first proposed. At that time, rail travel was still in its infancy in Britain, but the East India Company knew the benefits of developing an extensive rail network. After a long decade of inaction, private entrepreneurs were allowed to establish a rail system by Lord Hardinge, the Governor-General of India in 1844. Two companies were formed by the year 1845 namely “East Indian railway Company” and the “Great Indian Peninsula Railway”.

Efforts of Parsi Businessmen

As stated above, plans for a rail system in India were first put forward in 1832 and the Madras Presidency got the first experimental railway line.

In 1844, governor general Hardinge allowed private entrepreneurs to set up a rail system if they guaranteed an annual return of up to 5% in the initial years. The first passenger train was the product of efforts of Parsi businessmen Sir Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy and Nana Shankarsheth, who formed the Indian Railway Association. This eventually merged into the Great Indian Peninsula Railway. Jejeebhoy and Shankarseth were the only two Indian directors in the 10-member board.

In 1901, Railway Board was formed under the guidance of the Department of Commerce and Industry. But still, the powers were vested in the Viceroy.

Indian Railway in 21^st Century

Indian Railways is the fourth-largest network in the world, spanning over 1.2 Lakh Km across the country. Mainly, three kinds of services are provided by the Indian Railway to the public including Express trains, Mail Express, and Passenger Trains. If we talk about the fare, then Passenger trains fare are the lowest and Mail Express trains are the highest. On the other hand, Express trains fare lie in the middle.

By managing an annual passenger footfall of over 8,000 million, it is Asia’s largest railway network.

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Source: Times of India, Scroll, Ixigo and Jagranjosh

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By Sifra Lentin

The approximately one million refugees who came by sea to Bombay, leaving behind home and property, carried with them memories of Sindh, its cities (Hyderabad, Shikarpur) and its vibrant capital, Karachi, once considered Bombay’s twin. The reasons for the strong similarity between Bombay and Karachi were many. Both cities were once joined by a common colonial history – Sindh was part of Bombay Presidency from 1847-1936 and governed from its island capital city – economy, trading communities and a cosmopolitan milieu.

Karachi, Sindh: a gateway to prosperity

Karachi city and its port were as much a colonial creation (though 200 years later) as the city of Bombay and its docks were. If Bombay was the gateway to India, Karachi port and harbor were, geopolitically, the gateway for the British to Central Asia and Afghanistan. The Talpur (Balochi) rulers of Sindh were willing collaborators in the Malwa opium trade that bypassed the tariffs of Bombay Presidency by being conducted via caravans from Malwa (in Central India) through the Thar desert into Sindh, and by sea from Karachi to the Portuguese ports of Diu, Daman and Goa, before proceeding to China. Malwa opium was cheaper and outsold British-controlled Bengal or Patna opium in the Chinese markets. Many of Bombay’s successful 19th-century merchants were actively engaged in the Malwa trade, transiting through Karachi to Portuguese ports, where their country ships lay anchored to load the precious cargo.

Karachi came under British rule in 1839, followed by the region of Sindh in 1842: by 1847, Sindh had become part of the Presidency of Bombay. It is from this period onwards that the fluencies between the two cities began, with one big difference: Karachi port soon turned into the preferred destination for the grain trade of Punjab, and, in fact, for trade in North India, in general.

This triggered the growth of financial institutions, markets, the establishment of a Royal Indian Navy base at Manora Island, south of and part of an archipelago sheltering the natural harbor of Karachi, and social institutions, such as clubs, all of which was almost parallel to Bombay’s own growth. Most importantly, Karachi too acquired a mix of trading communities. There were Parsis, Jews, Armenians, Christians, Bhatias, Banias, Marwaris, Memons, Bohras, Khojas, along with local Sindhi traders, like the Sindhi Lohanas – both Hindu and Muslim – who dominated its cotton trade.

In an article, ‘Sassoons and the Doongursees: a Relationship’, Pushpa D. Bhatia (nee Doongursee), recalls how her grandfather Seth Doongursee, broke away from the family business in Bombay to start something on his own in Karachi. The Doongursees in Bombay were the sole cotton brokers and mukaddams for the E.D. Sassoon Mills, whose personnel naturally appointed someone they knew – Seth Doongursee – to handle their import and export trade at Karachi in 1901. In much the same way, other companies, businesses, and banks, headquartered in Bombay, had also opened offices in Karachi because of its growing commercial importance

With the shadow of Partition looming large – it was to be reality after Lord Mountbatten’s announcement on 3 June 1947 – many immigrant trading communities from Bombay Province who had made Karachi and Hyderabad (Sindh) their home, began sending their families back. What was moved out too, by early July the same year, was an estimated sum of Rs.200 to 300 million to banks in Bombay and Delhi. According to one study on Partition, “Muslim politicians were anxious to stem this flood (of capital) and to ensure that the wealthy Hindu elite retained their role in the city’s and province’s economic life, but reports of violence in Punjab in the weeks after Partition unnerved many; and by mid-September around 1,000 persons a day were departing by boat for Bombay and the Kathiawar.”

The Sindh Legislature was the first to vote to join Pakistan, largely on the understanding that the Muslim League’s 1940 resolution spoke of a federal set-up that would give a great degree of autonomy for its provinces, and hence secure their ethnic identity. But this expectation was belied: the emerging political and security concerns regarding the India-Pakistan border led to the eventual imposition of the policy of One Unit (a strong central government), in 1956.

Contrary to popular perception, not all Hindu Sindhis fled to India: there still exists a presence in Sindh of 1.98 million, according to a Pakistan census of 1998. However, what triggered the bulk of the community to leave was the eruption of riots in Quetta (August 1947), followed by communal disturbances in the cities of Nawabshah (November), Hyderabad-Sindh (December), and finally in Karachi, in January 1948.

Making Bombay home

The Hindu Sindhis from the former British Province of Sindh were the largest community of refugees to make Bombay their new home. It was only natural that they should take the sea route from Karachi, a mere 589 nautical miles away, and the safest way across the Radcliffe Line, which carved up the subcontinent into two nation-states.

For the more affluent, who had business and family in Bombay, the transition was easier. Most, though, had it tough. Yet, the community is today known for its spirit of enterprise and contribution to the building of modern Bombay. Where they once strained the limited housing and infrastructure of the city, Sindhi builders, like the Hiranandanis, have constructed huge townships. Sindhi colleges under the umbrella of the Hyderabad (Sindh) National Collegiate Board are considered among the most progressive in the city for their introduction of globally relevant academic courses.

Alongside the Sindhi influx into the city, were Punjabis, Sikhs and refugees from the North West Frontier Province, who constituted about 5% of the total number, those who had chosen to travel via the Sindh and Karachi route rather than cross the dangerous land border.

Refugees in Bombay were housed in camps on Queens Road (on the Japanese Gymkhana grounds, located between PVM Gymkhana and the Nariman buildings opposite Cooperage Gardens); along Frere Road (today’s Shahid Bhagat Singh or Dockyard Road behind the General Post Office); at Sion-Koliwada, where mostly refugees from Punjab and the North West Frontier Province stayed; and at a sprawling camp called Ridley’s Siding (lit. a railway siding), just beyond Kalyan Station, which, because of its Sindhi population and the river on whose banks the camps were built, was called Ulhasnagar (or ‘city of joy’).

The Bombay government’s funds were stretched, resulting in difficult living conditions in the camps in Bombay as also those across Bombay State (Poona, Thana, Ahmedabad), but it ensured that there was peace in the financial capital by appointing an old Sindh hand, Jamshed Darabshaw Nagarvala (Indian Police), as head of the Special Branch CID, Bombay. J.D., as he was popularly known, spoke and wrote Sindhi fluently, a mastery he had gained during his postings in Upper Sindh, and later, as district superintendent of police in Karachi, and his presence was vital to maintaining peace between the host population and the newcomers. The Annual Report of the Greater Bombay Police (1948, 1949, 1950) lists everything from minor skirmishes (unpaid bills at restaurants) to mini riots that took place during the peak years of the refugee influx.

Viewed in hindsight, these now seem like inevitable rites of passage for a community that enriched Bombay variously. Bombay lost its twin, Karachi, whose demographics and socio-cultural ethos changed irretrievably, but gained much through the people who came to its shores.

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Sifra Lentin is Bombay History Fellow at Gateway House.

Courtesy: Gateway House: Indian Council on Global Relations

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Indian movie-making industry began in Bombay (now Mumbai) in the 1930s and developed into an enormous film empire, and Hari Shivdasani was the one of those actors hailing from Sindh who became part of it and witnessed the rise of Indian film industry that later got the name of Bollywood – nicknamed for having its base in Bombay.

Hari Shivdasani, born on July 15, 1909 was the character actor of Hindi cinema from 1930s to 1980s. He was born in Karachi Sindh and had moved with his family to Mumbai at the time of partition of India in 1947. He was the key member of the Shivdasani family and was the father of the actress Babita and uncle of actress Sadhana. His granddaughters are actresses Karishma Kapoor and Kareena Kapoor.

Hari Shivdasani was married to Maria, a British Christian. The couple had two daughters. The eldest, Babita was an actress, and married to actor Randhir Kapoor, and the youngest, Meena Advani, the owner of Powermaster Engineers Private Limited and Power-master tools Private Limited. The late actress Sadhana Shivdasani was his niece. Through Babita, his granddaughters are film actresses Karishma Kapoor and Kareena Kapoor. The latter is married to actor Saif Ali Khan.

Shivdasani’s acting career spanned over 50 years during which he appeared in more than 75 movies. He passed away in 1994.

His movies are: Dadagiri (1987); Achha Bura (1983); Sun Meri Laila (1983); Sun Sajna (1982); Yeh Vaada Raha (1982); Harjaee (1981); Biwi O Biwi (1981); Laawaris (1981); Professor Pyarelal (1981); Khwab (1980); Raadha Aur Seeta (1979); Jhoota Kahin Ka (1979); Satyam Shivam Sundaram: Love Sublime (1978); Vishwanath (1978); Khel Khilari Ka (1977); Chacha Bhatija (1977); Bhanwar (1976); Khalifa (1976); Zameer (1975); Khel Khel Mein (1975); Sanyasi (1975); Ajnabee (1974); Insaaniyat (1974); Daag: A Poem of Love (1973); Sone Ke Haath (1973); Ek Hasina Do Diwane (1972); Jeet (1972); Kab? Kyoon? Aur Kahan? (1970); Pehchan (1970); Anjaana (1969); Doli (1969); Ek Shriman Ek Shrimati (1969); Kismat (1969); Talash (1969); Tumse Achha Kaun Hai (1969); Aulad (1968); Haseena Maan Jayegi (1968); Jhuk Gaya Aasman (1968); Hamraaz (1967); Dus Lakh (1966); Waqt (1965); Arzoo (1965); Bheegi Raat (1965); Neela Aakash (1965); Rajkumar (1964); Ganga Ki Lahren (1964); Ishaara (1964); Sangam (1964); Dil Hi To Hai (1963); Yeh Rastey Hain Pyar Ke (1963); Asli-Naqli (1962); Anuradha (1961); Mem-Didi (1961); Mr. India (1961); Parakh (1960); Dil Bhi Tera Hum Bhi Tere (1960); Hum Hindustani (1960); Love in Simla (1960); Bhai-Bahen (1959); Black Cat (1959); Chhoti Bahen (1959); Kal Hamara Hai (1959); 12 O’Clock (1958); Ab Dilli Dur Nahin (1957); Shree 420 (1955); Marine Drive (1955); Badshah (1954); Baghdad (1952); Panchhi (1944); Kisise Na Kehna (1942); Hindustan Hamara (1940); Main Hari (1940); Prem Ratri (1936); Sangdil Samaj (1936); Sher Ka Panja (1936);Bharat Ki Beti (1935); Dharma Ki Devi (1935) and others.

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Courtesy: Alchetron and Wikipedia

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By Anand Krishna

Uprooted from His Motherland Sindh and back in Java, Baba (Tolaram), my father started all over again. He expressed his feelings in one of his poems,

“Far from my Jeejal, my Mother Sindh,

Here I am in the land of my Foster Mother.

Now, she nourishes this unfortunate son

Separated from her natural Mother…”

Attached to the Divine Form of Shri Krishna and his message delivered on the battlefield of Kurukshetra, Baba was an Advaita Vedanti at heart. For him, the Form and the Formless were not different: “Ice is solid, water is liquid – both can be seen. But, steam evaporates, now seen, now no more – Three different forms, different feels, but essentially one.”

It was this philosophy that expanded his vision of Sindh and Sindhu. His Jeejal, Mother Sindh, was not limited to man-made boundaries and borders, “She is everywhere, I see Her, I perceive Her presence in the waters of Bengawan Solo. She is Ibu Pertiwi, Prithvi Maa.”

Ibu Pertiwi, Prithvi Maa, Mother Earth – this is how we Indonesians refer to our Motherland. Mataram, Mother, this is how our nation-state was referred to in the ancient times, as acknowledged by Soekarno himself, one of the founding fathers of the present state of Indonesia.

Both the Sultan of Yogyakarta, His Highness Sultan Hamengkubuwono the Tenth, who is also the Governor of the special territory; and the Sultan of Surakarta, His Exalted Majesty, King Paku Buwana the Thirteenth trace their roots back to the ancient dynasty of Mataram – The Mother.

Bengawan Solo is a River on the Banksof which the city of Surakarta, popularly referred to as Solo, flourished. This is where my parents lived and I was born.

In the culture, customs, traditions and lofty values of the Surakartans Baba recovered his Sindh and Sindhi Sabhyata, Sindhu Samskriti – the Sindhi Values and Philosophy of Life. They resonated with each other.

He was convinced that, “We are one. Not only Hind and Sindh are one, but this entire region. We have the same common cultural, civilizational, and spiritual roots.” Now, when I remember this, I am amazed at his conviction and intuition. In those days, the common narrative was that Indonesia, nay, the entire South East Asia imported Hinduism, Culture, and etcetera from India. The satellite pictures to prove the absurdity of such theory, as also the new genre of researchers and historians were yet to arrive on the scene.

Towards the Mid 1960s,my sister and Baba went to India for the first time, the “wounded civilization” as the great author and Nobel Laureate V. S. Naipul would refer to post partition India.

He met his sisters and their families in Delhi and Ajmer, my mother’s cousins in Mumbai, then Bombay, and Lucknow. And, some members of extended families from both my parents side in Ahmedabad and elsewhere.

He was sad, very sad, when he saw most of Sindhis then being treated as second class citizens. The rich were termed as sharks, borrowing the term from Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice. Added to the expression were words like Kanjoos Makkhichoos – helplessly and hopelessly misers.

They were being constantly reminded of their status as sharanarthi, refugees having no land, no state of their own. Many were jealous, envious, “They play all kinds of games that is why they have become so rich in a short time. Just the other day they were still living in the refugee camps.”

Indeed so. Not Too Long Ago they were still in the refugee camps, but with their purusharth – efforts and skills – they did not remain as sharanarthi or refugees for long. They did not ask the Government of India for any special status or reservations, although they had the right to do so. They were uprooted from their homeland to ensure some other parts of India remained with India.

Many Sindhis he met had dropped the famous -ani suffix from their surnames to hide their Sindhi identity. He was very unhappy with what he saw.

Back in Indonesia, he was actively involved with the different chapters of the Indian Association both at the local Solo as well as regional Central Java levels then serving hundreds of Sindhi, Punjabi, and Gujarati families.

When the First President of India Rajendra Babu visited Solo, Prime Minister Nehru visited Yogyakarta, or for that matter any Indian dignitary visited Central Java – along with Shri T.D. Kundan from Surabaya, East Java; Jivatram from Semarang, Central Java, and Pohumal Tolani from Solo, Baba Tolaram would always be in the frontline serving the VIPs. So, he made quite a few important contacts in India.

He discussed the Plight of Sindhis in India with his acquaintances in the Indian Foreign Service, including some prominent Sindhis. But, they were busy “assimilating with the Indian society”, which he did not disapprove of, “that is commendable, but to the point of losing our Sindhi identity, it does not make any sense to me” – those were his words.

He was surprised to meet a prominent Sindhi politician, who was not comfortable conversing in Sindhi. He had gone to see him to discuss the situation in Gujarat, where most of the Sindhis then were not even considered as proper Hindus, since “they ate meat” – well, not all – “and, they write in Arabic Script”.

Fish and lamb were part of common Sindhi diet, although they had some self-imposed discipline: Monday is the Day of Shiva, so vegetarian; Tuesday is Hanuman Day, vegetarian; Wednesday is the day to develop buddhi or intelligence, so vegetarian is desirable; Thursday is the day of Guru, non-vegetarian is definitely no, no, no; Friday is the day to eat fish; and, of-course Saturday and Sunday were meat days in the sense that one was free to choose.

For Most Gujaratis who were vegetarian from birth, the Self-Imposed Sindhi Dietary Discipline was not only funny but also “non-Hindu, how can you even think along those lines, today vegetarian, tomorrow not.”

Sadly they did not care to read the history and understand how invaders had forced a foreign script upon the Sindhi language with intent to loot and rule.

Baba’s interactions with both the Sindhis living in Ahmedabad and Gujaratis there saddened him extremely. Back in Solo then, there was only one Gujarati family amongst the tens of Sindhi families, and they all lived happily, harmoniously as one big family. No discrimination, no holier-than-thou attitude.

The Indians in India also had no knowledge whatsoever about the Indian Gurus visiting Indonesia and other countries in the South East Asia and the Far East. Until well into 1970s they would be solely hosted by the Sindhis and Punjabis.

There was no discrimination whether the visiting holy man was a Marwari, a Gujarati, a Sindhi, a Punjabi Hindu or Sikh, a Bengali, a South Indian – they were men and women of God, and they all deserved the same reverence.

There were no expatriates then and very few Indian companies from India; those who spent for India and the Indian causes were local Indians. They had the resources to do so. Remember Subhash Chandra Bose, the Netaji and his Indian National Army? I keep that story for our next episode….

Broken-Hearted, Baba Came Back to Indonesia. He was silent for quite some time. He did not discuss his visit with my mother and grandmother, his mother.

It was much later when he told me the cause of his silence, but added: “They were ignorant. They had no idea of history. We all are one. One family, one civilization… My consolation was the fact that I did not meet any refugee as such.

“In Ajmer I met many poor Sindhi families, but not a single beggar. They all worked for their living. No job was menial. I was proud to see them as Purusharthi, True Workers. And, I am very sure in no time their purushartha, their efforts would bear fruits.”

And, he was right…. Sindhis are no longer sharanarthi. Their purushartha, their efforts have, indeed, borne fruits, and in abundance….

Anand Krishna

A Spiritual Humanist born in Indonesia, Anand Krishna is the author of more than 180 books in Indonesian and English. He is also the founder of Anand Ashram. He is proud of his Sindhi-Indian ancestry rooted in the Glorious Sindhu Civilization and Culture, also referred to as Shintu, Hindu, Indus, and Hindia – of which Nusantara or the Indonesian Archipelago has been a part since ancient times.- Anand Krishna was born in Solo (Central Java), which, as predicted by the Śukā Nādi (thousands of years old oracle), is his Karma Bhumi, his work field.

Courtesy: eSamskriti 

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