Sindhis Abroad – The Fragrance of Belonging in a Distant World
- To be Sindhi is to carry a living fragrance, a mix of memory, language, and affection that never fades with time
- Sindhiyat is not defined by passports, faiths, or regions. It is defined by how we make others feel welcome, understood, and valued. That is why, wherever Sindhis go, they are never strangers.
By Abdullah Usman Morai | Sweden
Wherever Sindhis go from the cold streets of Stockholm to the deserts of Dubai, from the mountains of Kabul to the heart of Africa, one thing never changes: the warmth that sparks when one Sindhi meets another. It is not simply a meeting of people; it is a reunion of hearts, a revival of memories, and a reminder that no matter how far we travel, Sindh lives within us.
When a Sindhi encounters another Sindhi in a foreign land, there is an instant recognition and an unspoken understanding that transcends distance, time, and generations. Almost every such meeting begins with a simple, familiar question:
Ada, Brother, Adee, and sister, Sain: where are you from?
And the answer, whether it is Sukkur, Moro, Mirpur Khas, Hyderabad, Larkano, or Shikarpur, instantly turns strangers into family. The sense of distance vanishes, and the coldness of foreign lands melts into warmth.
A Voice in Stockholm: When Language Awakens Memory
I still remember one evening in Stockholm. A few Sindhi friends and I were waiting for an underground train, speaking softly in our mother tongue, Sindhi. Amid the silence of the station, our Sindhi words echoed warmly, wrapping us in the fragrance of home.
Suddenly, an old man approached us. He looked frail, his eyes slightly unfocused, perhaps suffering from dementia. Yet, when he heard our language, something inside him awakened. His tired face lit up, and he began to speak in Sindhi, fragmented, hesitant, but deeply heartfelt.
He said softly, Are you Sindhis? I am Sindhi too… my name is Kabir.
Perhaps he was recalling the saint-poet Kabir, or maybe that name survived as a small spark of identity within his fading memory. For a few moments, time seemed to stop. Around us stood strangers in silence, but between him and us flowed a current of familiarity. Language had stirred something sacred, both in him and in our hearts.
A few months later, in the same city, I met another elderly man, probably Indian, who was visiting his daughter living in Stockholm. When he found out that I was from Sindh, he asked curiously, I heard everyone there has become Muslim now?
I smiled and said, “Yes, most are Muslims, but there are still many Hindus too.”
He paused, then smiled with gentle relief: Good. That means Sindh is still alive in its colors.
That brief exchange touched me deeply. It reminded me that Sindh’s essence, its diversity, tolerance, and warmth, continues to live across generations and borders.
A Stranger from Moro and the Metro in Dubai
Another memory that makes me smile belongs to the Dubai Metro.
A man sitting next to me was talking on the phone in Sindhi. When he hung up, I couldn’t resist asking, Bha, where are you from? He replied, “From Moro, ada.”
I was astonished. That’s incredible! I’m from Moro too!
We both laughed. In that crowded, mechanical metro carriage, two men from the same small town of Sindh suddenly found themselves side by side, thousands of miles away from home. We began reminiscing about Moro’s streets, schools, its people, and the Sindhi festivals we missed. For a few minutes, the noise of the train faded away, replaced by the sweet hum of belonging.
The Bus in Kabul and a Smile that Spoke Sindhi
Sain Kadir Jatoi once shared a story from Kabul that beautifully captures what Sindhiyat and the Sindhi spirit, truly means.
He and his friend were waiting for a bus in the Afghan capital. When they boarded, there were no empty seats. A small girl stood up and offered her seat to Jatoi’s friend. Her younger brother teased her, saying in Sindhi: Is he your father that you’re giving him your seat?
The words caught their attention. Jatoi and his friend looked at each other, smiling in surprise. The children realized that these strangers understood their language and they, too, smiled shyly.
When the bus reached near their stop, the children said, Our elder sister works at the telephone exchange. We’ve brought her lunch. Please come with us and meet her.
Curious and touched, they agreed. At the telephone exchange, a young woman named Gulshan welcomed them warmly. Later, she invited them for dinner at their home. That evening, in a small house in Kabul, surrounded by laughter and the aroma of Sindhi food, they felt as though they were back in Shikarpur.
During the meal, Gulshan’s grandmother told them their story: they were originally from Shikarpur, but generations ago, their family had moved to Kandahar, then to Kabul, trading goods as far as the Soviet Union.
It was a beautiful reminder that wherever Sindhis go, they carry not just their trade but their tenderness, generosity, and identity.
Sindhis in Africa and Echoes of the Indus
Recently, Sain Mukhtiar Samo and Junaid Dahar, both from Larkano, visited several African countries. During their journey, Sain Samo told me about a Sindhi man they met in Rwanda. He was from Khairpur Nathan Shah, working with a Sheikh family from the same town and managing a rice import–export business.
In another instance, while on a flight, I met two Sindhi men sitting behind me. During our conversation, I learned they were traveling to Madagascar to buy garam masalas for their business, as they said with a laugh.
Whether it’s rice in Rwanda or spices in Madagascar, Sindhis continue to weave their spirit of enterprise and community wherever they go. They carry Sindh with them not as luggage, but as a living pulse of identity.
The Sindhi Soul Across Borders
Over the years, I have met Sindhis in many corners of the world, and each meeting brings the same feeling of joy. Whether it’s a stranger in a café in Paris, a shopkeeper in Dubai, or a student in France or Poland, when you hear someone speaking Sindhi, your heart instantly responds, these are my people.
Language has that power; it bridges oceans of distance in seconds. It’s not just communication; it’s recognition.
No matter where we are, we Sindhis continue to carry the same warmth, humility, and curiosity about others. Even abroad, our instinct to ask, Where are you from? is not a question of geography; it’s an invitation to connection.
Language, Memory, and the Bridge of Belonging
Every encounter tells the same story that being Sindhi is not merely about a place on the map. It’s about a shared emotional homeland, an invisible yet powerful thread connecting hearts across continents.
Whenever a Sindhi word is spoken, something ancient awakens. Perhaps it’s the rhythm of the Indus River echoing in our blood. Perhaps it’s the collective memory of love, hospitality, and resilience that defines Sindh’s history.
This sense of connection is something universal among Sindhis abroad. The moment you recognize someone speaking your language in a foreign place, the loneliness of migration softens. The world, suddenly, feels smaller and kinder.
The Colors of Sindh That Never Fade
What makes Sindhis special is not merely their ability to adapt but their ability to belong anywhere. They bring their language, their music, their ajrak and topi, and most importantly, their sense of community.
Even in distant lands, Sindhi gatherings feel like home, laughter over papar and biryani, songs of Bhagat Kanwar Ram or Allan Fakir, Abida Parveen, Master Chandar, and heartfelt discussions about Sindh’s past and future.
It doesn’t matter if the setting is a metro platform in Sweden, a spice market in Dubai, or a quiet street in Africa. Sindhis recreate the feeling of Sindh wherever they stand.
Sindhiyat: The Soul That Travels
In all these stories, from the old man in Stockholm who remembered the word Kabir, to the little girl on the Kabul bus, from the trader in Rwanda to the two young men flying to Madagascar, there runs a single thread: the enduring soul of Sindh.
It is a spirit that refuses to be confined by borders.
It speaks through kindness, hospitality, and the unshakable instinct to connect.
Sindhiyat is not defined by passports, faiths, or regions. It is defined by how we make others feel welcome, understood, and valued. That is why, wherever Sindhis go, they are never strangers.
In the End
To be Sindhi is to carry a living fragrance, a mix of memory, language, and affection that never fades with time. Whether it’s the frozen air of Stockholm, the dusty wind of Kabul, or the shimmering heat of Dubai, when a Sindhi voice rises nearby, your heart immediately whispers: This fragrance belongs to my own land.
And in that moment, no place in the world feels foreign, only beautifully familiar.
Because home, for a Sindhi, is not just a place on earth.
It’s a feeling that travels with us wherever we go.
Read: Sindh: Robbed by its own Guardians
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Abdullah Soomro, penname Abdullah Usman Morai, hailing from Moro town of Sindh, province of Pakistan, is based in Stockholm Sweden. Currently he is working as Groundwater Engineer in Stockholm Sweden. He did BE (Agriculture) from Sindh Agriculture University Tando Jam and MSc water systems technology from KTH Stockholm Sweden as well as MSc Management from Stockholm University. Beside this he also did masters in journalism and economics from Shah Abdul Latif University Khairpur Mirs, Sindh. He is author of a travelogue book named ‘Musafatoon’. His second book is in process. He writes articles from time to time. A frequent traveler, he also does podcast on YouTube with channel name: VASJE Podcast.
