There is no dearth of literature on Partition. But Pune-based Saaz Aggarwal’s Sindh: Tales from a Vanished Homeland tells the Sindhi side of the traumatic moment in history. It recreates life and landscape of Sindh in the 1930s and 40s. A humour columnist, literary critic, ghost writer and biographer, Aggarwal talks to Chetana Divya Vasudev about her book, herself and Sindh. Excerpts:
Tell us a little about yourself.
I’m a ghost writer and very proud of it. In fact, many times when I tell people that, I can judge by their reaction that it does not create a very good impression. But I am happy that I can write in other people’s voice in a way that nobody can tell that it’s not them writing.
And I have a master’s degree in Mathematics, and have taught the subject at a college in Bombay for a few years. I think the mathematician in me helps me keep my writing simple.
What inspired the book? How did you decide on Sindh as the topic?
When my father, who had been ill for a long time, passed away, it was a hard time for all of us. Especially for my mum, as all her time and energy had gone into caring for him. So, to engage her somehow, I began talking to her. Although I knew she moved here from Sindh after the Partition, we had never talked about it. But there we were, almost 65 years since she took the ship from Karachi to Mumbai, and it was amazing to see the extent of detail that she remembered. She started telling me things that I felt nobody knew. So I thought I had to write about it.
What were the interesting things you learned from your mother about life at Sindh?
She told me that she had never seen an umbrella till she set foot in Bombay! It hardly rains there, and when they were kids, on the few days that it rained, schools would remain closed and they would all sit inside their houses and watch the rain.
Did she ever go back?
I told her many times, we all did. But she said “no”. Even when we went for the release, she refused to come. In fact, getting the visa for the Karachi festival, where my book was going to be launched was very difficult. We had to do a lot of drama, and I don’t want to get into the details. But when we got our visas, I wrote to my friends on the other side of the border and they were thrilled. They also asked about my mother, whether she was coming. When they found out that she was not, many of them sent messages saying, “Please come. We miss you.” It was very sweet. But she didn’t. To her, it was “They threw us out, so why should we go back?” She also said there is nothing left there for her now, no people whom she knows.
How long did it take you to put the book together?
It took one year. When I started, I knew nothing about Sindh. So, I had to read up a lot and I was surprised by many of the things that I learnt. For example, how many of us have heard of freedom fighters from Sindh? Hemu Kalani was a freedom fighter from Sindh who also joined the Quit India Movement. He was caught trying to sabotage Indian Railways and sentenced to death. When people appealed to the government and he was granted pardon, he refused. Bhagat Singh’s name is on every Indian child’s lips, but how many know of Kalani?
How was the experience with the book launch there?
Going there made all the difference. You know, somehow Pakistan is the “enemy country”, but when you’re there, you realise it’s a real place. Well, the festival started off with Raghupati Raghava. I found that quite interesting. All the people we met were very nice and I noticed that the youth there seems far more politically aware and keen on serving the public than the youth in India.
Partition is a topic that never dries up. Why do think that in the literature of that period the voice of the Sindhis has not been heard?
I wondered if it was because they were too traumatised to talk about it. Was it because they were too focused on carving out a life for themselves here? Or was it simply because no one listened? Remember during Partition, everyone had problems, so maybe nobody had time to listen to their problems. And, also they resettled so fast that nobody gave them much thought.
Did the book and the research make you feel more connected to your roots?
Did it help me understand what the Sindhis went through? Yes. Reconnect to my roots? I’m not so sure. I don’t call myself a Sindhi. I always joke that I come from a rare ethnic minority: there are just the two of us — my brother and me. My mother is Sindhi and my father is a Konkani Saraswat Brahmin.