Partition is not a word that stirs up any memories or emotions in young people of this generation, to whom its usage is more likely to be associated with formatting of computer hard drives. But for people from an older generation, chances are that when they hear the word, they think of the Partition of 1947, which marked the end of the British Raj and the birth of two new nations. It was an event that meant death, destruction and displacement for millions of people of the subcontinent, and touched the lives of many more directly or indirectly. It continues to cast shadows in numerous ways, even if not recognized as such, for the people of Pakistan, India and Bangladesh and beyond. People who lived through the Partition, and can recount stories about it, are mostly dead already. Soon, there will be no one left alive with memories from 1947 or before. Perhaps it is this realization which seems to be behind a number of initiatives to record stories of the Partition and of its consequences. I have not read many such stories. But one that I read about briefly in a magazine really touched my heart. It was the story of a Muhajir who as a middle-aged man traveled for the first time from Pakistan to an Indian town where he had been born and brought up. But upon arrival in his boyhood hometown – which had changed beyond recognition – he could not find the street where he had lived. Yet he could not get himself to seek the help of ‘strangers’ to find out where his ‘home’ had been located. So, quietly, he left the place and returned to Pakistan.
Posted on: Tue, 13 Aug 2013 16:17:36 +0000
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