I was talking to my father today about what happened around Independence in 1947. My father's family was living in Peshawar (North Western Frontier Province) where my grandfather moved to in 1906. My grandfather knew Urdu, the language of the local traders in Peshawar. Slowly, he learnt the trade (fruits and dry-fruits) and quite a few years later he became a trader himself. In 1945, our family had a 3 story mansion and a car - a luxury that was not to come back to us till 50 years later. 

As it became clear in the years following World-War II that India will be partitioned based on religious lines. In March, 1947 my father's family except my uncle (his elder brother) and my grandfather move to India. They could see Lahore burning in flames as they passed it in the train. The Maharaja of Patiala had offered that Hindus and Sikhs are welcome to his state and he will offer any and every help possible. Meanwhile, riots had broken out everywhere. Khan Abdul Gaffar Khan's followers (Red Shirts) had helped in arresting the riots to a large extent in Peshawar.  They would eat, sleep, and breathe on the streets. However, not everyone was lucky. My uncle and grandfather were still there. My uncle got attacked with a knife on his forehead, fortunately he survived as he was quickly taken to a local doctor. Elsewhere, my father's uncle (mama) was butchered in front of his wife. My father recalls a similar incident in Patiala where a Muslim was hacked to death even though he was ready to convert. My father was all of 13 years old then!

Trains full of dead bodies used to go from one side to the other. Then sanity returned in the weeks and months following the partition. My uncle and grandfather landed in India using a military plane in October 1947. In January, 1948 my family moved to Delhi. 

In Delhi, they were "lucky" to be given shelter in a 1 room house in Fatehpur Sikri. A Muslim family had vacated that house and gone to Pakistan. Similar fate awaited people who were occupying Hindu, Sikh homes in Pakistan. In this 1 room house, 7 people lived and there was 

just one light bulb! My grandfather started his trade again in the Old Subzi Mandi (Old Vegetable Market) My father would walk all the way from there to his school and back. Many nights were spent studying under a lamp post. He was given Rupees 10 (about 25 US cents in today's rate) out of which Rupees 7 were for school fees and rest for eating/commuting. 

Times changed. Grandfather worked hard. He often slept in the shop itself from where he did trading. He had several dues that were pending to the relatives who had relocated along with him from Pakistan. On the other hand, the traders who had gone to the other side were not ready to pay up. It was difficult to go across the border and get the payments back! Anyways, times became better and times changed. We moved to our own house and business started to grow. 

My father meanwhile entered Academics. He started teaching at Batala Christian College (BCC) and then at SD College, Ambala and finally had a job at Delhi University/SD College, Delhi.  

In 1964, twin tragedies befell our family. My grandfather passed away, and 13 days later when the family returned after doing the rituals for my grandfather, my grandmother had also passed away. It was as if they had immortalized, "Till death do us part"

I hope to continue talking about the story of our family and the times/tribulations of the past. When you see much of what is happening today, you wonder whether the following is true: "History repeats itself, and those who do not know history are condemned to repeat it"

--Tarun