MY STORY...
I grew up listening to stories about the Partition from my grandparents. They were stories of friendship and a loving multi-religious community, which eventually turned into stories of loss and lament.
In this project, I trace the lives of my grandparents and their journey during the partition. Their story begins before the partition in Rawalpindi (currently in Pakistan), where Hindus and Muslims lived together in harmony. It continues through the riot and manslaughter on Direct Action Day on August 16, 1946, the Muslim League's protest against the Congress Party and assert for a separate homeland. On this day, they were forced to embark the journey of finding a place where they would belong and could call their own. Their story takes us to August 15, 1947, where India won her long-sought independence from the British but sadly was also divided into two nations, India and Pakistan.
The story does not end there. I have been born and brought up 8000 miles and two generations away from this war, yet the experiences my grandparents faced have molded my personality and beliefs in various ways. My grandparents have made every attempt to teach me the value of education. As they always say, "anything that you can hold in your hand is only temporary. You never know what life has in store for you, and you have to be ready to adjust to what is given. The world can take away every belonging from you, but no one will ever be able to steal your knowledge and education; they are the only things that you can consider keepsakes, and they are what helped us rebuild our lives after all the atrocities."
My grandpa was a young child, only eight years old at the time of the war. However, as he saw his younger brother pass away during the long journey, it hit him that love, kindness, and respect are the only qualities that allow one to stay positive through hardships. He has instilled these values in me, which will guide me through any obstacle.
In this project, I trace the lives of my grandparents and their journey during the partition. Their story begins before the partition in Rawalpindi (currently in Pakistan), where Hindus and Muslims lived together in harmony. It continues through the riot and manslaughter on Direct Action Day on August 16, 1946, the Muslim League's protest against the Congress Party and assert for a separate homeland. On this day, they were forced to embark the journey of finding a place where they would belong and could call their own. Their story takes us to August 15, 1947, where India won her long-sought independence from the British but sadly was also divided into two nations, India and Pakistan.
The story does not end there. I have been born and brought up 8000 miles and two generations away from this war, yet the experiences my grandparents faced have molded my personality and beliefs in various ways. My grandparents have made every attempt to teach me the value of education. As they always say, "anything that you can hold in your hand is only temporary. You never know what life has in store for you, and you have to be ready to adjust to what is given. The world can take away every belonging from you, but no one will ever be able to steal your knowledge and education; they are the only things that you can consider keepsakes, and they are what helped us rebuild our lives after all the atrocities."
My grandpa was a young child, only eight years old at the time of the war. However, as he saw his younger brother pass away during the long journey, it hit him that love, kindness, and respect are the only qualities that allow one to stay positive through hardships. He has instilled these values in me, which will guide me through any obstacle.