I’ve spent most of time in Delhi with family. They’ve slowly trickled in from Indore and Agra. We have a new jijaji in the house so it’s been enjoyable getting to know him. Tonight was a lot of fun because the lights were out for a couple of hours so we all gathered on the terrace and jammed to oldie film songs from my cousin’s mobile phone. My drunk uncles provided quite a lovely entertainment program. The scene reminded me of the summer days I used to spend in Delhi as a child when power outages occurred at a significantly higher frequency than they do now. Most memorable is the moment the light would come back and we kids would rush back indoors only to be greeted by bats (who in the darkness found temporary homes). I would run out of the house just as quickly as I ran in. My Dada got a kick out of this. Not sure where they’ve all gone over the years but there was no bat “welcome back” tonight.
I regret not listening to my Dada more when he was alive. My relatives tell me he was chock full of interesting Partition stories. I asked my chacha to show me any papers he may have left behind hoping to find Sindh property documents or letters that he wrote. Everything he had saved was in one suitcase and I carefully rummaged through it all only to find that most of the papers were from the past 25 years and primarily consisted of recent financial documents. I was extremely excited to come across his original Sindhi refugee identity card. The paper was yellowed and the pencil writing barely legible. Even though I didn’t come across a stack of letters, it was so neat to see this card. So much left unsaid though. I had the card in one hand and the blueprint for our Delhi house in the other. He left Sindh in 1948 and purchased the Delhi house in the 90s. I wish I had heard what all had happened between then and now directly from him.
Tomorrow I leave for
