The conscious-unconscious uncoupling: A series (Part II)

This is the second story in the 3-part series of partition tales by the author. This story is based on true events, and the family members mentioned below are relatives of the author’s maternal grandfather. 

You can read part one here.

15 August 1947.

A date to be remembered eternally by the inhabitants of India and Pakistan. It
was a tryst of life and death, a scramble for preservation of identity and honor.

While the didactic and legislative attributes of this partition have been memorialized in multiple books as well as museums, those who viewed the unfolding of these events remember it first-hand as an anthology of trauma and agony. These memories of disquiet and paranoia are inscribed into the families of those displaced and left vulnerable, every scar commemorated, and each tear shed pulverized into folklore for the children of millennia to come. The lineage of refugees and those of the partition diaspora, carry with them the past never told, their reminisces intangible and aged, and yet preserved.

I belong to an aged ménage of one of the many families who fled from Pakistan during the partition. My predecessors belonged to the myriad inhabitants of Peshawar who absconded or succumbed to death, leaving behind everything they knew – fearful yet proudly donning their Kesari turbans as they marched towards a world unbeknownst to them. Continue reading “The conscious-unconscious uncoupling: A series (Part II)”


A letter to Pakistan

I am Harsh and currently, I am a student of literature. I am a history buff and I am an avid reader of non-fiction history and political books. I am vocal about gender rights, feminism, LGBTQ culture, and politics. In my free time, I try to do art, poetry and I write letters. A queer man from a semi-rural state of Bihar, I try to do my part of duty by making people aware of their gender rights. When in Delhi I try to participate in queer activism and write about mythology and culture.
Harsh Aditya

I have read about you, I have talked about you and I have even befriended some sweet children of your land but I have not seen you. I don’t know what you look like. I have not played in your arms; still, I am curious about you. I am from the other side of the border, a child of the enemy as one would say, who simply wants to know what life looks like beyond these man-made borders.
How different or alike you are to your sibling, India and how do you keep up with your mehmaan-nawazi.

Dear Pakistan, will you welcome me, if I say I want to see what Hindustan looked like before I was born? Will your valleys embrace me when I come to see you? Will the Indus quench my thirst, just as Ganga does? Continue reading “A letter to Pakistan”