Review: This Land We Call Home by Nusrat F Jafri
A chronicle of four generations of a family that’s also a picture of the evolution of modern India as it moved from colonialism to independence and the contemporary era, this is an ode to the motherland
Chronicling four generations of a family starting from the late 1800s to the 2010s against the backdrop of the birth and evolution of a nation, Nusrat F Jafri expertly blends narrative memoir with considerable research to deliver an exceptional work of creative nonfiction. This Land We Call Home is as much about her own complex origins as it is about India’s complicated histories. While this divided lens might seem distracting, with the nation and the family warring for attention, both exist in tandem with each other. Even as Jafri’s forebears adapt to their circumstances and change with the times, the book’s central focus on identity, personhood, and belongingness – as well as the fluidity inherent to all of these – remains quite constant.
Hardayal Singh, Jafri’s maternal great-grandfather, belonged to the Bhantu caste who trace their origins to the Kshatriya Rajput soldiers of Maharana Pratap’s army. In Singh’s time though, they were a mostly nomadic tribal community who were ostracised by the so-called upper castes. The British listed them under the Criminal Tribes Act, which criminalised entire communities by making criminality an inherited trait passed down through the generations. Seeing his natal marginalised caste identity as an oppressive noose around his neck, Hardayal Singh and his family converted to Methodism.
This was just the first in a series of conversions. His youngest daughter Prudence, and Jafri’s grandmother, converted to Catholicism later in life. Her daughter, and Jafri’s mother, Meera, adopted Islam after her marriage to a Shia Muslim. Jafri sensitively explores the many instances of conversion within her family: “Throughout this book, I have dedicated considerable thought to unravelling the intricate reasons behind my relatives’ decisions to embrace new religions at different junctions in their lives. The reasons ranged from political to social, but everyone’s conversion journey was unique.” She emphasises how the first conversion to Methodism gave her forebears a lifeline. It did not transform their lives overnight but, with time, it allowed them to boost their socio-economic standing. It gave her great aunts access to an excellent education at various missionary run-schools and six out of seven of them went on to be trained as nurses and join health services. They were poised women with a lot of character.
Jafri muses about how different life would have been had earlier generations not made the choices they did: “I find myself pondering how the narrative of my family’s past might have unfolded without conversion and access to education. Deprived of these advantages, we might have clung to our ancient culture but forfeited opportunities for progress, potentially reducing ourselves to mere pawns maintaining the equilibrium of the existing system.” None of this would have happened had Hardayal Singh not dreamt big and refused to be mistreated by caste society. His decisions, and the decisions of those who followed him, were a quest for dignity and belonging.
But the family’s journey was not an easy one. The caste system in India permeates Christianity and Islam too and even after their conversion, Hardayal’s family was affected by their ex-Bhantu status. There were other fault lines within the family too. Prudence eloped and married the man who was friends with one of her elder sisters, causing much tension within the family. Her married life was full of struggle, especially when her husband became an alcoholic but Catholicism secured her family’s future. Next, her sisters completely disapproved of her daughter Meera’s marriage to a Muslim man, viewing it through the lens of Partition, and cut all ties with them for many years.
All of this family history is deeply connected to the larger history of the nation. From colonial rule and the freedom struggle to Indian independence and postcolonial politics, from Mahatma Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru to Indira Gandhi and the Emergency, larger events playing out on the national stage affected the lives of Hardayal Singh and his descendants too. In a parallel thread, Jafri looks at caste, the rise of right-wing Hindutva, the origin of the BJP and its leaders, and the increasingly precarious lives of Muslims in India. In essence, this is the story of a “modern” family against the backdrop of a country claiming its modernity. At times, the family takes centre stage but Jafri is careful to never ignore the larger national picture.
In the end, the book is an ode to the motherland that does not paper over its deficiencies but presents it in full detail, warts and all. This Land We Call Home does not give into despair or consider the idea of an inclusive, egalitarian nation as an impossible pipe dream. Jafri highlights her family’s deep relationship with the country: “This realization instils in me a peculiar sense of awe, on how our connections to the land we call home run deep and endure, even when we travel far and establish roots elsewhere.” Optimism and the desire for a better future is what fuelled Hardayal Singh and the same feelings course through his descendants. The concluding note is one of hope, a belief that things will turn out for the better if we put our energies into ensuring that harmony can prevail against the forces that seek to divide us.
Areeb Ahmad is a Delhi-based freelance writer and literary critic. He is @Bankrupt_Bookworm on Instagram.