#bhojpuri indentured history

[thozhar]

Gulf migration is not just a major phenomenon in Kerala; north Indian states also see massive migration to the Gulf. Uttar Pradesh and Bihar accounted for the biggest share (30% and 15%) of all Indian workers migrating to GCC1 countries in 2016-17 (Khan 2023)—a trend which continues today. Remittances from the Gulf have brought about significant growth in Bihar’s economy (Khan 2023)—as part of a migrant’s family, I have observed a tangible shift in the quality of life, education, houses, and so on, in Siwan. In Bihar, three districts—Siwan, Gopalganj, and Chapra—send the majority of Gulf migrants from the state, mostly for manual labor (Khan 2023). Bihar also sees internal migration of daily wagers to Delhi, Bombay, and other parts of India. Gulf migration from India’s northern regions, like elsewhere in India, began after the oil boom in the 1970s. Before this time, migration was limited to a few places such as Assam, Calcutta, Bokaro, and Barauni—my own grandfather worked in the Bokaro steel factory.

Despite the role of Gulf migration and internal migration in north Indian regions, we see a representational void in popular culture. Bollywood films on migration largely use rural settings, focussing on people who work in the USA, Europe, or Canada. The narratives centre these migrants’ love for the land and use dialogue such as ‘mitti ki khusbu‘ (fragrance of homeland). Few Bollywood films, like Dor and Silvat, portray internal migration and Gulf migration. While Bollywood films frequently centre diasporic experiences such as Gujaratis in the USA and Punjabis in Canada, they fail in portraying Bihari migrants, be they indentured labourers in the diaspora, daily wagers in Bengal, or Gulf migrants. The regional Bhojpuri film industry fares no better in this regard. ‘A good chunk of the budget is spent on songs since Bhojpuri songs have an even larger viewership that goes beyond the Bhojpuri-speaking public’, notes Ahmed (2022), marking a context where there is little purchase for Gulf migration to be used as a reference to narrate human stories of longing, sacrifice, and family.

One reason for this biased representation of migration is that we see ‘migration’ as a monolith. In academic discourse, too, migration is often depicted as a commonplace phenomenon, but I believe it is crucial to make nuanced distinctions in the usage of the terms ‘migration’ and ‘migrant’. The term ‘migration’ is a broad umbrella term that may oversimplify the diverse experiences within this category. My specific concern is about Gulf migrants, as their migration often occurs under challenging circumstances. For individuals from my region, heading to the Gulf is typically a last resort. This kind of migration leads to many difficulties, especially when it distances migrants from their family for much of their lifetime. The term ‘migration’, therefore, inadequately captures the profound differences between, for instance, migrating to the USA for educational purposes and migrating to the Gulf for labour jobs. Bihar has a rich history of migration, dating back to the era of indentured labor known as girmitiya. Following the abolition of slavery in 1883, colonial powers engaged in the recruitment of laborers for their other colonies through agreements (Jha 2019). Girmitiya distinguishes itself from the migration. People who are going to the Arabian Gulf as blue-collar labourers are also called ‘Gulf migrants’—a term that erases how their conditions are very close to slavery. This is why, as a son who rarely saw his father, I prefer to call myself a ‘victim of migration’ rather than just a ‘part of migration’. It is this sense of victimhood and lack of control over one’s life that I saw missing in Bollywood and Bhojpuri cinema.

— Watching 'Malabari Films' in Bihar: Gulf Migration and Transregional Connections

[krisrampersad]

Ma's Final Journey to Shore of Peace

Ma’s Final Journey to Shore of Peace

A traditional open cremation at the Shore of Peace in La Romain, South Trinidad would mark Ma’s final earthly journey. It will take place at 8 am Monday November 8, 2021. Owing to the COVID-19 threat there will be a slight variation of the traditions and all the rituals will take place at the cremation site, rather than at the home. Relatives, villagers and well wishers are asked to kindly note…

[jalebi-o-shir]

Being on Opposite Ends of the South Asian Spectrum: Being Pakistani and Indo-Caribbean

🇵🇰✨🇸🇷

As a half-Punjabi (Pakistani) and Half Indo-Caribbean (Indo-Surinamese) person, I have always found myself split between very two contrasting sides of the same coin. The reason being so is because these two cultures hail from the sub-continent, yet are uniquely distinct from another.

If South-Asianess was put on a spectrum, they would be on extreme opposite ends of each other. I have been raised up as a Pakistani I’d say. After all, my mom is Pakistani, I’ve been brought up with the food, the languages, Urdu and Punjabi, the social codes, the norms and the values, and of course the religion.

But I haven’t been raised like a typical Pakistani kid. On the other hand, I’ve been raised by my Surinamese dad. I’ve been taught the Indo-Surinamese history, always ate Surinamese food, and was always surrounded by my Surinamese family, and most importantly, what not a lot of young Indo-Caribbeans/Indo-Surinamese can say, understand Hindoestaans (Caribbean-Bhojpuri, yes it’s not Caribbean-Hindi. It’s a misnomer) *Thank you Urdu and Punjabi for allowing me to understand it*

You are probably wondering what this mini-autobiography has to do with the title. Well you see, as odd as it may seem, I used to look down on my Surinamese side of the family when I was younger. Except for my grandparents, my father, and uncle for fortunately good reasons. I love them dearly of course. I saw most Indo-Surinamese people as “lost”. They couldn’t speak the language, acted anything but South Asian (whatever that meant) , smoked, drank, and always wanted to be DJs. That’s the image I conjured up of Indo-Surinamese people for the longest time in my mind.

I had no Pakistani family growing up for most of my childhood. To my Pakistani family, I guess, we where the odd ones out. While everyone lived and was born in The States, I grew up in a wonderful tiny country called Holland 🇳🇱 (The Netherlands). I had a great childhood really :D

Over the years, I started developing this complex. I was proud of being Pakistani. In a country where immigrant kids mostly are born to parents from Turkey, Morocco, and Suriname, I was in a strange position of being an invisible minority, yet a visible minority at the same time because of the Surinamese side. I remember telling the teacher in elementary school that I would feel Surinamese at school, but Pakistani at home. I always felt that I to put up a act. Pakistani in the masjid, Surinamese in the streets. There are loads of Surinamese people in Amsterdam, so representation was never an issue, but at the same time it was because I considered myself to be completely Pakistani.

I felt proud that I was able to understand Imran Khan’s songs (T’was a big thing at the time), watch Bollywood without subtitles, and go to shaadis and bask in the culture whenever we’d go to the US. I started seeing Indo-Surinamese people as watered-down Desis without any noticeable culture, values, and traditions to hold on to even though I grew up surrounded by it. Ironically, I knew a lot about my Indo-Surinamese history and indentured servitude back then. I was very close to my Surinamese family and I’m grateful everyday that they were such a big part of my youth, but at the same time, I felt culturally awkward growing up. I didn’t feel Surinamese enough whenever we’d visit family.

If Pakistani-Punjabis are known as conservative, colorful, log kya kehengein-type people, then Surinamese people are independent, strong-opionated, and liberal. I now see that I inherited both sides. I moved to the US at the naive age of 18. There, my dad had to constantly explain where he was from. My dad speaks Urdu, Dutch, Surinamese Creole, Hindoestaans (Caribbean Dutch -Bhojpuri), and English. It’s a curious mix of languages that all have to do with his upbringing. Since we went to a Pakistani masjid/mosque, he had to educate people constantly. It is when I realized that being Surinamese really is a unique thing.

The more I think about my dad, the weirder it gets. I mean being born in South America, looking South Asian, speaking Dutch in a country called Suriname, and having a last name that looks Spanish is really a crazy thing when I think about it. Over the years, I realized how much I actually missed from Holland. I craved Surinamese food which really is a mix of Indian, Indonesian, West-African, Dutch, and Chinese food with a unique Surinamese twist. I felt a need to tell people how unique Suriname was.

I started feeling proud of my Surinamese heritage and everything that came along with it. Instead of looking down, I started looking up to my ancestor who made the 4-month voyage from Calcutta, India to an unknown land to work on the sugarcane fields along with thousands of others who would be later known as the “Hindoestanen” and collectively known as the Indo-Caribbeans. I found this all out through a Dutch government initiative where they digitized indentured servitude records. My dad told me about it.

I was amazed at how much information these records contained. His name, DOB, religion, skin color, village of origin, birth marks, height etc was all recorded to even his own sample number. it gives me chills when I think about it. 23 yo, going on a journey to an uknown destination that made me end up in Toronto, Canada eventually. I mean, if he didn’t step on that ship, I wouldn’t have been born. I guess immigration is in my blood, and it all started in the British Raj.

These days I can say with confidence that I’m proud of both sides, and that I feel a bit sorry :p for any Pakistani that didn’t have the chance to eat our wonderful food. Sure tons of people know about Biryani, rotiyan, tandoori chicken, samosein, but how many people know about bami, nasi goreng, pitchel, roti met kip, baka bana, maseina cookies, boyo, pom, and of course, Surinamese roti? Anyone? Not a lot 🇸🇷💕🇵🇰

[thozhar]

Bhojpuri Folk Song on Indentured Migration