{"id":4411,"date":"2016-06-04T07:15:50","date_gmt":"2016-06-04T01:45:50","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411"},"modified":"2016-06-04T07:15:50","modified_gmt":"2016-06-04T01:45:50","slug":"india-pakistan-partition-punjab-jhelum-kinare-homeland","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/?p=4411","title":{"rendered":"Longing for the Other Punjab: A Search for My \u201cJhelum Kinare\u201d Pind on Google Maps"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

T<\/span>wo days before India carried out the <\/p>Balakot air strike<\/span><\/a> on Pakistani territory, our \u201cfriendly neighbours\u201d dropped a bombshell of their own. My favourite musician Ali Sethi released a new YouTube video, titled <\/span>\u201cChandni Raat\u201d<\/span><\/a>. Set in a Wes Anderson-inspired ramshackle waiting room, travellers of many ethnicities bide time until they can go home; the lyrics too hinge on the idea of waiting, of \u201cwasl\u201d (union) with a beloved, with a family, or perhaps a homeland. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>\n\nSethi \u2013 as much a fine writer as a crossover artist \u2013 is one of those rare frugal <\/span>musicians<\/span><\/a> whose followers display the same deep devotion and dependence that crack addicts do. His songs, modern versions of ghazals well-loved in the subcontinent, are hooded with deep melancholy, and always hotly awaited. So naturally, \u201cChandni Raat\u201d opened to effusive praise \u2013 particularly from this side of the sarhad.<\/span>\n\nIf you were conducting an online dipstick survey of Indian sentiment toward Pakistan and its countrywomen in the days after the <\/span>Pulwama attack<\/span><\/a>, you\u2019d encounter a divide as rigid as the Radcliffe Line. If you were on Twitter, you\u2019d find folks calling for the total annihilation of Pakistan (and India, on the other side) and wondering why we didn\u2019t \u201cjust bomb the fuck outta them\u201d. But if you were monitoring comments on an Ali Sethi video, you\u2019d think India and Pakistan were childhood besties, parted in youth, and now sending forlorn texts to each other. <\/span>\n\nEach of the comments on the video \u2013 from a profusion of Singhs, Bagchis, Chahals, Srivastavas, Jains, and Pauls \u2013 has a variation of \u201clove from India\u201d. Some compare him to a young <\/span>Mohammad Rafi<\/span><\/a>, some bless him, most thank him and leave a wistful, wishful comment about how music can heal the wounds of the two countries. These outpourings of love caused one Pakistani commenter to say, \u201cLove from India ke itne comment\u2026 BC hum dono mulko ke log nahi reh sakte ek doosre ke begair Love from Pakistan.\u201d <\/span>\n\nIf India lives in its primetime TV news debates, where <\/span>anchors<\/span><\/a> dress up in combat fatigues, ready to launch themselves at Pakistan, then who were these people? ISI agents? Islamic conspirators? American operatives? <\/span>\n\nNope, just the people of two countries at the height of military escalations not witnessed since 1999. This isn\u2019t even Ali Sethi fanboys and fangirls \u2013 this bittersweet sorrow for what was once a common homeland is evident in the comments sections of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan qawwalis, Farida Khanum and Ghulam Ali ghazals, in the flat-out admiration for Pakistani tele-serials, in episodes of Anwar Maqsood and Moin Akhtar\u2019s cult parody interview show, <\/span>Loose Talk<\/span><\/i>. <\/span>\n\nEvery time I hear a caustic assertion that our soft diplomacy toward Pakistan yields absolutely nothing, I feel like directing the speaker to these videos. But just the way Twitter users\u2019 call for <\/span>war<\/span><\/a> won\u2019t actually lead to one, the wistful meanderings of YouTube commenters will not influence diplomatic policy decisions either. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>\n

If India lives in its primetime TV news debates, where anchors dress up in combat fatigues, ready to launch themselves at Pakistan, then who were these people?<\/blockquote>\nA few years ago, author Avtar Singh <\/span>wrote<\/span><\/a> about this online kinship forged in the comments sections of the many Indian and Pakistani versions of the Punjabi folk song \u201cJugni\u201d. \u201cA clear divide, to begin with, between nations. Then the creeping notion, first and foremost among the diasporic respondents, of a perceived commonality that transcends said nations. Then an impassioned plea from a resident Punjabi, writing in her <\/span>mother tongue<\/span><\/a>, albeit in a Romanized fashion, to rise above this petty state-ism and to recognise what binds \u2018us all\u2019 together. To enjoy the music, to listen to the words. In effect, to dig beneath the beats and the mastering and the bling. To remember\u2026 What is a memory if not a dream?… What is a dream if not a template for the future?\u201d<\/span>\n\nI revisit Singh\u2019s luminous essay every few months; sometimes for a cathartic cry, sometimes to dwell on the truths cloaked in its beautiful prose, often to remind myself where I come from. The piece goes further back, as all essays about Punjab must, into the supposedly origin event of the <\/span>Partition<\/span><\/a>… except, Punjab has <\/span>always<\/span><\/i> been divided. And younger Punjabis like me still carry this cleft in our hearts. Singh focuses on this while talking about a family member: \u201cHis maternal grandfather didn\u2019t want to leave <\/span>Lahore<\/span><\/a>. His lands were on that side and so were his friends and what difference did a new dispensation make anyway to a man born under a foreign flag? His son-in-law, my grandfather, had to physically remove him. Like many other men of his generation, perhaps he never really recovered.\u201d <\/span>\n\nI don\u2019t think my grandfather ever recovered either. <\/span>\n\nMy nana, my mother\u2019s father, settled in Delhi in the aftermath of the Partition, moving outward from the migrant colonies of Rajinder Nagar, further out to Patel Nagar, and finally settling close to the Punjabi-est suburb of them all, in Rajouri Garden. Even though Bauji was the only grandparent I ever knew, we never had much of a relationship \u2013 like so many men from that era, he was too gruff, too distant, too unconcerned with my presence but not that of my male <\/span>cousins<\/span><\/a>. I am not sure he even knew my name, choosing to address me until I was 14, with the fond, but generic, \u201cgudiya\u201d. He died at 90, an uneventful death following a brief illness, in the home he built. <\/span>\n\nIt wasn\u2019t until a couple of years later, when I started <\/span>college<\/span><\/a>, that I\u2019d begin to understand Bauji\u2019s silences. In our family, as that of others uprooted from their homes across the border, the Partition was never brought up. How could it? Post-Partition families like mine hadn\u2019t just experienced the \u201cbatwara\u201d \u2013 they\u2019d experienced \u201cujaada\u201d. Not merely a parting but a devastation. Not a split, but a desolation, an eradication of life as you knew it. <\/span>\n\nAnd silence was the coping mechanism for an entire generation forced to display fortitude that it probably wasn\u2019t feeling. Silence was the admission fee you paid into a new life that you had no option but to build, the price of continuing to live with the <\/span>memories<\/span><\/a> you probably retreated into, late at night, at the end of a day of soul-crushing labour. Silence was the fare to cross the river of forgetfulness. <\/span>\n
In our family, as that of others uprooted from their homes across the border, the Partition was never brought up.<\/blockquote>\nWith that understanding came regret. Absolute regret over not knowing my grandfather better, of not coaxing his stories out of him, of not knowing what sarhad-paar life was like. At the heart of it all, was a heated desire to know where <\/span>exactly<\/span><\/i> I was from. That question had remained unanswered as long as Bauji lived. All that my mother and her <\/span>siblings<\/span><\/a> ever got out of him was that we\u2019d been from a \u201cJhelum kinare\u201d village, too pained I suppose, to even mention it by name. <\/span>\n\nAt college as I studied Partition literature \u2013 the severe, drunk perorations of Saadat Hasan Manto and the gentler devices of Ismat Chughtai \u2013 I grew obsessed with my own connection with a land that was now foreign. In Manto\u2019s madman from \u201cToba Tek Singh\u201d, who couldn\u2019t quite come to terms with the Partition, and babbled on incoherently about \u201cupar di gur gur di annexe di bey-dhyana di mung di dal of the Pakistan and India dur fitte munh,\u201d I saw a little bit of my <\/span>grandfather<\/span><\/a>. The inmate Bishan Singh\u2019s frustration was Bauji\u2019s remorse; his mutterings were Bauji\u2019s quiet. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span>\n\nI don\u2019t think my <\/span>family<\/span><\/a> felt the kind of longing I was feeling, preoccupied as they were in grafting their lives on an alien, arid transplanted land. As far as they were concerned, Dilli was our homeland \u2013 had always been, and would always be. Now Bauji was gone, and he\u2019d taken with him the place that I belonged to. All I had to show for it was regret and a cipher where my history should have been.<\/span>\n\nHow do you feel a longing for a place you\u2019ve never been to? Is it possible to experience it like a physical pain? How do you feel a sense of loss of something you never had in the first place? Yet, here I was, pining away for a name \u2013 even a little red pin on Google Maps would have made me happy, but all I had to go on was a \u201cJhelum kinare\u201d village. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span>\n\nSo, just like my grandfather, I coped too but not with silence. Like Bishan Singh, I found I couldn\u2019t shut up about the subject of my roots, writing about it to former <\/span>colleagues<\/span><\/a>, finding excuses to bring it up on first dates, and spending hours hovering over a zoomed-in Google map of the Jhelum, memorising the names of obscure towns and villages along the curvy descent of the river, until it merges with the Chenab. Was I from Khalaspur? Pind Dadan Khan? What chak, which doab, which kalaan were we from? The Jhelum was my own river of forgetfulness. <\/span>\n\nI now think less and less of that question. I compensate. I make up for it by reading all the Partition literature I can get my hands on. By watching and writing about Pakistani serials, looking all the time for clues into a life that might have been. By listening to Pakistani singers with Punjabi last names on loop, and re-reading the comments left by their admirers.<\/span>\n\nMaybe I am like one of those <\/span>travellers<\/span><\/a> in the Ali Sethi video. The ghazal\u2019s closing couplet is: \u201cMaang rakhi thi badi der se jo wasl ki shaam \/ Woh mere haath badi der ke baad aayi hai [How long I have waited for this night of union \/ How long it has taken me to get here.]\u201d Maybe I will catch a glimpse of that once-homeland someday. Maybe I will remain stuck in an eternal waiting room.<\/span>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I am from a post-Partition migrant family, but I have no idea where my roots lie. My grandfather, my last \u201csarhad paar\u201d connection, passed away and I grew obsessed with the idea. I pined away for a name, but all I had to go on was a \u201cJhelum kinare\u201d village. How do you feel a longing for a place you\u2019ve never been to?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":16,"featured_media":4412,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7271],"tags":[7767,7832,7833,7834,262,6470,7595,393],"class_list":["post-4411","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-columns","tag-balakot-air-strike","tag-generation","tag-homeland","tag-mother-tongue","tag-pakistan","tag-partition","tag-pulwama","tag-punjab"],"yoast_head":"\nLonging for the Other Punjab: A Search for My \u201cJhelum Kinare\u201d Pind on Google Maps<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"I am from a post-Partition migrant family, but I have no idea where my roots lie. My grandfather, my last \u201csarhad paar\u201d connection, passed away and I grew obsessed with the idea. 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How do you feel a longing for a place you\u2019ve never been to?","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Karanjeet Kaur","Est. reading time":"8 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411"},"author":{"name":"Karanjeet Kaur","@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/#\/schema\/person\/a403986024318e639db2d7e2d07a9638"},"headline":"Longing for the Other Punjab: A Search for My \u201cJhelum Kinare\u201d Pind on Google Maps","datePublished":"2016-06-04T01:45:50+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411"},"wordCount":1694,"image":{"@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/1553513479.jpg","keywords":["Balakot air strike","generation","homeland","mother tongue","Pakistan","Partition","Pulwama","punjab"],"articleSection":["Columns"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411","url":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411","name":"Longing for the Other Punjab: A Search for My \u201cJhelum Kinare\u201d Pind on Google Maps","isPartOf":{"@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/1553513479.jpg","datePublished":"2016-06-04T01:45:50+00:00","author":{"@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/#\/schema\/person\/a403986024318e639db2d7e2d07a9638"},"description":"I am from a post-Partition migrant family, but I have no idea where my roots lie. My grandfather, my last \u201csarhad paar\u201d connection, passed away and I grew obsessed with the idea. I pined away for a name, but all I had to go on was a \u201cJhelum kinare\u201d village. How do you feel a longing for a place you\u2019ve never been to?","breadcrumb":{"@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411#primaryimage","url":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/1553513479.jpg","contentUrl":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/1553513479.jpg","width":1520,"height":850},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4411#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Longing for the Other Punjab: A Search for My \u201cJhelum Kinare\u201d Pind on Google Maps"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/#website","url":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/","name":"Arr\u00e9","description":"In every person lies a creator and in every creator, an enterprise.","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/#\/schema\/person\/a403986024318e639db2d7e2d07a9638","name":"Karanjeet Kaur","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/65f79d5108605db3c609d0d6a82625dbb5818671ae43112d56e19e987c81f89f?s=96&d=mm&r=g","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/65f79d5108605db3c609d0d6a82625dbb5818671ae43112d56e19e987c81f89f?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/65f79d5108605db3c609d0d6a82625dbb5818671ae43112d56e19e987c81f89f?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Karanjeet Kaur"},"url":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/?author=16"}]}},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/1553513479.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4411","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/16"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4411"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4411\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4412"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4411"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4411"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4411"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}