I am a proud Sindhi. And I’m married to one.
And although we have never thought of it actively, nor discussed this with each other at home, the glorious celebration of Bombay Scottish School Mahim completing a Hundred and Seventy-Five years, got me thinking.

We Sindhis are probably one of the earliest refugees in the modern history of the world. My ancestors were made to leave their home and they chose to settle in Mumbai because they saw opportunity and probably knew a handful of people here, who gave them a little support and a place to stay initially.

So what tangible legacy does a family like ours have, to give to our children?
There’s no ancestral property, or so much as a family heirloom, no photographs even, that date back to pre-partitioned India. Every single thing present in our homes today has been purchased after 1947.

The only thing we have that are older, are the stories that have passed down from grandparents as dinner table conversation, which are now slowly but surely fading away from their memories, with details getting distorted as each generation struggles to repeat them.

Stories about how my great-grandmother served Kasturba Gandhiji and was even jailed several times, in fact, for protesting along with Mahatma Gandhi.
Stories of the jailor telling that aging lady in white ‘Maa, aap kyon phir se jail aa jati ho. Bol do angrez ko aapne kuch nahin kiya’
To which she would reply in a surprisingly firm voice coming from a lady so frail…
“Maine kiya hai. Maine rasta roka hai!’

Then there are those stories spun in threads of nostalgia, about wedding lehengas with real gold coins embroidered on them;
Meals eaten only in pure silver crockery;
Open courtyards filled with running, screaming, happy cousins now scattered in places near and far, wherever the winds of fate and opportunity took their respective families.

And those heartbreaking tales of people fleeing in trains, ships and military planes, if you were lucky enough to know someone…stories we’ve all seen in the movies, or read, or heard. Except, my parents and grandparents featured in these.

I won’t make this a tragic tale because it’s not really. That would be a disservice to my community. Because Sindhis proved they were a resilient lot, a happy-go-lucky bunch of people who don’t dwell in the past, but live in the moment making the most of it.
They would have to be, right?! To have given it all up one fine day just because someone somewhere decided it would be best to arbitrarily draw a line on a map made of paper. A line in black that rather deceptively ran right through their homes.
Even then, they managed to make success stories of their lives. With no resentment or regret. All with a smile.

Needless to say, I’ve met many, many Sindhi men and women in the course of my life. I may have heard them boast a little, dress a little flashy, wear their bling and their brands right down to their toes, but I’ve never ever met a single one, who complained about their tragic history.
Irony at its finest. The ones who truly deserve to complain, never do. They simply move on!

So a little bit of pride and flamboyance is justified, one would think. Every little bit of ostentatious shimmer and shine we wear, is our personal badge of honour. Because it is a reminder, especially to the older generations, that they lost it all, left it all, but built it again! With their hard work, business instincts and street smarts.
Nobody could take that away.

Of course every state of India (and almost every corner of the world) did lend their support, took them in, let them shine.
Our country remained our own and stood by us firmly! So what if we had to dilute a bit of our culture, our traditions, language, food, costume, and adapt like chameleons. At least we were still alive!

So today, when this wonderful school that my children study in, Bombay Scottish Mahim completed 175 years, a century older than new-age India as we know it today, I watched their first ever online concert and I had goosebumps.

They detailed through song and dance the history of the school, with a lot of painstaking effort and coordination on the part of teachers and students in lockdown, socially distant from each other.
Not an easy feat!
And now would be the perfect time to mention that when the world went virtual, how seamlessly the teaching and non-teaching staff and students of this grand old institution adapted.

Over the years, many well meaning friends have asked me why I chose to send my children to this school?

The reason of course is because it is a school par excellence, one that has churned out generations of successful achievers who aren’t afraid of the hard work, values and discipline they need to see their ambitions through. The magical blend of old world charm and contemporary education are reason enough. But everybody knows that.

What I realised today is that, as a Sindhi parent, through this school, I have had the added benefit of finally tying my children to a very tangible part of their nation’s history.
My children have now walked the same hallowed halls that once served as a Scottish orphanage during the British era.

Bombay Scottish is now their legacy. To claim as their own with pride. And hopefully, they will make their school proud of them too someday.

Today I would like to offer my gratitude to this heritage structure.
Thank you for giving my children roots just as they swung so often on the roots of the 185 year strong banyan tree in your courtyard.
The value of this, for a family like ours, can never fully be expressed…
not even if we tried for 175 years to come.

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Pic Courtesy: Wikipedia