In June 1947, two months before the partition of India, when the Hindu-Muslim riots started, my mother, then 17, left her native village of Dalwal (now in Pakistan) and sought safe haven in Delhi. Leaving behind all their belongings, her entire family moved to Delhi - thinking they would be back home when calm returned. That was never to be. On Independence Day, August 15, 1947, they became homeless refugees.
In Delhi, they witnessed the bloodbath of communal clashes.
Starting from a scratch, the family rebuilt their lives.
In 1948, my mother married my father, Bharat Bhushan Bakshi - who was also from the village of Dalwal.
Fifty years after leaving Dalwal, my mother returns to her village.
The camera follows her as she traces her ancestral fields, orchards and wells; walks the alleys in search of houses of her family and relatives - some demolished and others in ruin; and meets village elders who recall, from the mists of memory, the names of her parents, siblings and other relatives. She also finds a man who was my father’s classmate.
The camera senses that in spite of the communal poison administered by dishonorable politicians, the common people, on both sides of the border, share genuine warmth and affection.
On her visit to Dalwal, she was accompanied by her daughter Roopa; daughter-in law Sharmila; and son Akhil.
Language: Punjabi and Hindustani.
Camera and Editing: Akhil Bakshi
24 авг 2024
