Hi everyone.
I can't believe it's already been almost three weeks since I kicked off the India trip - it's already been so much more than I imagined. From the happiest reunions in Mumbai to breathtaking views in Rishikesh, it's been an incredible first half. The only downside so far has been how quickly I got sick (five days into my trip - a new personal record!) and that I'm still battling a suspected case of walking pneumonia combined with bronchitis. We finally did see a doctor yesterday who looked 100% unsurprised by my illness as 'tourists often catch this stuff quickly in India'. Joke’s on him because I catch this stuff quickly globally!
But I digress.
For this month's newsletter, I'm focusing solely on my three hours in Haridwar, where I attempt to learn about my family ancestry. Haridwar, often called the Holy City for Hindus, is a famous pilgrimage site, and you can see thousands of Hindu pilgrims come to wash away their sins or perform their departed family members' last rites. My dad and brother scattered my grandmother's ashes into the Ganga in this very city in 2006.
However, I've now arrived for a different kind of pilgrimage.
Haridwar is still home to India's most comprehensive and well-preserved repository of genealogical records. Maintained by 'Pandas' (hereditary priests), these voluminous records are known to trace family history, stretching across many centuries. As Haridwar was traditionally a site for death rites, it soon became routine for the family pandas to record each family visit, along with their family tree, marriages and members present etc., grouped according to family and home town. Over the centuries, these registers became a critical genealogical source for many families in tracing their family tree and history, especially after the Partition of India in 1947.
The only trouble is that you need to know something about your family's history to find your family historian. We showed up in Haridwar on the street where we knew our local Panda lived (from hazy 2006 memories and hasty conversations with our few remaining relatives) with minimal information. Somehow, we found him quickly (this was the part I was most worried about - wandering the streets of Haridwar and asking people to help locate our local Panda seemed a little too unplanned for me). After queueing for 20 minutes to see him, we were ushered inside.
My mum gave him the lowdown in a few minutes: my daughter, like many third-culture kids of her generation, is keen to learn more about our family's history, and since we know very little pre-Partition, we'd like your ancient scrolls to guide us. Our Panda (let's call him Ashok) is baffled at this. He repeatedly asks me why I would be curious about ancient history. I try to explain to him that the 1920s aren't that ancient, and I'm just trying to form some semblance of a family tree and revive the names of our ancestors. Dissatisfied with my explanation, he shrugs his shoulders and gets to work anyway. Fair enough.
We tell him what we know: our surname, the name of our grandparents' village (in modern-day Pakistan), the last time anyone showed up from our family… and that's about it. After half an hour of searching through these giant books (pictured below), Ashok looks worried. He can't find anything about our family using the information we've provided. "But we came in 2006, and I have a photo of our information, so it's got to be in there," my mum encourages him after seeing the look on my face. After a few more minutes of harried searching, he finds the famous 2006 record. Things are back on track!
I won't bore you with all the details, but over the next hour, we succeeded in learning more about our family. We discovered that my grandfather had a brother who died in his 20s (my mother, i.e. his daughter, did not know this). We were able to go back eight generations and write down the names of the patriarchs of each generation - so that's my great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather back in the 1820s. Not a bad haul for me, especially since I only learned my grandfather's full name this summer. I'm thoroughly impressed with Ashok and his team at this point, so I ask the logical question, "What about all the women? The wives of these men or even the daughters?"
Once again, Ashok wears his concerned face. He assures me he means no offence when he says this, but women were barely considered humans back then, so noting their names wasn't something anyone did. The worst part? This doesn't surprise me in the slightest. To appease us, he looks through all the scrolls only to confirm that not one woman's name or birthdate is recorded until the 1970s, when my mum's sister passed away.
We decide to move on to the last piece of business for the day - we'd like to record our names into these registers so that it's logged for the future. My family never remembered to log my brother's or my birth here, and I'm also excited to sign this ancient register myself. Ashok, his face now permanently frozen in confusion every time I speak, informs us that our request makes no sense. He explains that family registries are recorded in the father's registry, and this entire book is my mum's line of the family. I sense where this is going, but ever the optimist, I explain to Ashok again that in 2022, we don't believe in only following the man's lineage and that as the only surviving child of her family, my mum's lineage must be recorded in this register and this register only. Our back and forth goes on for a while (with my dad chiming in to assure Ashok that he has no clue what's going on but is on our side), until Ashok concedes. I feel proud. Elated even. I've changed Ashok's mind about the patriarchal ways of Indian society. What a win!
Ashok then informs me that since we're paying Rs. 11,000 for this service he provides, we can technically do whatever we want, so he doesn't care either way.
Not exactly the win I'd hoped for, but I'll take it.
Now, along with my first recorded ancestor in the 1820s (shout out to Mr. Dulha Ram Batra!), my signature is finally recorded in this surprisingly resilient book. It may not sound like much, but it's hard to even describe how good it feels to have learned so much about my family in a day. It may just be a name, but Banksy said (wrote?) it best, "They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time." At least we now get to remember the names of the people men who came before us.
The next key stop in this unconventional journey is Delhi, where we're hoping to learn actual stories about our more recent ancestors and unearth some photos. But even if we don't find out much more, I'm already overjoyed to have a real family tree at last.
Thank you so much for reading.
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