The Indian Mate Volume 1: A journey from namaste to howrya

Prologue

A conversation on a train

It was a typical drizzly Melbourne summer day that was tending towards sunshine. I was on the train heading to the Boxing Day Test match when a random stranger asked me a question.

Maybe it was because I was alone or maybe it was due to the festive air on the train, but either way he’d decided to strike up a conversation, and I was happy to oblige. In my experience, Australians can be very friendly like that and it’s always been something I’ve appreciated in the past.

He seemed to be in his early 30s, clean cut, a typical Aussie guy. He was with his mates, sneakily drinking beer and heading to one of Australia’s favourite pastimes: a day of cricket at the Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG).

He had the usual zinc across his nose and sunglasses perched on his head. I guessed he had a couple of beers in him already. As he leaned in for a chat, a great big smile on his face, a waft of beer preceded his next words and confirmed my suspicions. He said, ‘Hey mate, who’re you going for? Us or them?’

And while it was a simple enough question, there in itself lay the danger of it.

I stared at him blankly for a minute, trying to understand what he’d just said – even though I knew he was referring to the cricket game we were clearly heading to.

I didn’t really know what ‘us’ or ‘them’ meant in that moment because in my mind, there had never been an ‘us’ or ‘them’.

Seemingly seeing the confusion on my face, he obligingly leaned in closer and said, ‘Aussies or Indians mate, who’re you going for?’ And that’s when it hit me.

‘Us’ or ‘them’.

Was he imagining I was included in that ‘us’? 

Or was I very clearly a ‘them’?

And as I sat there dumbfounded, trying to get my brain to respond, one of his mates dropped his beer with a splash and it bounced down the aisle, spraying a number of nearby passengers. Distracted as they were by the froth bubbling out all over the carriage and leaking in a slow river towards a woman’s shoe, I was relieved to realise that was the end of our conversation and I didn’t need to respond.

I continued to watch the man and his mates from afar as the train pulled to a stop not long after. I hung back and let him exit ahead of me, hoping to avoid further conversation. His seemingly innocent question continued to plague me as we exited the platform. As I mulled it over in my mind, I really couldn’t decide what my response should have been.

Ultimately, I’d come to this country because of everything it offered that India, the country of my birth, could not.

I’d jumped through hoops, paid fees, taken exams, and basically done everything I could to be accepted and to stay here, and yet there were still moments like these, years later, when I couldn’t have felt more foreign.

I was officially an Australian citizen as far as the government was concerned, and yet …

What was it going to take for me to feel I was accepted by everyday Australians?

What did I consider myself to be? 

An ‘us’ or a ‘them’?

In all honesty, his seemingly innocent question was just another divisionary wedge like the many I’d encountered since coming to this country, but for some reason this stung the worst.

It wasn’t because I thought he was racist – there were clear team divisions playing against each other, and that was what his question had been in reference to. Rather, it was because I wondered myself where I stood sometimes.

Was I an ‘us’ or ‘them’ in my own mind?

How was I perceived by the rest of the Australian population? Am I not ‘us’, just because I look like ‘them’?

Did I even fit in here?

As I went to find my friends – no small feat in a crowd of 70,000 people – I tried to dismiss the conversation and put it behind me. The buzz from the crowd was electric, and as we found our seats in among the rest of the sports fans, I noticed just how many different nationalities there were surrounding us. There were more than I could possibly have counted.

As the start of the match neared I decided to grab a coffee. Waiting in the already extensive queue without much to do, I found myself reflecting on the conversation again and wondering what had made the man ask the question. I’d obviously looked Indian to him, which was why he’d good-naturedly questioned where my loyalties lay. I supposed he’d just assumed I wasn’t Australian – and that was true to some extent because, technically, I hadn’t been born here – but still, it bothered me as I was an Australian by choice.

By the time my coffee was ready and I’d found my seat for a second time, the match was well underway. My friends were chatting excitedly. Normally I’m all about the game, but this time I found myself tuning it out and watching the crowd impassively instead. I studied the different groups and wondered at the differences between the obvious friendship and family gatherings. Sure, there were clear differences between some of them if you were basing it on skin colour, but there also seemed to be a great mix of nationalities in among them too.

It seemed typical of any Australian sporting event with the usual face painting, team-based t-shirts and posters, and other signs of rivalry. Chants were already underway supporting specific players, especially when they were batting or bowling. Kids were running wild and screaming their lungs out and having the time of their lives. It was every bit the traditional Australian sporting event, and people were enjoying every minute of it.

Still dissatisfied by what was plaguing me, I decided to study the groups who were barracking for India versus those barracking for Australia to determine where I fit.

The biggest difference I could see was the emotion. The Australians were kicking back with their beers, heckling every now and then at some imagined slight. The Indian supporters, well, they were definitely louder and seemed a lot more emotional, screaming at the top of their lungs at anything, everything and the nothing in between. 

As the match went on, I saw the crowd booing one of the Indian cricket team members – and I watched with interest when, in retaliation, he flipped them the bird (his middle finger). Later that night, when I saw him interviewed on TV, he talked about the pent-up emotion of the event. He said he had always played with his heart on his sleeve and people couldn’t even begin to understand what it felt like to have tens of thousands of fans booing and denigrating him in that moment. The impact on him was immense, and he believed he’d responded openly and honestly – and he didn’t really care what the media thought of him as a result.

I wondered what my own response would have been then, or even now, if that question from the man on the train were asked of me again.

The following day I was still distracted. I kept thinking back to everything I knew about my family and what they’d experienced over the course of their lives. My son, I decided, needed to know more about his own family and where they’d come from. While he was still very young, it was important to me that he never wonder whether he was an ‘us’ or ‘them’. I never wanted him to question where he came from, where he fit in and where his loyalties lay.

His great-grandfather had survived the Partition of India – a separation of country under British rule that caused religious riots, persecutions and mass migrations and cost an estimated one million people their lives, while displacing a further 14 million.

In their desperation, people had fled across borders and descended upon unresourced cities to seek safety and asylum, with chaos ensuing. Loved ones were lost, as was generational wealth. People had witnessed atrocities that would impact them for the rest of their lives.

In many ways, India and Pakistan were still in recovery generations later. Rather than living together in harmony, people in both countries were further divided by politics and principles. It was one of the many reasons I’d migrated here to Australia – to establish a better life for us all, and to ensure my children were born into a land of healthcare, education and opportunity.

Was my grandfather any more or less Indian because he had to flee a land that had now been renamed Pakistan? Had his loyalties forever changed in that moment? If anyone had asked him on that fleeing train so many years ago whether he was with ‘us’ or ‘them’, would he have known how to respond?

The truth was, though he was just a child at the time, I knew enough from conversations we’d had that he’d never cared about ‘us’ or ‘them’. He’d lived through the one of the biggest divisions in human history and he was going to make sure he played no part in encouraging another one.

My grandfather solely judged a person based on what he could see in their heart. While I might not always have experienced the same treatment from others in this country, that just made it even more important to me to raise my children in the footsteps of my grandfather – to build them a different future.

It was high time my son learnt where he came from and why the treatment of others was so important.

He would know where he stood when it came to ‘us’ or ‘them’.

There was an intergenerational story to be told and, I decided, he was finally old enough to hear it.

Introduction

Where the storytelling began

Watching the sun come up through the blinds the next morning, I took a moment to reflect on just how grateful I was for this life. It had taken a lot to get here, but as I watched my wife sleeping beside me and noticed my son Hari wedged in the middle of the bed between us – he must have snuck in during the night – I felt my heart fill with immense joy. Hari was far too old to be in the bed with us, but every so often we’d wake to find him there and neither of us seemed to mind.

This was the lucky country and we were indeed the lucky ones.

I decided I wasn’t going to let the previous days’ questions affect my attitude or weigh too heavily on my mind. I was going to make the most of every minute I had. I was going to build the life my family deserved, including teaching my children everything they needed to know about their heritage and the sacrifice it had taken to get here.

As if sensing my enthusiasm, Hari opened one eye and stared up at me curiously. I put my fingers to my lips to shush him and scooped him up and out of the bed. This kid was getting heavy, a testament to his ba’s (grandmother’s) cooking. Carrying him into the kitchen and plopping him down onto the counter, I put my head close to his ear and whispered, ‘How’d you like to go on an adventure?’

Without giving it a second thought his eyes lit up and he nodded his head enthusiastically as he jumped down, and raced off to get dressed.

I followed him down the hallway, looking into his sister’s room to check on her. Sleeping soundly, thumb in mouth, Aishwarya looked positively angelic in her crib. I closed the door quietly so we wouldn’t disturb her. At nine months old she was too little for this story, but Hari would understand and I couldn’t wait to tell it.

I left Hari to his own devices as I went to get dressed, and by the time I’d finished and grabbed my phone and keys, he was hopping up and down beside the door in anticipation. I felt my excitement build as the story began unfolding in my mind. I thought one of our favourite cafes in the hills might be the perfect destination to unveil it. 

Hari sang along happily (and loudly) to the radio as we drove. I felt myself start to relax as there was just something about being in the country that made life seem so much more peaceful.

After about 15 minutes of driving we arrived at the entrance to the cafe. Gwen, the cafe owner, was outside wiping tables down and Hari waved to her excitedly as we parked.

She greeted us as warmly as she usually did and after our exchange of pleasantries regarding Christmas and the busyness of the holiday period, we chose our table and settled in for what would be a long chat. Strangely we were the first ones there that morning, and there was nothing but birdsong to hear and mountainous views to take in as far as the eye could see.

When Gwen came out not long after with my coffee and Hari’s hot chocolate – extra cream and marshmallows, thank you – I settled a little more comfortably into my chair and contemplated where to begin.

It was an epic multigenerational tale that I was about to unfurl. With so many important aspects to relay to Hari, I wanted to make sure I held his interest for the entire story and got the details right.

Hari needed to hear the story of where he’d come from, his family history, and most importantly where he belonged. He needed to understand the challenges and opportunities of a shared belonging.

I wanted to tell him the story of his ancestors so he’d never have to question who he was. I wanted to teach him, through their examples, how to live his life with an open-hearted acceptance of others; with abundant curiosity, rather than judgement.

I needed to tell him about the road his elders had travelled long before he was even a thought in the cosmos. I wanted him to know that wherever he travelled, he would be home.

This was to be a tale of bravery, resilience and acceptance throughout one of the toughest times in human history. It spoke to the people who’d lived through it and was testament to the humanity they retained and perseverance they’d adopted – even when it seemed like everything was against them.

It spoke to love in a way we don’t often associate it nowadays. No matter what they faced, our family had never stopped believing in themselves, in each other or in the people they’d helped along the way. 

This was Hari’s story just as much as it was theirs, but it was also the tale of every person who’d ever had a dream, every person who’d ever suffered hardship and oppression, and every person who’d ever immigrated to another country with almost nothing but the clothes on their back.

Yes, this was a tale wild with death, brutality and hardship, but it was also a tale of perseverance, unity and love.

And while I told him a more age appropriate version of it at the time, I’m writing it all here in its depth for him (and you) because Hari is the one who reminded me why it was so important to start here. In a continuing age of war, division, poverty and hardship, we need to understand – now more than ever – what it is that brings us together, but even more importantly, what it is that keeps us apart.

So here is our multigenerational tale – as shared through the years of many family gatherings. It’s the glue that’s kept us all together.

Chapter 1

Overcoming fear in a barn full of pirates

Though it started off like any other evening, Veer knew something was up the second he’d come barrelling through the kitchen door. His father had been sitting, talking quietly with one of the uncles, and Veer had immediately noticed the serious, solemn expression on his usually upbeat face. Upon seeing Veer, his father had forced his face into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and waved him over to his side. The uncle had smiled kindly too, asking what he’d been up to, and Veer had rattled off a list of chores they all knew he hadn’t been doing. They’d laughed knowingly at him and his father had ruffled his hair affectionately before sending him off to find his brothers. Veer lingered for a moment in the doorway, hoping to catch some of the conversation, but knowing his son well, his father had sat mutely by the fire till he left.

When he’d finally found his eldest brother Darshan and two younger twin brothers Vishnu and Ashoka, he’d hustled them towards home with a strong sense of foreboding. That whole interaction with his father and uncle had felt strange. Although it was nothing he could put his finger on, he knew something was wrong.

By the time they’d returned, the uncle had left and his father, with a very serious expression on his face, sat them all down for a man-to-man conversation. Proud to be included even though he knew it was really just a conversation for Darshan as the eldest, Veer sat eagerly in front of his father, face upturned towards him and bright with curiosity. Veer’s father wouldn’t normally have included his youngest sons in this kind of conversation, but he knew he was going to need them to stay close to home in the coming days. He hoped the trouble brewing was too complicated for them to fully understand.

You see, their family lived on the outskirts of Lahore, India. They were land owners – farmers of crops and other plants. They’d lived there for many generations quite peacefully, and although they’d been hearing of unrest across the country for some time now, they hadn’t been overly concerned by it. Disputes between neighbours was the most unrest they’d ever really experienced, and they’d always assumed living as remotely as they did, they were protected from it. 

Of course it was different living in the cities. There’d been riots and multiple instances of violence there for quite some time. With a population of 700,000, the city of Lahore was a melting pot of chaos, especially given its density and so many people living in close proximity. Still, close as the city was to them, they’d been fortunate enough to hear reports but remained removed enough from the conflict to feel safe.

That’s what his father was discussing with his sons. There’d been talk over the past few days of an impending split across the country and the subsequent separation of its people. As disturbing as that was, no one really seemed to understand what it meant or what was going to happen … and they were getting nervous.

Veer was listening as attentively as his seven-year-old brain could, but he didn’t really understand what his father meant. He wasn’t even clear on what a country was, let alone what it meant to split it. His older brother Darshan was nodding seriously as his father spoke, though, so he followed his lead and copied his expression, nodding his head in unison.

His father was explaining that while he didn’t know exactly what was going to happen over the next few days or even weeks, it would be important to stay close to home and look out for each other. While compared to the rest of the country they’d only seen minimal disputes between Muslim and Hindu householders, they still sensed the change in the air and it didn’t seem to bode well for families and landowners.

People had started to leave the cities early, he told them, and they needed to be extra careful in the coming days. It wasn’t safe any more to assume that everyone was friendly. If they saw people they didn’t know loitering near their home, they were to tell him immediately. Some of those people might be fine, it was true, but others might be desperate and/or criminals and they should trust him to meet them and be the best judge of that. While they truly believed in and lived by the law of karma and helping their fellow man, they also needed to be careful of their own safety and that of their family while doing it.

He also mentioned that some of their neighbours had noticed livestock going missing over the past few weeks – just a chicken here or a goat there, but for the less affluent families that loss of eggs or milk would greatly affect their ability to feed themselves. He wanted his sons to make sure they kept an eye out for their neighbours’ properties too as they passed by. These were going to be trying times, he told them, and they were all going to need to stick together and help each other out.

This was something Veer understood. Having grown up in the family business, there’d never been a question of working anywhere else and as a result he’d come to understand how important animals were to a family’s livelihood. He understood how fortunate his own family were to have as many animals as they did, especially when so many families had so few, and he knew they often helped out those less fortunate.

Over the generations his family had worked hard to grow their crops and breed their stock. With careful care, cultivation and joint effort, they’d managed to create and sustain a thriving, well-known, profitable farming business. They weren’t considered wealthy by some people’s standards, but they certainly did well enough for themselves and helped others when they could.

As his father talked about possible intruders and thieves appearing over the coming days and the subsequent need for neighbourhood patrols, a plan began to formulate in Veer’s mind. He listened intently as his father described the arrangements being set up with the neighbourhood uncles and his inclusion of Darshan in those patrols. Darshan was old enough now to be considered a man for these purposes, and he could partner with one of the adults to cover the areas in which they had a shortfall.

Since Veer knew there was no way he was going to be able to convince his father to let him go on patrol with the men, he thought his next best bet might be to focus on how he could help their own household. He knew they didn’t have anyone looking after their own personal family livestock in the barn, and he wondered if he could persuade his father to put him to work.

Growing up he’d always idolised the shepherds in their family business and he’d enjoyed watching the way they cared for the stock, commanded their dogs with effortless authority and seemed so free and easy sleeping under the stars. From what he could see, they only seemed to really answer to themselves and they seemed to have a lifestyle Veer was definitely interested in cultivating as he got older.

While he loved his large family, having five brothers and sisters and a never-ending stream of aunties and uncles bossing you around certainly wasn’t peaceful or allowing of autonomy.

Veer volunteered to sleep in the barn for the night, even though he knew he was probably considered far too young to do so. It seemed like a very worthwhile adventure and one that he knew would tick a number of boxes. Not only would he be the envy of all his friends for being brave and a family hero, but he was also pretty sure he’d win some serious adult points from the men in the village – and he’d get to play shepherd for the night.

As expected, his father seemed far less enthused by the idea – but there was no denying he was impressed by his middle son’s bravado, and he promised to consider the idea carefully. Veer, sensing a moment of weakness in his father and an opportunity to wear him down, immediately leapt into a diatribe of reasoning. He was certainly old enough, brave enough and skilled enough to protect the animals, in his opinion. Even though it was very unlikely an intruder would get through the patrols, if they did, Veer was close enough to the house to escape and definitely loud enough to alert the patrols once he was safe.

As he prattled on enthusiastically, his father listened with amusement to his impassioned pleas and considered his fairly limited options. He knew his son well, and that when he had this much conviction backing one of his arguments, there wasn’t going to be much that would deter him.

If he said no to Veer he’d probably just sneak out anyway and join one of the patrols to prove a point. On the other hand, if he said yes, at least his wife or Veer’s sisters could check on him throughout the night and make sure he remained in close proximity to the house. There would be minimal risk with the patrols around anyway. And although he generally had faith in his son’s abilities, he was definitely curious to see how long Veer would last out there in the dark, all by himself.

After careful consideration, he finally relented – even if just to get some quiet – and agreed to Veer’s plan.

As he began to detail the rules of the arrangement, however, an unholy row erupted between the three youngest siblings. Demanding to be included in the night’s events, the younger twins had immediately begun to fight for their involvement. Listing all the reasons they should be the preferred choice and all the reasons Veer shouldn’t (after he’d started his counter arguments, mind you), things had quickly become heated and turned inflammatory and personal.

After that, it had only taken a split second of him shifting his attention wearily over to Darshan for support when someone kicked someone else and a full-scale brawl erupted.

Before he knew it, the ensuing argument, which could probably have been heard halfway down the neighbouring streets, had escalated to the twins throwing down with their usual gusto and turning into complete and utter savages.

Finally, after quite a few minutes of yelling, scuffling, kicking and in one instance biting – Veer had the ring of teeth marks around his ankle to prove it – his father had broken up the fight with his shoe and brought them all to heel. He had always been adept at providing particularly stinging slaps with it, and this evening proved to be no exception.

Once his father had finished breaking up the fight and could finally be heard again, he’d named Veer honorary shepherd for the night and silenced the twins with a particularly black look. There was plenty for them to help with, he told them, and the sooner they stopped behaving like little animals, the sooner he’d allocate them jobs and send them on their way.

Sulking furiously, the twins had stormed off to the kitchen as Veer, with the grace and maturity of most seven-year-olds, had smiled smugly at them and completed a victory lap around the room in his excitement.

Confident now of the plan and his role in it, Veer had wandered off to the kitchen to see his mother for supplies and hadn’t listened to the remainder of the conversation. Darshan would be on patrol further from the house tonight, but their father would be close enough to swing by every now and then and check on him.

His mother, having heard all the commotion and decided to ignore it from a safe distance in the kitchen, smiled indulgently as Veer came in and started to prepare some food for him. He watched as she tucked an extra snack into his parcel for the night, and pretended to be annoyed as she fussed over his lumps and bumps from the tussle.

Noticing that this seemed to be adding salt to the wound for the twins, who were sulking in the corner of the kitchen at a table, she wrapped a blanket around Veer and shooed him out of the house before any further arguments could take place.

As he exited the house and crossed the courtyard wrapped in his blanket and clutching his snacks and supplies, Veer turned his face up to the soft, waning daylight. It had been a great day, he decided. Not only had he enjoyed a fun-filled afternoon down by the river with his friends, but he’d also beaten his little brothers at wrestling and convinced his father he was worthy of trust in the family business. As the sun beat down gently on the dirt-packed yard and the flies buzzed lazily around him, he contemplated the tranquillity of the air he was breathing and decided it was going to be a beautiful night to sleep outside, too.

As he crossed the yard he kicked up little clouds of dust with his bare, sun-hardened heels and thought back to the scuffle he’d just been involved in with his brothers. It had been worth it, he thought, even with the bruises he’d have tomorrow and that tiny set of teeth marks on his ankle throbbing viciously as he walked. He knew he’d emerged victorious, regardless of what the disgruntled twins had said – after all, hadn’t his father named him honorary shepherd for the night, and given him a very satisfying pat on the back?

Making up his mind to take the role very seriously given everything at stake, he began speaking loudly and confidently to any robbers and thieves who might be listening. He expanded into lengthy tales of all the weapons he had stashed throughout the area and explained how experienced he was at using them all. He puffed his chest out as he walked to the barn and tried to look taller, too. It was only a short walk across the yard, but given his diatribe and confident stride, he felt sure anyone listening would have to feel intimidated.

Upon entering the barn, he looked around and decided it needed to be organised in a manner that was most advantageous to his heroic role. He needed to position himself somewhere that meant he could see the entrance, but also the full scale of the area.

Pulling a pile of straw closer to the centre of the barn as a mattress and tucking his blankets in around it, Veer moved a few things out of the way so he wouldn’t accidentally trip on anything and stepped back to survey his handiwork. The bed was in position and actually looked pretty inviting, but darkness was also encroaching much faster than he’d expected. Everything was beginning to look a little eerie in the half-light. He wondered what time the patrols were starting that night and whether he’d hear them as they went past.

As the daylight continued to escape the barn, his bravado eventually began to falter with it, and he decided he’d feel better if he had some kind of weapon to hand. He began poking around, looking for anything he could use in his defence. Eventually, after discarding a number of items, his eyes settled on an assortment of tools lying in a pile down the back of the barn. As he got closer to them, he could see that some of them looked quite rusty and ill-used, but after shuffling through them for a while he managed to find a sturdy mallet-type object that seemed to fit his imagined fighting style particularly well. 

He tested it, tapping it from one palm to the other, and then gave it a few fierce swings in an arc around his head, nearly braining himself in his own enthusiasm. Breathing hard, he wisely decided he