‘This Land We Call Home’ by Nusrat F. Jafri is a heartfelt narrative that intricately weaves the personal and the historical, offering a poignant exploration of identity, belonging, and the enduring legacy of caste and religious conversion in India. Through the lens of her nomadic ancestors from the Bhantu tribe, branded as 'criminals' under the British Criminal Tribes Act of 1871, Jafri traces her family's complex journey towards acceptance, navigating the harsh realities of upper-caste gatekeeping and the transformative power of faith.
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The memoir vividly captures the family’s transition to Christianity, finding solace in the church’s sense of community, theology, and the opportunities for education provided by missionary schools. As Jafri recounts their experiences during key historical moments—Gandhi’s return in 1915, the Partition, World Wars, and political upheavals—she paints a broader picture of the struggles and small triumphs that define the human experience.
Jafri's homage to her foremothers in the book is especially touching in today's time as it resonates with the ongoing struggle for gender equality and the recognition of women's roles in history. Her portrayal of these early feminists, who navigated a patriarchal society and sought alternative paths to freedom and acceptance, serves as a powerful reminder of the strength and resilience of women across generations. In an era where reclaiming and honouring women's contributions is more important than ever, Jafri’s tribute is both timely and deeply inspiring.
In keeping with this theme, we present an excerpt from the book that sheds light on the profound challenges women encountered in pre-independence India.
Excerpt:
The Singh sisters were all broad-boned and tall, taller than the average Indian women. But what really made them stand apart was their education. As they grew older, they exuded an unbridled flair, influenced by the refinement of European culture and the spirit of independence they had inherited from their nomadic ancestors.
During her childhood, my mother was greatly influenced by their opulent lifestyle, where they decked themselves in exquisite silk and expensive cotton garments and indulged in the most sumptuous feasts served in aesthetic crockery on well-laid-out tables. She notes that her aunts' boarding school exposure and interactions with American missionaries had a deep impact on their distinctive tastes, which were a fusion of traditional and cosmopolitan tastes that evolved over time.
Six of Hardayal Singh's daughters were accomplished nurses. Their dedication to their profession was matched only by their desire to live life to the fullest. My grandmother, Hardayal’s youngest daughter Prudence, was the only one who didn’t study nursing. Instead, she completed her high school from Allahabad.
Until the seventeenth century, formalized nursing was unheard of. Home births were the norm. In every village, a dai or midwife was responsible for taking care of the maternal and child health needs of the community. Military nursing was the earliest type of modern nursing, introduced by the Portuguese in the seventeenth century.
Nursing as a profession in India has been traditionally frowned upon. 'Indian society tended to view nursing as not only menial and morally dubious, but also as polluting work typical of lower castes.' Even today, the perception remains that nurses are mere patient care providers, primarily responsible for maintaining patient hygiene. This perception is reflected in the derogatory terms that are often used to address nurses, such as neeche-jhakni, which refers to someone who peeps at the bottom of patients to look for stool or urine.
Given the stigma and caste associations with the profession, it is truly commendable that six of Hardayal's daughters not only pursued nursing but also excelled in it, carving a place for themselves in a reluctant society.
As the eldest daughter, Panna retained memories of her childhood spent in Rajasthan. This familiarity allowed her to be aware of her parents' sentiments and understand the grave adjustments they were making in this new land. She was considered the most resilient and reliable of the sisters. Panna had small eyes, similar to Kalyani's, and when she smiled, they caught the twinkle of her tiny gold nose pin. At thirteen, she received career counselling at her school and was advised to take up nursing as a career. In those days, nursing courses began at the end of middle school, and educational standards varied widely among nursing schools from state to state. A more centralized structure for nursing exams and the profession were introduced much later by the government with the Indian Nursing Council Act of 1947, which was amended in 1950 and 1957.
Hardayal and Kalyani saw a good career prospect in this field for their daughters and after Panna, the other six followed suit. Nursing took the sisters to the bustling capital city, Delhi, where they trained at Saint Stephen's Medical College. The red and brown stone brick-walled college was established in 1885. St. Stephen's Hospital 'started a training school for nurses under Alice Wilkinson—the first trained British nurse who joined the hospital in 1908. Wilkinson was associated with nursing in India for more than forty years.’ Stephen's was also the first institution to begin training Indian women as nurses. Wilkinson became the hospital's nursing superintendent and is credited with raising the standard of nursing not only at St. Stephen's but in the rest of India as well.
As independent career women in the late 1930s and 1940s, when Indian women were still new to education and to demanding personal independence, the daughters of Hardayal Singh were a model to their church and local community. Their achievements and self-reliance soon earned them admiration and, at times, envy from their neighbours, who were impressed by the support they extended to their parents.
Hardayal's daughters went above and beyond to ensure the well-being of their father. They would buy the best quality Finlay Mill cloth for his dhotis and linen for kurtas. And when away from home, they would make it a point to send him tin canisters of ghee all the way from Delhi.
While encountering criticism from certain community members for permitting their daughters to work and receiving gifts from them, Hardayal and Kalyani stood by their daughters and recognized their worth as individuals. In response to a meddlesome neighbour's comment about allowing their young daughters to work, Hardayal calmly responded that his daughter were no less than sons.
As their careers advanced and their incomes increased, Panna, Champa and Tara also contributed financially to their younger sisters' education.