Tracing ties across the Burma bridge

NJ Ravichander

The migration story of my maternal great-grandparents from Burma (Myanmar) to India post World War I is fascinating. A few years after WW-I, anti-India sentiments reached a new low in the former British India province. Ethnic Indians, who formed the backbone of the British administration, were multiplying, and this made them the targets of Burmese nationalists. As riots broke out, many ethnic Indians fled Burma overland into Assam, mainly on foot. Most Indians hailed from Madras and Bengal presidency, and thousands died in the clashes.

My maternal great-grandparents, and their kin, reached Madras (Chennai) from Rangoon following a long trek and voyage on a fishing craft. The long journey took a toll on the seafarers and left them seasick. The rough seas tossed the boats around, making many throw up and seek medical attention after reaching the shore.

A few of great-grandmother’s cousins, who also arrived on the fishing craft, unfortunately got separated and went missing at Madras, while some others made their way to Secunderabad. My great-grandparents and a few others settled down in Shoolay, which was then a tiny hamlet bordering the Bengaluru cantonment. While the great-grandparents could connect to relatives in Secunderabad soon, the cousins in Madras proved elusive. Reuniting with them after decades is akin to the 1973 Hindi film, Yaadon ki Baaraat.

It was at a family wedding in Chennai that my great-grandmother finally bumped into her long-lost cousins, purely by chance. The gift announcements made over the mike — a wedding ritual those days — mentioned a familiar name that had Burma prefixed to it. The name rang a bell and great-grandma jumped out of her chair to flush out the missing cousin.

My great-grandfather, considered literate by the authorities, performed the role of nattanmai (sarpanch) of Shoolay village. His job was to settle disputes and coordinate with government functionaries. He also went the extra mile and established a few temples and even ran a cycle shop to supplement the family’s income.

He had a passion for wood carvings and paintings and spent long hours indulging in his favourite pastime. One of his sons later picked up the craft and excelled. Though holding the position of the village sarpanch, great-grandpa did not crave for wealth, and his honesty, integrity and hard work won him a loyal following.

Great-grandpa passed away in 1936, and his significant other got the curtain call 44 years later. Their mortal remains rest in the Hosur Road Hindu cemetery on the edge of the Bengaluru cantonment, and the kin return to it year after year to pay their veneration. The once sleepy Shoolay village of yore has today transformed into a bustling town and makes up the heart of the Central Business District. But few know about its history or the nattanmai who governed it.