It used to be fascinating to listen to stories from our elders about their experiences at the time of partition. I recollect all the cousins huddling around a fire pit, fixated on every word uttered by our grandmother narrating details of widespread violence and mayhem in Hoshiarpur. Muslims had co-existed with Sikhs and Hindus for generations as neighbours and friends. Suddenly, they were enemies going at each others’ throats. The social fibre had broken down, and fire of vengeance had spread everywhere; fed by tales of horror from both sides. Homes were being invaded and set on fire, killing inhabitants and robbing their possessions. Women were subjected to brutal torture, and robbed of their dignity and kids were impaled by thrusting swords through their chests.

Survival became the biggest ordeal. My father was away in Berkeley, California, completing his PhD, and my mother and two elder sisters were the wards of my maternal grandfather. That is when our uncle Ghulam Haider Khan........

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