(This is one of a series of fortnightly columns from Guy-anese in the diaspora and others with an interest in issues related to Guyana and the Caribbean) In a moving world, what is our heritage? Though I consider my roots to be Caribbean, my family in Berbice simply call me Canadian. In Canada and beyond, I am often labeled Indian, that is, in most places except India itself.
In 1955, the M.V. Resurgent sailed taking 258 adults and children to India. They were the last group of ex-indentured labourers from the Caribbean to claim their right to return passage. After six months in India seeking those who returned or their descendants, I realize my relationship to India is complicated – one word that comes to mind is displacement.
I visited Kolkata (Calcutta) in 2007, the site where displacement began. Wandering through downtown Kolkata, I noticed the old colonial architecture of Gillander House, the home of Gillander, Arbuthnot & Co, the agents who processed Gladstone’s first order of “100 Bengalees” to work his plantations in the Caribbean, though no plaque marks this history. I also walked along the Hooghly river, with its decaying and hidden remnants of “coolie” depots and “squatter” communities where homeless returnees once lived, hoping to catch a ship back to the colonies. A visit to the small but still-existing Office of the Protector of Emigrants brought disappointment. The Protector of Emigrants was not aware of the historical symbolism attached to his position. The institutional memory of its former role as state-appointed Protector of Indentured labour has faded.
These connections between India and the Caribbean, as I recount them, are a series of landmarks, memorialized and archived in my mind. However, the relationship between the Caribbean and India is more vibrant than imagined. It is also a living history, albeit fragile.
Traveling throughout the state of Uttar Pradesh, I met descendants of Indo-Caribbeans. For example, the son of M.L. Pandit shared his father’s memoirs. Born in Perseverance Estate, Trinidad, his father sailed to India in 1932 in part to join the struggle for India’s liberation. However, his father always referred to the “land of the hummingbirds” as his home. According to his memoirs, the pain of distance and separation still lingered. He wanted to visit Trinidad one last time before his death. This wish remained unfulfilled. I also met the grandsons of S. Rai. After fifty-four years of separation from his wife and son in India, he left Canal Polder in 1955, but according to his grandsons, he could not re-adjust and soon returned to colonial Guyana. His grandsons kept the letters (postmarked BG) that he wrote to the family. In another village, the great-nephew of M. Persaud recalled the quiet return of his great-uncle (indentured to Blairmont Estate) who simply wished to die in the land of his birth. His great-nephew was not familiar with “British Guiana,” rather he referred to “Demerara Tapu” (tapu refers to men from the ‘islands’). In another village near the border with Nepal, a nephew of Balwant smiled with an enthusiastic “Ha!” (Yes!) when asked if he knew British Guiana. His cha-cha (uncle) formerly indentured to Plantation Uitvulgt, also returned in 1955. However, after fifty-five years away, his uncle spoke only “the British Guiana language,” his Hindi diminished.
Connections are not solely mediated through time and generational distance. In Tamil Nadu, I met two individuals who had themselves sailed onboard the M.V. Resurgent. R. Dundee, born in Versailles Estate, reluctantly escorted his parents to India. Upon arrival, he bought a book “Learn Telegu in 30 days” in an attempt to integrate. When asked, he did not express regret over leaving Guyana, though his personal diary told a different story. It is a record of his longing, for friends and family, as well as hardships encountered – little food, no employment, and many days by the sea looking at ships, thinking of Guyana. Another passenger on the same ship, C.G. Naresh (born in New Dam) accompanied his parents and extended family. They were heeding the wishes of the family patriarch (his grandfather) to go to India. However, with a forty year gap between departure and return, his grandparents found themselves unhappy, and eventually re-returned to British Guiana, as did several of his uncles and siblings. His mother longed to go back to Guyana too, but upon realizing the impossibility of return, she encouraged Naresh to settle in his “native” village (in India). Though fellow residents refer to him as “the man from Calcutta,” his Guyanese accent reveals his roots.
Based on these experiences perhaps I should ask: in a moving world, where is our heritage? Some days I am cynical, seeing heritage neatly packaged in ancestral roots tourism, static celebrations and trends such as genealogical searches. On other days, I fear that with each grain of sand that washes into the sea, consciousness of Caribbean people’s lived experiences in India will gradually disappear. However, in addition to searching externally for visible signs in India (or Africa, China, South America or Europe), connections also live on in communal stories and memories shared across generations. This heritage survives in me.
