Myself: History across geographies!

In this post, I'll tell you about my roots!

This is my third post about myself. I will deviate from the topic of schooling a little bit, and discuss something academic although not class-room academic. I would like to talk about the roots of my love for history, and my own history going back 400 years. I absolutely love history! Well before I entered the high school, I had finished the high school history curriculum. As a child, I attempted to translate a history book by Mir, a Soviet publication house, from Hindi to English, for my mother. Mir used to sell subsidized books out of a mobile book store in India. Even though I was very young, I could smell a bias in the book. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford the alternatives. Eventually, my area of interest became Roman history. Today, despite being an amateur, I can talk reasonably well about most of the important Roman historical figures, cities, and events.

The roots of my fascination with times bygone exist in my in my own background. Both on my father's and my mother's side, I am blessed with histories which I can talk about.

My ancestors on father's side lived in Termez in modern Uzbekistan in the ancient times. The city was destroyed in 17th century, and they fled from there to India. During those times, India was ruled by the Mughal dynasty. Shanashah Akbar-e-Azam, or Emperor Akbar the Great, had started a Golden Age in large parts of the subcontinent. He gave shape to the lasting cooperation with the brave Rajputs that underpinned Mughal power for a long time. The Rajputs provided the military bulwark, while the Mughals managed the fragile coalition required to control such a vast empire, and provided the Temurid legitimacy. They ruled over what was then arguably the richest empire on earth.

Another version of the story says that my ancestors moved to India during the reign of Sikandar Lodhi in 16th century. I am not sure why they'd do that. Termez was doing just fine then. However, such is history. You never know what really happened. Let us assume for the sake of story that I am right.

So, my unhappy and battered family headed to this land of dreams, opportunities and security from a land which was laid waste in 17th century. They braved a long and dangerous journey across one of the most difficult terrains on the planet, and arrived at the court of the great Indian emperor full of hope and trepidation. What transpired then is lost to time. However, they managed to receive a grant of land at a place near Delhi. Perhaps the fact that my family claims to be a Syed – a highly regarded clan amongst the Muslims – helped. In an age when birth mattered a lot, having a claim to the most respected bloodline in the Islamic world counted for something.

Again, there are stories that some of the Mughal emperors might have not been friendly to Syeds.

Never mind that! They headed to their land-grant and founded a small town there, which later evolved into my village. They built a palace for themselves. Even today a neighborhood there is called Mahal – the palace. It is rumored that some of people living in that area today have found treasures, and ancient weapons, while laying foundations of their new homes. Over the next 400 years, my ancestral place underwent numerous transformations. Sometimes, it became prosperous, while at other times it declined. It was sacked a number of times. The last sacking was at the hands of Mahadji Scindia, a chieftain from the emergent confederacy in south and central India called the Marathas, who raided areas around Delhi to put pressure on the figurehead Mughal emperor. The folklore says that my ancestors armed with sticks successfully ambushed the Maratha troops, and chased them away. Most likely, it was just a case of catching a few stragglers from a booty laden and retreating raiding party. As recently as 1860s, some of my family members disappeared when the vengeful British colonial army suspected them of supplying the soldiers seeking to reinstate the Mughal power in 1857 rebellion.

The story on my mother's side is equally colorful. Her mother belonged to an aristocratic Japanese family. My grandmother had seven maids just for her hair. The turmoil of the late 19th century Japan led to abolition of feudalism. At the same time, Brazil was opening itself up to immigrants in order to resolve labor shortages. In 1907, Brazil struck a treaty with the Japanese government and let the Japanese in. My grandmother's family had lost power in the turmoil, and fled Japan when it could. The destruction of feudalism in Japan also negatively impacted the food production, and destroyed the social structure which provided elementary social security. It caused widespread distress and hunger. A victim of this hunger was my grandfather's family. They were poor farmers whose masters were booted out. They chose to go to Brazil in order to avoid starvation. Later, the princess and the son of a poor farmer met in Brazil, and married in a wedding straight out of a fairytale. My maternal family is now a part of the largest concentration of Japanese people outside of Japan – the area around Sao Paulo.

This is my history. To some my story sounded fantastic and made-up. Most of what I said was based on my readings, observations, analysis and the stories I heard from my elders. I may be totally wrong – but then which history is correct! Therefore, while I told you my story, I make no claim about its factual accuracy. However, I do believe in this story, and I hope that you have enjoyed reading it.

Hopefully, my grandchild will also be able to claim that his grandpa was an interesting man, and will write about me. More on my life coming up…