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A Gujarat Here, a Gujarat There
Delhi, 1947. The city surges with Partition refugees. Eager to escape the welter of pain and confusion that surrounds her, young Krishna applies on a whim to a position at a preschool in the princely state of Sirohi, itself on the cusp of transitioning into the republic of India. She is greeted on arrival with condescension for her refugee status, and treated with sexist disdain by Zutshi Sahib, the man charged with hiring for the position. Undaunted, Krishna fights back. But when an opportunity to become governess to the child maharaja Tej Singh Bahadur presents itself-and with it a chance to make Sirohi her new home once and for all-there is no telling how long this idyll will last.
Part novel, part memoir, part feminist anthem, A Gujarat Here, A Gujarat There is not only a powerful tale of Partition loss and dislocation but also charts the odyssey of a spirited young woman determined to build a new identity for herself on her own terms.
Part novel, part memoir, part feminist anthem, A Gujarat Here, A Gujarat There is not only a powerful tale of Partition loss and dislocation but also charts the odyssey of a spirited young woman determined to build a new identity for herself on her own terms.
272 pages, Hardcover
Published January 1, 2019
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
June 15, 2020
‘A Gujarat Here, A Gujarat There’ is part memoir; part memory embellished narrative written decades after the events, moments and thoughts took place. It takes readers to the time when Sobti in her early twenties applies for the post of teacher at a preschool in Sirohi,a princely state caught between the remains of its former royal glory and an uncertain nation that could end up putting it in either Gujarat or Rajashthan. Sobti’s own recent past experiences of growing in Gujarat in what would later become Pakistan, studying in Lahore and then having to hear and experience the horrors of partition to fleeing her home to cross over to India, trying to find roots as a refugee are recurring motifs in this remarkable book.
This is not to say that it is full of grief and pain for there is the powerful story of a young woman finding her feet, mindful of the politics played out by people when she is asked to apply for the post ofGoverness for the minor prince of Sirohi. Her relations with the royal women is one of respect and ally ship, her tender connection with the young prince is a mix of tenderness and the careful mentoring of a young ward who is weighed down at times by the world of the adults around him.The writing is tinged with nostalgia over friendships and family ties but also melancholy and despair over the hardships that partition brought.
Overall, it is a powerful memoir that is evocative of the moods and the settings the author finds herself in. The translation flows: it does not strip every original word and turns it into a close enough English word which keeps the lyrical at times, sharp as a knifelike quality of the author intact. This is my first by Sobti and it's making me set on reading more of her.
This is not to say that it is full of grief and pain for there is the powerful story of a young woman finding her feet, mindful of the politics played out by people when she is asked to apply for the post ofGoverness for the minor prince of Sirohi. Her relations with the royal women is one of respect and ally ship, her tender connection with the young prince is a mix of tenderness and the careful mentoring of a young ward who is weighed down at times by the world of the adults around him.The writing is tinged with nostalgia over friendships and family ties but also melancholy and despair over the hardships that partition brought.
Overall, it is a powerful memoir that is evocative of the moods and the settings the author finds herself in. The translation flows: it does not strip every original word and turns it into a close enough English word which keeps the lyrical at times, sharp as a knifelike quality of the author intact. This is my first by Sobti and it's making me set on reading more of her.
May 18, 2020
Mention of the Partition brings a torrid picture to mind, a rapid and chaotic transference of relationships, bodies, blood. Manto has familiarised us to the upsurge of panic, an eternity of uncertainty. But even in the backdrop of this turbulence, many, many lives went on as usual. Spaces a limitations might have been redrawn, but there was a mother buying flowers for her son’s wedding, a young boy sneaking out of his home to play cricket, a man nonchalantly swinging his lunch carrier on his way to work.
There was also, somewhere, a woman who came in from Pakistan to India to work as a teacher, and ended up as the governess of a child king whose kingdom was floundering. The quiet moments, life flowing on uninterrupted offstage, are what Krishna Sobti wants us to observe and absorb, in her memoir-poetry-novel A Gujarat Here, A Gujarat There. Like the two Punjabs, two Hyderabads, each of the two Gujarats (one of which is spelled Gujrat) belong one each to a severed country.
The story begins from this very Gujarat, where Sobti, the protagonist, is just arriving from her hostel in Lahore. “It would be the first Diwali for free Pakistan”—the time is revealed to be merely three months after the Partition of 1947. As neighbours, she has known all her life begin to pack and leave, Sobti is fierce enough to leave traces of her existence—“Flowing breezes, remember: I once lived here.” But a whispered talisman is not enough to keep her back. For it is an ambiguous time. “The rivers, streams, books of prosperity have all been divided,” muses the writer, “The tale of Partition is being written—a new document in the independence of the nation.” On impulse, Sobti applies for a job in far-off Sirohi, then lying on the border of Gujarat-Rajasthan.
There, twig by twig, Sobti begins to build a new nest. Fragile, precarious, and flimsy, but a nest nevertheless. Even as she agonises at the similarities of their culture and variances in their dresses, Sobti treats every day both as a tiny miracle and the biggest bore. This examination of the self and surrounding; this meticulous nonchalance; this subdued exuberance; this list of oxymorons is what Sobti’s life is reduced (or rather, expanded) to. It is a distortedly fascinating world, an India that is teetering at the edge of independence, royalty that makes a last attempt to grab power, people torn between loyalties and staying alive.
An example is this description of the palace Sobti has landed in: “The forwards and backwards of time seated together in the same room. One symbol of the ancient tradition of princely power and one of the new ambitions of independent India.” Perhaps as homage to this contradiction, even as our protagonist tries to mingle with her newest neighbours, the pages of this work are all coated with hiraeth—the nostalgia and the longing for a home that you are unable to return to, that no longer exists, or perhaps never was anywhere except your mind.
Reluctant to leave the idea of this home behind, Sobti’s grandmother implores thus to the sea, “Oh God of the Sea! I’ve left behind my religious books and my shaligram and set out from my home. Please do something to save my pure books and my shaligram from falling into evil hands…”
Sobti lets forth this liquid, yet sometimes congealed, flow of emotions and passions that turns the oft-repeated motifs of partition to a renewed, scary pool. She brings to life, quaint mannerisms and a reproduction of a refined, old-world, deferential culture where men have the keys to the newspaper closet, and a woman traveling for a job raises furor (and many people’s heckles).
The reader will need not only to wade in the words, but submerge in its brittle-delicate-rough-soft texture to soak in the essence. Just like Sobti, the reader will need to read through people and their scams: “The more polite the behavior, the more polished and strategic the trickery. Everyone is a spy out to confuse everyone else.”
In this ominous microcosm Sobti survives, and thrives. Krishna Sobti has been hailed for her eccentricities and steadfastness as much as for her literary talent. As Rockwell mentions in the introduction, she wrote under the pen name of a male alter ego, Hashmat. She rebelled against being known as a ‘woman writer’, and also refused the Padma Bhushan, the third-highest civilian award in India. This self-esteem, the pride and self-assurance, it reflects perfectly in the character of the novel’s heroine, who guards Maharaja Tej Singh fiercely. Even in the precarious times and role she is in, she never once seems to lose her poise in front of others. Within herself, it is a different (and elaborate) story.
The last published work of Krishna Sobti—and reportedly her first composed novel—has plenty to recommend it, especially to a reader who wants to be transported 70 odd years ago. There are also plenty of things that take away from its interesting premise—the major fact being that the plot of the novel (not that there is too much of it) only saunters in around halfway. There is precious little to keep a roving reader hooked to the novel. There is also almost nothing of the fire and strength that is the mark of Sobti’s work. Yet for a reader who does not mind lulls and pauses and an unhurried approach, there is a technique in her writing that stands out—a rare frugality, a measured and weighed use of words. Like a minimalist, Sobti charms with few strokes where others would have inserted elaborate curlicues.
There was also, somewhere, a woman who came in from Pakistan to India to work as a teacher, and ended up as the governess of a child king whose kingdom was floundering. The quiet moments, life flowing on uninterrupted offstage, are what Krishna Sobti wants us to observe and absorb, in her memoir-poetry-novel A Gujarat Here, A Gujarat There. Like the two Punjabs, two Hyderabads, each of the two Gujarats (one of which is spelled Gujrat) belong one each to a severed country.
The story begins from this very Gujarat, where Sobti, the protagonist, is just arriving from her hostel in Lahore. “It would be the first Diwali for free Pakistan”—the time is revealed to be merely three months after the Partition of 1947. As neighbours, she has known all her life begin to pack and leave, Sobti is fierce enough to leave traces of her existence—“Flowing breezes, remember: I once lived here.” But a whispered talisman is not enough to keep her back. For it is an ambiguous time. “The rivers, streams, books of prosperity have all been divided,” muses the writer, “The tale of Partition is being written—a new document in the independence of the nation.” On impulse, Sobti applies for a job in far-off Sirohi, then lying on the border of Gujarat-Rajasthan.
There, twig by twig, Sobti begins to build a new nest. Fragile, precarious, and flimsy, but a nest nevertheless. Even as she agonises at the similarities of their culture and variances in their dresses, Sobti treats every day both as a tiny miracle and the biggest bore. This examination of the self and surrounding; this meticulous nonchalance; this subdued exuberance; this list of oxymorons is what Sobti’s life is reduced (or rather, expanded) to. It is a distortedly fascinating world, an India that is teetering at the edge of independence, royalty that makes a last attempt to grab power, people torn between loyalties and staying alive.
An example is this description of the palace Sobti has landed in: “The forwards and backwards of time seated together in the same room. One symbol of the ancient tradition of princely power and one of the new ambitions of independent India.” Perhaps as homage to this contradiction, even as our protagonist tries to mingle with her newest neighbours, the pages of this work are all coated with hiraeth—the nostalgia and the longing for a home that you are unable to return to, that no longer exists, or perhaps never was anywhere except your mind.
Reluctant to leave the idea of this home behind, Sobti’s grandmother implores thus to the sea, “Oh God of the Sea! I’ve left behind my religious books and my shaligram and set out from my home. Please do something to save my pure books and my shaligram from falling into evil hands…”
Sobti lets forth this liquid, yet sometimes congealed, flow of emotions and passions that turns the oft-repeated motifs of partition to a renewed, scary pool. She brings to life, quaint mannerisms and a reproduction of a refined, old-world, deferential culture where men have the keys to the newspaper closet, and a woman traveling for a job raises furor (and many people’s heckles).
The reader will need not only to wade in the words, but submerge in its brittle-delicate-rough-soft texture to soak in the essence. Just like Sobti, the reader will need to read through people and their scams: “The more polite the behavior, the more polished and strategic the trickery. Everyone is a spy out to confuse everyone else.”
In this ominous microcosm Sobti survives, and thrives. Krishna Sobti has been hailed for her eccentricities and steadfastness as much as for her literary talent. As Rockwell mentions in the introduction, she wrote under the pen name of a male alter ego, Hashmat. She rebelled against being known as a ‘woman writer’, and also refused the Padma Bhushan, the third-highest civilian award in India. This self-esteem, the pride and self-assurance, it reflects perfectly in the character of the novel’s heroine, who guards Maharaja Tej Singh fiercely. Even in the precarious times and role she is in, she never once seems to lose her poise in front of others. Within herself, it is a different (and elaborate) story.
The last published work of Krishna Sobti—and reportedly her first composed novel—has plenty to recommend it, especially to a reader who wants to be transported 70 odd years ago. There are also plenty of things that take away from its interesting premise—the major fact being that the plot of the novel (not that there is too much of it) only saunters in around halfway. There is precious little to keep a roving reader hooked to the novel. There is also almost nothing of the fire and strength that is the mark of Sobti’s work. Yet for a reader who does not mind lulls and pauses and an unhurried approach, there is a technique in her writing that stands out—a rare frugality, a measured and weighed use of words. Like a minimalist, Sobti charms with few strokes where others would have inserted elaborate curlicues.
September 3, 2020
Rockwell, in her introduced mentions the difficulties she faced as a translator. Sobti writes only for herself, and in a non-linear fashion. There's so much detail strewn within the actual plot. Sobti arrives at the Princely State of Sirohi as a mentor in a pre-school. Appointed by The Royal Family, she is privy to the day to day activities of the family as well as the politics around it (right after Indian's independence and Partition). But what stands out is the hostility toward an outright, confident and self-sufficient woman by the patriarchy. Sobti battles them all and comes out triumphant. Her thoughts on such events are dismissive, but she wouldn't want your attention to stray from the actual topic at hand.
March 22, 2021
"Partition: a word.
Refugee: a label."
A Gujarat here, A Gujarat there is a fictionalised memoir of Krishna Sobti about the early days of her career just after the Independence. Translated from the Hindi by Daisy Rockwell, the novel accounts her first job experience as a governess to the child maharaja of Sirohi which is now part of Rajasthan. The title refers to Gujrat in present-day Pakistan and the state of Gujarat in India: although the spellings of these two places are different in English, they are identical in Hindi and Urdu.
Just after the Partition, Sobti born in Gujrat, Pakistan had to move to Delhi. Being fiercely independent, she tries to find a job for herself and lands in Sirohi. Wherever she goes, the brand of 'refugee' or 'outsider' tags along. She had to deal with sexist men and corrupt officials along the way. The first half of the book deals with Sobti's self doubts after leaving her family and trying to fend for herself. As she slowly gains foot on the ground, many princely states like Sirohi were left to decide for themselves to join either of the two countries. Not many books on partition (that I know of) addresses this particular aspect of princely states' dilemma.
The book is written in a non linear fashion. They are more like snippets from Sobti's memory. But Sobti's memory is definitely precious for it invokes a lot of feminist feelings and also brings out the madness and chaos of Partition. This is her last book written in 2016 recalling events that took place almost 70 years back. In the translator's note, Rockwell mentions her challenges in translating this book as Sobti writes in a Hindi flecked with Punjabi, Urdu and Rajasthani dialect as well. Just like the translator's difficulties, as a reader it was difficult for me to follow initially but I soon got hold of the narrative. Also, there is a Sobti charm and feminist spirit to it that worked for me. I recommend this book with a caveat that Sobti is not for everyone.
Refugee: a label."
A Gujarat here, A Gujarat there is a fictionalised memoir of Krishna Sobti about the early days of her career just after the Independence. Translated from the Hindi by Daisy Rockwell, the novel accounts her first job experience as a governess to the child maharaja of Sirohi which is now part of Rajasthan. The title refers to Gujrat in present-day Pakistan and the state of Gujarat in India: although the spellings of these two places are different in English, they are identical in Hindi and Urdu.
Just after the Partition, Sobti born in Gujrat, Pakistan had to move to Delhi. Being fiercely independent, she tries to find a job for herself and lands in Sirohi. Wherever she goes, the brand of 'refugee' or 'outsider' tags along. She had to deal with sexist men and corrupt officials along the way. The first half of the book deals with Sobti's self doubts after leaving her family and trying to fend for herself. As she slowly gains foot on the ground, many princely states like Sirohi were left to decide for themselves to join either of the two countries. Not many books on partition (that I know of) addresses this particular aspect of princely states' dilemma.
The book is written in a non linear fashion. They are more like snippets from Sobti's memory. But Sobti's memory is definitely precious for it invokes a lot of feminist feelings and also brings out the madness and chaos of Partition. This is her last book written in 2016 recalling events that took place almost 70 years back. In the translator's note, Rockwell mentions her challenges in translating this book as Sobti writes in a Hindi flecked with Punjabi, Urdu and Rajasthani dialect as well. Just like the translator's difficulties, as a reader it was difficult for me to follow initially but I soon got hold of the narrative. Also, there is a Sobti charm and feminist spirit to it that worked for me. I recommend this book with a caveat that Sobti is not for everyone.
December 25, 2019
Krishna Sobti's 'A Gujarat Here, A Gujarat There' is part memoir, semi autobiographical novel. It is set in the time of partition. The world presented is uneasy, uncertain and anxious. It was the time when various kingdoms were being assimilated into the newly formed nations of India and Pakistan.
Our narrator, a refugee, finds herself appointed as the governess of young Maharaja Tej Singh. Her future, just like the kingdom's is uncertain. Their fates were being decided by people sitting far away in Delhi.
The lack of a significant plot might leave one feeling lost but perhaps it isn't meant to be read as a story. The author wrote this from memory in the ninth decade of her life. What she gives is a peek into her memories; memories of times that were tumultuous and clouded with uncertainty. The book will also be remembered for its experimental language. The mad mix of prose and poetry. Thoughts compressed into single words.
This book is the only work of Sobti that I've read. Although it didn't leave a big impact on me, I hope it isn't the last.
Our narrator, a refugee, finds herself appointed as the governess of young Maharaja Tej Singh. Her future, just like the kingdom's is uncertain. Their fates were being decided by people sitting far away in Delhi.
The lack of a significant plot might leave one feeling lost but perhaps it isn't meant to be read as a story. The author wrote this from memory in the ninth decade of her life. What she gives is a peek into her memories; memories of times that were tumultuous and clouded with uncertainty. The book will also be remembered for its experimental language. The mad mix of prose and poetry. Thoughts compressed into single words.
This book is the only work of Sobti that I've read. Although it didn't leave a big impact on me, I hope it isn't the last.
April 2, 2020
Sobti’s memoir during partition.
Partition ~ Pen 🖊, religion, paper 📝, religion, government, religion, abandonment, religion, blood, blood, blood, blood, religion!!
Sobti has documented her pain and anguish, her experiences as a refugee (so-called) one day you’re an Indian and the other day you’re robbed off the title only to be called a refugee. Sobti laments about the lack of civility in people, the status of a refugee/a woman, the interwoven nature of politics & religion and most importantly the poor execution of partition by the government resulting in destruction of life and property.
Translated by Daisy Rockwell, the memoir presents Sobti’s thoughts, fragmented. Daisy gives a background of the book and the writing style, it’s uniqueness. Read her work to experience a very unique style of writing, very brief, very careful in her choice of words on account of brevity (the Sobti idiolect) and also to get a glimpse of India in the late 1940s.
Partition ~ Pen 🖊, religion, paper 📝, religion, government, religion, abandonment, religion, blood, blood, blood, blood, religion!!
Sobti has documented her pain and anguish, her experiences as a refugee (so-called) one day you’re an Indian and the other day you’re robbed off the title only to be called a refugee. Sobti laments about the lack of civility in people, the status of a refugee/a woman, the interwoven nature of politics & religion and most importantly the poor execution of partition by the government resulting in destruction of life and property.
Translated by Daisy Rockwell, the memoir presents Sobti’s thoughts, fragmented. Daisy gives a background of the book and the writing style, it’s uniqueness. Read her work to experience a very unique style of writing, very brief, very careful in her choice of words on account of brevity (the Sobti idiolect) and also to get a glimpse of India in the late 1940s.
March 29, 2019
This novel-memoir follows a spunky and strong-willed young Krishna Sobti as she navigates her world in the direct aftermath of the Partition. She and everything around her are in a state of transition: she manages a new job and young adulthood, amidst the political tumults that have just made her a refugee; India and Pakistan navigate their new nationhood; refugees on both sides deal with loss and piece their lives back together. As our heroine frets over her new role as governess to a child Maharaja, it is easy to forget that her world has just been turned upside down. Suddenly, though, she serves up a memory to the reader in a punch to the gut. With sparse words and poetic language, she captures the horror and heartache of the Partition, as well as fond, idyllic memories of what is now Pakistan.
I loved this book, and Daisy Rockwell’s was so clean that I didn’t feel I was reading a translation at all. Rockwell left many words in transliteration, a technique that I far prefer to reading awkward translations of words and ideas that simply don’t exist in English. This book ended too quickly; I definitely need more Sobti in my life!
I loved this book, and Daisy Rockwell’s was so clean that I didn’t feel I was reading a translation at all. Rockwell left many words in transliteration, a technique that I far prefer to reading awkward translations of words and ideas that simply don’t exist in English. This book ended too quickly; I definitely need more Sobti in my life!
April 13, 2019
Reading Krishna Sobti’s A Gujarat Here. A Gujarat there is like a garland of mixed flowers, a pricy necklace that you like to admire but not wear. Her style of jarring style of writing is very unlike anything I have come across so far. She is like an aunt, in all our families who doesn’t mince any of her words. What I liked best about her book, was that her writing reflects the fluidity of the time, a passage here interweaving memories from a past, of a life in Gujarat, Pakistan to a passage here describing her efforts and encounters as she starts a new life in Sirohi in Gujarat, India. As a refugee, she comes across various encounters, she scoffs at, in this princely state someone tells her to declare her refugee status in a government form to have access to free blankets, foods etc. You are shaken by the jump cut style of her writing because she isn’t trying to molly coddle you. Maybe the transitions in her writing are symbolic of the jump starts of her life after leaving home, to moving to a camp to setting up home as a governess for the royal family. Maybe the transitions reflect her own mixed feelings, joys and novelty of this new life and sadness of never being able to relive the life she left behind in Pakistan.
She reins her mind often, saying:
“Go over there, dreams, scram! What’s the point of peeking over there, now that you’ve changed your disguise to fit in here?
I no longer owe anyone anything “
Maybe she is telling the reader that she will not think of the past, that’s gone, maybe she is making herself believe that, by saying out loud. She writes often about train journeys, and the turmoils in Gujarat-Rajasthan over the statehood of Abu, Sirohi which had the Amba temple, deeply revered by Gujarati community, but ended up being part of Rajasthan.
“When you uproot a tribe, it scatters with the destructive power of an earthquake. Everything goes topsy-turvy. Up is down, and down is up.“
When a momentary incident reminds her of the times back home, small incidents of travelling by Frontier Mail, where you could walk into the pantry to get tea, while the train in Guj had a vendor who would come at his convenience to serve tea. This is how she admonished her own mind from being too reminiscent of her past.
Sobti also unabashedly but righteously logs incidences of injustices and women reproducing patriarchal values in her descriptions of the royal family. How the Maharaja’s first wife who couldn’t conceive a royal heir, herself finds another wife for her husband to bear them a child, and ends up adopting him to be successor. Sobti is hired to be the interim governess of this child, who is already wise and intelligent as an adult, maybe too intelligent in Sobti’s own words.
in their first encounter he forewarns her that the reason he has been throwing up on the driver every morning since she had started was of her own volition, and she will be reprimanded next day. Although he is advised by the Queen not to reveal this, he kindly states to her that he has been having his medicines after having breakfast which is upsetting his stomach. A minor detail Sobti in her amateur way had her overlooked but the Prince in his wisdom brings up to prevent any annoying follow ups. Clearly he has taken a liking to her. We don’t find any other instances where he is shown to have any emotions or feelings. Treated mostly like a toy who has to learn the tricks, ways and customs of the royalty.
Ancient teachings for ancient times. Do our pathways change when we ourselves change? I could never have imagined that one day I would look with my own eyes on this landscape of bygone days. The country is moving forward after -Independence - and these princely states are trying their hardest to carry on with the old ways. Ancient schemes. Ancient customs.
A similar personal incidence, where in a letter from her father there is an incident of Sushma, fondly called Sushi is contemplating the choice of the second winner in essay competition - Hindustan Times-New York Herald Tribune - being rewarded the chance to go to a foreign country instead of her, who stood first jus because she was a girl, and not a boy.
Even having left her home, in the twilight of Partition, she observes a world where the powerful still continue to retain their titles,squabble to keep their power, and establish their superiority by drawing people along caste lines. Sobti has a darling encounter with the young prince who must not have been more than 5 years old, when Sobti must have been the governess. Tej Singh asks her what caste she belongs to, he may still know not how it divides, but wants to know whether she is a Baniya, or Brahmin because she carries herself well and is extremely knowledgeable. Initially she desists giving a response, but then ends up narrating her family lineage, the satraps who followed Alexander, and families who responded to the call of arms by Guru Gobind Sahib.
My final take-away from this lovely book, is again a statement relevant to our times. Where we have set up artificial borders, that divide us instead of unifying. In a more polarised world we are lost in ambiguity, and silences of the ones who have no voice, or are responsible equally for the silences we encounter.
She closed her attache case, checked her luggage and began looking out of the window. The vastness of the Indian terrain! How large our country is. Rajasthan’s borders reach out to Gujarat. Sometimes settlements and people must also be pushed across borders.
A Gujarat here. A Gujarat there.
She reins her mind often, saying:
“Go over there, dreams, scram! What’s the point of peeking over there, now that you’ve changed your disguise to fit in here?
I no longer owe anyone anything “
Maybe she is telling the reader that she will not think of the past, that’s gone, maybe she is making herself believe that, by saying out loud. She writes often about train journeys, and the turmoils in Gujarat-Rajasthan over the statehood of Abu, Sirohi which had the Amba temple, deeply revered by Gujarati community, but ended up being part of Rajasthan.
“When you uproot a tribe, it scatters with the destructive power of an earthquake. Everything goes topsy-turvy. Up is down, and down is up.“
When a momentary incident reminds her of the times back home, small incidents of travelling by Frontier Mail, where you could walk into the pantry to get tea, while the train in Guj had a vendor who would come at his convenience to serve tea. This is how she admonished her own mind from being too reminiscent of her past.
Sobti also unabashedly but righteously logs incidences of injustices and women reproducing patriarchal values in her descriptions of the royal family. How the Maharaja’s first wife who couldn’t conceive a royal heir, herself finds another wife for her husband to bear them a child, and ends up adopting him to be successor. Sobti is hired to be the interim governess of this child, who is already wise and intelligent as an adult, maybe too intelligent in Sobti’s own words.
in their first encounter he forewarns her that the reason he has been throwing up on the driver every morning since she had started was of her own volition, and she will be reprimanded next day. Although he is advised by the Queen not to reveal this, he kindly states to her that he has been having his medicines after having breakfast which is upsetting his stomach. A minor detail Sobti in her amateur way had her overlooked but the Prince in his wisdom brings up to prevent any annoying follow ups. Clearly he has taken a liking to her. We don’t find any other instances where he is shown to have any emotions or feelings. Treated mostly like a toy who has to learn the tricks, ways and customs of the royalty.
Ancient teachings for ancient times. Do our pathways change when we ourselves change? I could never have imagined that one day I would look with my own eyes on this landscape of bygone days. The country is moving forward after -Independence - and these princely states are trying their hardest to carry on with the old ways. Ancient schemes. Ancient customs.
A similar personal incidence, where in a letter from her father there is an incident of Sushma, fondly called Sushi is contemplating the choice of the second winner in essay competition - Hindustan Times-New York Herald Tribune - being rewarded the chance to go to a foreign country instead of her, who stood first jus because she was a girl, and not a boy.
Even having left her home, in the twilight of Partition, she observes a world where the powerful still continue to retain their titles,squabble to keep their power, and establish their superiority by drawing people along caste lines. Sobti has a darling encounter with the young prince who must not have been more than 5 years old, when Sobti must have been the governess. Tej Singh asks her what caste she belongs to, he may still know not how it divides, but wants to know whether she is a Baniya, or Brahmin because she carries herself well and is extremely knowledgeable. Initially she desists giving a response, but then ends up narrating her family lineage, the satraps who followed Alexander, and families who responded to the call of arms by Guru Gobind Sahib.
My final take-away from this lovely book, is again a statement relevant to our times. Where we have set up artificial borders, that divide us instead of unifying. In a more polarised world we are lost in ambiguity, and silences of the ones who have no voice, or are responsible equally for the silences we encounter.
She closed her attache case, checked her luggage and began looking out of the window. The vastness of the Indian terrain! How large our country is. Rajasthan’s borders reach out to Gujarat. Sometimes settlements and people must also be pushed across borders.
A Gujarat here. A Gujarat there.
August 26, 2021
3.5 ⭐️
“Whatever is protected in you thus far is enough for today. When histories change, geographies too must change. Of families, of cities and villages, of buildings and of districts. Of courts and governments.”
This book by Krishna Sobti, is an autobiographical novel of her days immediately after the Partition. Like the new countries formed, Sobti embarks on a journey of discovery and self-discovery in which her past, her memories and the land she leaves behind haunt her and take her to a place where she is uncertain about what to make of the circumstances.
In 1947, after the Partition, Sobti, on a whim, signs up for a job, which brings her to playing the role of the governess of the child maharaja of Sirohi, Tej Singh Bahadur. This book is also a portrayal of her struggles, awkwardness and victories of dealing with and understanding the existing patriarchy, the politics of the infant government and the ways of the royal family of Sirohi.
On this path to self-discovery, some of Sobti’s words, albeit translated by Daisy Rockwell stay with me. At one point, she looks out into the vastness of “fields bursting with crops. Earth, eternally greening. No shortage of water, nor sunlight, nor shade.” and says that “It’s just that THAT is no longer our homeland.” Her words not only act as a reminder to herself to not look back but also bring out the uncertainty of the present and the future, and the anxiety that comes with it. She also finds herself reminiscing about Lahore and looking for it in different parts of Delhi, where she is now forced to take refuge.
Sobti’s memories bring to fore some parts of history that I looked at in a completely different light. For example, the death of Mahatma Gandhi, as described by her, brought to light his caste, and was spoken of in the context that he was ‘famous’ although he was a ‘Baniya’ (a person of the business or working class) as opposed to the ‘Brahmins’ (learned) or the Rajputs (Kshatriyas : warriors) who were more used to that kind of reputation.
Another aspect that stood out in this book was how people are judged on the basis of the clothes they wear. Sobti was judged many a times due to her attire which was more in line with the Gujrat “there” rather than “here” so she was mistaken for a refugee. Even her family members insisted she discard her regular wear and put on the garb of the new country she had become part of, just so that she could fit in.
My favourite parts of this narration, however, were Sobti’s interactions with the child Maharaja. He came across as child who was intelligent, curious, observant, perceptive and wise beyond his years. His relationship with Sobti and her protectiveness of him gave the narration the much needed push that kept me going.
While I wanted to love this book, I couldn’t. Although it touched many chords of my heart, I found myself struggling to get through it. Daisy Rockwell warns the readers beforehand how difficult it was for her to translate this book in a way which could match Sobti’s style of writing in Hindi. She did manage to match her brevity, thus conveying much using very few words, for the most part. Even then, I landed up wishing I had the patience to read the book in Hindi, because, all said and done, a book read in its original language will have a different charm to even its best translation.
Lastly, a thought -
“Partition : a word.
Refugee : a label. Looted, impoverished person. Camp dweller. The displaced can get free rations. Fill out the form so you can win a blanket too! Why am I thinking about this? It’s neither negative nor positive. Just a circumstance. Of being ripped up by one’s roots. Of being replanted elsewhere.”
What has changed across the world after so many decades? Every day, I watch stories unfold about the refugee crisis in Afghanistan, some horrifying some compassionate. I watch as countries the world over try to accommodate a people, families which have been reduced to numbers - 50, 500, 20,000. I wonder how the government of Bangladesh grapples with the Rohingya refugees in my own backyard, while struggling to keep its own economy afloat. I wonder, will things ever change?
“Whatever is protected in you thus far is enough for today. When histories change, geographies too must change. Of families, of cities and villages, of buildings and of districts. Of courts and governments.”
This book by Krishna Sobti, is an autobiographical novel of her days immediately after the Partition. Like the new countries formed, Sobti embarks on a journey of discovery and self-discovery in which her past, her memories and the land she leaves behind haunt her and take her to a place where she is uncertain about what to make of the circumstances.
In 1947, after the Partition, Sobti, on a whim, signs up for a job, which brings her to playing the role of the governess of the child maharaja of Sirohi, Tej Singh Bahadur. This book is also a portrayal of her struggles, awkwardness and victories of dealing with and understanding the existing patriarchy, the politics of the infant government and the ways of the royal family of Sirohi.
On this path to self-discovery, some of Sobti’s words, albeit translated by Daisy Rockwell stay with me. At one point, she looks out into the vastness of “fields bursting with crops. Earth, eternally greening. No shortage of water, nor sunlight, nor shade.” and says that “It’s just that THAT is no longer our homeland.” Her words not only act as a reminder to herself to not look back but also bring out the uncertainty of the present and the future, and the anxiety that comes with it. She also finds herself reminiscing about Lahore and looking for it in different parts of Delhi, where she is now forced to take refuge.
Sobti’s memories bring to fore some parts of history that I looked at in a completely different light. For example, the death of Mahatma Gandhi, as described by her, brought to light his caste, and was spoken of in the context that he was ‘famous’ although he was a ‘Baniya’ (a person of the business or working class) as opposed to the ‘Brahmins’ (learned) or the Rajputs (Kshatriyas : warriors) who were more used to that kind of reputation.
Another aspect that stood out in this book was how people are judged on the basis of the clothes they wear. Sobti was judged many a times due to her attire which was more in line with the Gujrat “there” rather than “here” so she was mistaken for a refugee. Even her family members insisted she discard her regular wear and put on the garb of the new country she had become part of, just so that she could fit in.
My favourite parts of this narration, however, were Sobti’s interactions with the child Maharaja. He came across as child who was intelligent, curious, observant, perceptive and wise beyond his years. His relationship with Sobti and her protectiveness of him gave the narration the much needed push that kept me going.
While I wanted to love this book, I couldn’t. Although it touched many chords of my heart, I found myself struggling to get through it. Daisy Rockwell warns the readers beforehand how difficult it was for her to translate this book in a way which could match Sobti’s style of writing in Hindi. She did manage to match her brevity, thus conveying much using very few words, for the most part. Even then, I landed up wishing I had the patience to read the book in Hindi, because, all said and done, a book read in its original language will have a different charm to even its best translation.
Lastly, a thought -
“Partition : a word.
Refugee : a label. Looted, impoverished person. Camp dweller. The displaced can get free rations. Fill out the form so you can win a blanket too! Why am I thinking about this? It’s neither negative nor positive. Just a circumstance. Of being ripped up by one’s roots. Of being replanted elsewhere.”
What has changed across the world after so many decades? Every day, I watch stories unfold about the refugee crisis in Afghanistan, some horrifying some compassionate. I watch as countries the world over try to accommodate a people, families which have been reduced to numbers - 50, 500, 20,000. I wonder how the government of Bangladesh grapples with the Rohingya refugees in my own backyard, while struggling to keep its own economy afloat. I wonder, will things ever change?
March 7, 2019
“A train breaking through stillness. The past, and a desolate landscape, rush alongside it. A wasteland of rocky cliffs. Thorny bushes and foreignness.” ~ Krishna Sobti, A Gujarat Here, A Gujarat There
These line from this book, did you notice the play of words? That subtle style of flitting between what the eyes say and then what the heart says - this book is that. It is fluid because it moves effortlessly, it is iron because it wrenches your heart in pieces, it is sand because it makes you feel dry. A Gujarat Here, A Gujarat There is close to a memoir of the writer, Krishna Sobti, from her early working days. Partition tears apart her life, she moves from her college in Lahore to Delhi to join her family, leaving behind a life she liked. After she is summoned for a job interview at a school in Sirohi (Rajasthan), she faces prejudices to prove herself as the rightful heir to the role. From getting selected at the school to becoming the Governess of the King of Sirohi, this book travels the journey of a young woman & the society in the post-Independence India. The storyline goes beyond her stint in Sirohi, to further build on the political scenario in that era in the country and also talks about Partition, casteism, diffusing royalty, etc. What is also beautiful are its parallel intricate plots. Whether it’s the relationship of her grandmother with his brother or her trip to her family in Ahmedabad, there is a hint of calming innocence in all of them. Sobti’s words need time, for one to be able to relish them. And then there are times when she packs a punch in the smallest of lines. I love the way she has brought out her character here; her take on feminism is realistic, not jingoistic and like the first rays of dawn in that era. I liked the book, more for Sobti’s words, her subtle spurts of emotions and the undercurrents of the side-plots.
These line from this book, did you notice the play of words? That subtle style of flitting between what the eyes say and then what the heart says - this book is that. It is fluid because it moves effortlessly, it is iron because it wrenches your heart in pieces, it is sand because it makes you feel dry. A Gujarat Here, A Gujarat There is close to a memoir of the writer, Krishna Sobti, from her early working days. Partition tears apart her life, she moves from her college in Lahore to Delhi to join her family, leaving behind a life she liked. After she is summoned for a job interview at a school in Sirohi (Rajasthan), she faces prejudices to prove herself as the rightful heir to the role. From getting selected at the school to becoming the Governess of the King of Sirohi, this book travels the journey of a young woman & the society in the post-Independence India. The storyline goes beyond her stint in Sirohi, to further build on the political scenario in that era in the country and also talks about Partition, casteism, diffusing royalty, etc. What is also beautiful are its parallel intricate plots. Whether it’s the relationship of her grandmother with his brother or her trip to her family in Ahmedabad, there is a hint of calming innocence in all of them. Sobti’s words need time, for one to be able to relish them. And then there are times when she packs a punch in the smallest of lines. I love the way she has brought out her character here; her take on feminism is realistic, not jingoistic and like the first rays of dawn in that era. I liked the book, more for Sobti’s words, her subtle spurts of emotions and the undercurrents of the side-plots.
August 12, 2019
You know how there are always some authors that you place in your "some day" reading list? Krishna Sobti was on that list for me, always on the fringes of my consciousness as a writer whose works I must get around to reading. I can only say that I perhaps left it too long as Sobti passed away in January this year. But I am glad that I was introduced to her through this book, which is part memoir and part poetry.
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The book is set in the immediate aftermath of the country's independence. Escaping the bloodshed and horrors of Partition, Sobti travels to Sirohi, somewhere on the border between Rajasthan and Gujarat, to take on the role of governess to the infant Maharaja Tej Singh of this tiny erstwhile princely state. There is palpable tension in the air as the fate of the tiny state is decided in a series of back and forths between the administrator and the powers that be in Delhi. Sobti gives us an intimate portrait of the unravelling of royalty that followed Independence. The author glances back at this time through the haze of almost half a century, which is reflected in the abruptness of writing and the fluidity of the narrative.
.
The book is also a commentary on how those who came over from the other side struggled to find a foothold in a strange land and how the label of 'refugee' is not so easily shaken off, wherever you go. With rare perceptiveness, Sobti also underscores how the Partition sundered apart lives almost overnight, forcing people to shut out their memory of 'home' in the bid to survive.
.
The astuteness of the translator Daisy Rockwell has helped to preserve the essence of the original text and the author's voice refuses to die down or be lost in translation.
.
.
The book is set in the immediate aftermath of the country's independence. Escaping the bloodshed and horrors of Partition, Sobti travels to Sirohi, somewhere on the border between Rajasthan and Gujarat, to take on the role of governess to the infant Maharaja Tej Singh of this tiny erstwhile princely state. There is palpable tension in the air as the fate of the tiny state is decided in a series of back and forths between the administrator and the powers that be in Delhi. Sobti gives us an intimate portrait of the unravelling of royalty that followed Independence. The author glances back at this time through the haze of almost half a century, which is reflected in the abruptness of writing and the fluidity of the narrative.
.
The book is also a commentary on how those who came over from the other side struggled to find a foothold in a strange land and how the label of 'refugee' is not so easily shaken off, wherever you go. With rare perceptiveness, Sobti also underscores how the Partition sundered apart lives almost overnight, forcing people to shut out their memory of 'home' in the bid to survive.
.
The astuteness of the translator Daisy Rockwell has helped to preserve the essence of the original text and the author's voice refuses to die down or be lost in translation.
.
January 11, 2020
Hooter: A strong willed woman's journey through partition as she tries to blaze her own path through chauvinism, politics, unrest and conservative mindsets through her brush with royalty with a commentary of the affairs of the times in 1947.
From khair aur khairiyat to kushal mangal, A Gujarat Here, a Gujarat There. It feels like Krishna is giving commentary on 2019, but its actually 1947 that she is talking about. A few folks in Delhi deciding what's best for the country and its ramifications to the common man miles away. I can't comment on Krishna's writing as this is a translation of her biographical novella from the days of the partition, but the beauty of how she describes the era, the smaller details of the architectural wonders, the chauvinism, the bourgeoise needs in the royal Sirohi household does take you back to an era that we know so little about except for the dates our history books imprinted in us. While she jumps between pre and post partition, she shares some very hard hitting insights - the last picnic she ever undertook was in college, how a Sindhi refugee was looked upon by the locals and how devoid of religious differences, caste became the divider.
From khair aur khairiyat to kushal mangal, A Gujarat Here, a Gujarat There. It feels like Krishna is giving commentary on 2019, but its actually 1947 that she is talking about. A few folks in Delhi deciding what's best for the country and its ramifications to the common man miles away. I can't comment on Krishna's writing as this is a translation of her biographical novella from the days of the partition, but the beauty of how she describes the era, the smaller details of the architectural wonders, the chauvinism, the bourgeoise needs in the royal Sirohi household does take you back to an era that we know so little about except for the dates our history books imprinted in us. While she jumps between pre and post partition, she shares some very hard hitting insights - the last picnic she ever undertook was in college, how a Sindhi refugee was looked upon by the locals and how devoid of religious differences, caste became the divider.
January 15, 2021
Part novel, part memoir, this page turner narrates a time of deep uncertainty for a young Krishna Sobti who after Partition takes up a Montessori gig in Sirohi, only to end up being the Maharaja’s governess (the sole legitimate heir to the throne who also happens to be a child). We follow Sobti’s decisions of who and where she wants to be with two clashing political backdrops- Partition and thanks to the Indian Union, the removal of the boy king from the throne.
What I loved about this book was Sobti’s unnerving clarity to move in the world and not look back. I could learn a lot from her. That and the rich beautiful philosophical asides on the poison of division and communal violence, which, given the political climate in India today, has not changed since the birth of two nations. I highly recommend this book. Daisy gave this translation beauty and dignity. And thanks to her, I now have caught the Sobti bug and want to read her entire cannon. Here’s to Krishna Sobti, one of India’s most important writers and feminists💗
What I loved about this book was Sobti’s unnerving clarity to move in the world and not look back. I could learn a lot from her. That and the rich beautiful philosophical asides on the poison of division and communal violence, which, given the political climate in India today, has not changed since the birth of two nations. I highly recommend this book. Daisy gave this translation beauty and dignity. And thanks to her, I now have caught the Sobti bug and want to read her entire cannon. Here’s to Krishna Sobti, one of India’s most important writers and feminists💗
December 3, 2019
A Gujrat here, A Gujrat there is a part novel, part memoir by Krishna Sobti. Written in fluid proses, ‘A Gujrat here, A Gujrat there’ is not only a story of partition loss and dislocation, but it is also a story of a spirited young woman’s journey to chart her own path in a new country after surviving the upheavals inflicted by partition. Krishna battles prejudices stemming from a caste based patriarchal society. More so, because she is an alien tagged as a refugee in a newly minted country where people are extremely wary of any outsider. Being a refugee as well as a woman are two strikes against her. But this fearless woman manages to hold her own against biases with elan and thrives in the role she undertakes.
Read the review in my blog HTTPS://bongbooksandcoffee.com
Read the review in my blog HTTPS://bongbooksandcoffee.com
March 19, 2025
Rockwell does well in capturing Sobti's poetic writing. This pseudo-memoir is rich with descriptions and details (remembered and almost forgotten) of post-Partition India — it's like taking a sweeping look at old sepia-toned photographs and recognising some blurs in the images as familiar things.
September 3, 2022
It's a delicate tale of partition times. If you are like me and can't bear with gory details, this is more subtle..
November 28, 2023
Beautiful descriptions and turns of phrase. I wish I could have read the original. This is the story of a woman finding her footing in this world.
July 12, 2020
It takes a while to get used to the format, and the book often misses important links/ continuity. However, it makes for a quick-read once a reader submits to the fluttering narrative and reads it as the churning in an person's mind. It is VISIBLE (and Rockwell admits as much) that the translation of this work was a mammoth exercise.
That being said, one can tell that the words come form a woman of substance and sharp wit. Hope to be able to read the original some day!
That being said, one can tell that the words come form a woman of substance and sharp wit. Hope to be able to read the original some day!
October 29, 2021
Not an easy read at all, but an important one
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