Often portrayed as dacoits in films, the Bhantus – a denotified tribe in India – were historically stigmatised by Dalits.
‘This Land We Call Home’ is your first film as a writer. After spending 20 years as a cinematographer, what inspired you to decide to turn the lens on your family through a memoir?
I dabbled in print journalism during my undergraduate years and have always enjoyed writing. Telling my family’s story has always fascinated me. Being selected for the prestigious South Asia Speaks Mentorship Program gave me the inspiration and encouragement I needed to push my manuscript forward. Additionally, the pandemic and the slowdown in the entertainment industry gave me the time to focus on this book. Being a cinematographer did not directly impact my writing process, but it probably contributed to a more visually narrated style. The background helps me paint vivid scenes and create a stronger sense of place in my writing.
The book begins with a cinematic moment from 1920 when your great-grandfather Reverend Hardayal Singh was mistaken for the notorious dacoit Sultan and beaten up by some people. What was the reason for this mistake?
Rev Har Dayal Singh and Sultana Daku had only two things in common, one was their association with the Bhaantu community and the other was their moustache. Of these, being a Bhaantu was probably the strongest reason. The Bhaantus were among the 200 tribes that were criminalised by the Criminal Tribes Acts from the 1870s onwards, which widely stigmatised all persons belonging to these tribes. Additionally, Sultana was skilled at disguise, which may have further raised the suspicions of vigilantes.
In movies like ‘Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom’ and ‘Gunga Din’, members of the Bhantu tribe were often depicted as thieves and goons, sporting moustaches and bullet belts. Where did this stereotype come from?
It is difficult to blame any particular community or incident. However, society has always believed this to be true. caste systemAnd those who do not follow it are often treated as outcasts and viewed with suspicion. The Bhantu are a denotified tribe in India, historically stigmatized by the Criminal Tribes Acts of the 19th and early 20th centuries, which labeled them habitual offenders. Bhantu legends of notorious dacoits such as Gulfi and Sultana have certainly contributed to the stereotypical image of the Bhantu. Additionally, Colonial Government Nomadic tribes have been portrayed in this way, reinforcing this orientalist portrayal of the so-called criminal tribes. This label has overshadowed their diverse and important contributions Indian SocietyTheir role in the Indian freedom struggle is also included. Bhantu leaders and activists organized their communities to support the broader struggle for independence, often at great personal risk. Their involvement went beyond direct confrontation; they also provided critical intelligence and resources to other freedom fighters, leveraging their extensive knowledge of local terrain and networks. Despite these contributions, their efforts have often been marginalized or forgotten in mainstream historical narratives.
How did you conduct your research since there was no archival information available about this tribe, one of the original inhabitants of India?
Material on the Bhantu and many other nomadic tribes is scarce, and much of the information available is presented from an orientalist perspective. Existing documents often do not include oral histories of the Bhantu people. Fortunately, oral histories became my most reliable resource. I also gained valuable information from my conversations with Bhantu activist, writer, and filmmaker Dakxin Chhara. Chhara is working tirelessly to preserve and uplift Bhantu culture, and does so brilliantly through the Budhan Theatre. His efforts to use theatre to preserve the vanishing Bhantu language are commendable and vital to maintaining their cultural heritage. Perhaps the most rewarding experience during my research was finding the name of Rev. Hardayal Singh in the records of the Annual Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church from the 1930s. Another important discovery was the caste relationship of the Bhantu with the Rajputs, a gradual process known as Rajputisation. I have written extensively about this revelation, and it has been a profound realization for me.
You have written in the book that caste boundaries are made of iron. How strong are these boundaries in today’s India?
I cannot answer this question without acknowledging my caste privilege. I grew up in a cosmopolitan family where caste was not a significant factor in my daily life, giving me some degree of protection from the direct effects of caste discrimination. However, this does not mean that I am unaware of the lasting impact of caste in India today. For many individuals, particularly those from marginalized communities, the caste system continues to shape their social, economic, and political experiences. For example, Muslims who convert from lower castes often find that the stigmas and disadvantages associated with their original caste persist despite their conversion. This phenomenon is not limited to Islam; people who convert to Christianity in India often face similar problems. The lasting legacy of the caste system affects millions of people, and acknowledging this reality is crucial in addressing and dismantling these deeply ingrained social structures.
Your mother’s maternal grandfather was from the Bhantu tribe and converted to Christianity, while your grandfather, who was a Kannauji Brahmin, also decided to embrace Christianity. Were their motivations for conversion similar?
Their motivations were both similar and different in many ways. While conversion is often viewed negatively in the current socio-political climate, it is important to recognise that in the past, conversion was far more mundane and common than it is today. Historical records and personal narratives reveal that conversions often occurred for a variety of reasons, including social mobility, economic opportunity and personal convictions, rather than purely religious or political motivations. As I explain in the book, many individuals and families converted to escape the rigid caste hierarchy and discrimination that restricted their lives.
Panna, Tara, Champa, Hannah, Prudence, Agnes, Kaneez, Syed – your family names indicate a diverse ancestry. How do you understand and carry forward your identity as a person of mixed heritage?
I see my identity as a blend of the wonderful religions represented in the names in my family tree. These names are the essence of India and its diverse cultural heritage. So far, fortunately, I have never been in a situation where I had to prove my “Indianness”.
Your cat Jamia is missing from the family tree in the book. How did studying Mass Communication at Jamia Millia Islamia shape your sensibility as a storyteller?
Jamia Millia Islamia has played a significant role in my life, so much so that I decided to honour its influence by naming my cat Jamia. He is a recent addition to the family, and his name is a constant reminder of the profound impact the university has had on me. My political and socio-cultural understanding of Indian society was largely shaped during my time at MCRC Jamia, where I was fortunate to be guided by a group of exceptionally strong women who led the courses. This was perhaps also a major reason why I chose cinematography as a profession.
Historian and author Anchal Malhotra – whose poignant works on Partition are inspired by her own ancestry – was your mentor in the South Asia Speaks mentorship programme. What was the biggest lesson you learned from her?
Anchal Malhotra is one of my favorite contemporary writers. Her work is both beautiful and important. In addition to being an exceptionally talented writer, she is also an incredibly generous mentor and has played a key role in the creation of this book. The biggest lesson I learned from Anchal was to trust the idea I set out to write about, and to respect the process.
Has your son, Dylan — who you describe as an offshoot in the book’s dedication — read the book yet?
Dylan is only ten. While This Land We Call Home is a very personal story, it is also a political account of India, and some of its deeper nuances may be too complex for him to understand at this age. I would recommend he read the book in a few years. However, he is not unfamiliar with the context. He has been reading some of the anecdotes I have written about Bhantu in the book with great enthusiasm and knows his great-grandfather and some of his great-aunts by name, which is special in itself!
If this memoir is made into a film, who would you like to see playing the role of Reverend Har Dayal Singh?
I would love to see ‘This Land We Call Home’ adapted into a film. I haven’t thought much about who could play the role of Rev. Hardayal Singh, but since this is a fictional scenario, I’ll indulge in imagination and name Amitabh Bachchan!
Camera or pen – which is more powerful?
This is a tough question. Both have their strengths, but I think for me the pen is sharper.
