New Delhi: ‘This Land We Call Home’ is Nusrat F Jafri’s ode to India and the complex permutations and shared heritage that defines India. 

A memoir, the book chronicles her personal story and the history of four generations of her family as India moved from British Raj to a nation of multitudes it is today. Released in April 2024, it explores this complex trajectory of family history through the lenses of caste, conversion, and the formation of modern India. 

Jafri’s book, her first, is also one of the only non-fiction books that delves into the life of what were colloquially referred to as criminal tribes of India (now called denotified tribes in official parlance)—the people who are assumed to be criminals or habitual offenders. 

They were situated outside the Hindu caste system and thus were considered by upper castes as impure. Once a tribe became ‘notified’ as a criminal, all its male members were required to register with the local magistrate—the onus was on them to prove to the state that they were not criminals. In 1959, India changed these laws to bring the Habitual Offenders Act, but far from easing their lives, new laws such as this only furthered the stigma for the people who come from these marginalised tribes.

Jafri’s maternal grandparents were from one such tribe in Rajasthan, the Bhantus. After facing persecution there, they came to Uttar Pradesh and became Christians, leaving behind a religious system that kept them bound in chains of caste. Two generations later, Nusrat’s mother, Meera, met Abid Ali Jafri, through a physics tuition class and fell in love. Even though her devout Christian family was mostly against it, she decided to marry with a man who was a Shia Muslim. Jafri herself is married to Sumit Roy, a Bombay-based screenwriter, a Bengali Hindu. The couple have named their son, Dylan Jafri Roy, because both of them are fans of Bob Dylan. 

Jafri, who was born and raised in Lucknow, has been living in Mumbai for over 20 years, working as  a cinematographer. 

In her researched book, which weaves together the personal and the political, Jafri brings together her rich heritage, with its ups and downs, so that readers can understand the complex kaleidoscope of identity that is India. Religious conversion is a central element of her book. 

“While conversions are typically personal decisions, they can be motivated by various factors, including the promise of equality, education, and respect,” she said. 

In a conversation with Article 14, Jafri talked about her book, her family, the nuances of her identity, Indian politics, the marginalisation of tribal people and the future ahead. Edited excerpts from the interview:

What were your reasons to write The Land We Call Home?

Honestly, I had many reasons. I have always been fascinated by my Bhantu and Persian ancestry. It began as a personal quest to learn more, especially by tracing my maternal history, as there is scarcely any literature on the Bhantus in India. The conversion of my great-grandparents to Christianity and the subsequent changes in their fate were crucial in my understanding. With many Indian states now enforcing anti-conversion laws and the negative connotations associated with the term, telling this story became even more urgent in my mind. 

Tragic political events, such as the murder of Graham Staines and his young sons, made me reflect on and question the fear surrounding the concept of conversions. The book is also the story of India and how political and social events from 1947 (the year my mother Meera was born) shaped our history and how multiple religious conversions along the way, shaped my own identity, as an Indian. Very little research material exists on Bhantu tribes, mostly dating back to the early 1900s, literature profiling them as ‘criminal tribes’ through an Oriental lens. Time is of the essence, especially as our ancestors, who witnessed pre-independence India and the denotification of criminal tribes in the 1950s, are now in their ’90s and becoming increasingly scarce.

Your book, apart from being a memoir, is an ode to India’s complex multiculturalism. Your heritage is a mix of Bhantu, Christianity and Shia Islam. Which of these identities do you think defines you more than others?

The home I have written about in my book is India. I would say my Indianness supersedes any other identities within me. If I were to elaborate, my religious identity is deeply personal and closely linked to my political identity. However, culturally, I consider myself extremely rich because I have the privilege to participate in and explore the many facets of my multicultural background—be it Christian, Islamic, or Bengali cultures. In my opinion, this is what being a true Indian entails. Also, having said that, I do believe that identity much like our beliefs also keeps on evolving. For example, ever since I began writing this book, I have started exploring my Bhantu identity, which had been lying nascent for all these years!

Conversion has lately been a taboo topic in India. However, you write in regard to your great grandfather: ‘For Hardayal Singh, the decision to convert to Christianity was an act of defiance’. Why? What is your view on the state of religious freedom in India right now?

Upper caste gatekeeping, coupled with the highly discriminatory and stringent Criminal Tribes Acts, were strong reasons for Hardayal and his clan to convert and give their future a fair chance by adopting a more egalitarian faith. But perhaps what boosted their decision was the sense of agency that came with the act of conversion—the idea of deciding their place in society and not merely inheriting one. By all means, it was his act of defiance, nothing short of a rebirth.

Modern Indian society is impervious to the idea of agency and its execution when adult men and women decide to convert to another religion. Conversion has now become a politicised weapon, used to criminalise a very personal act. As we can see, many states in India now have anti-conversion laws in place. I am saddened that the right to religious freedom, which our constitution guarantees to all citizens, is under threat. 

The attacks on Christian missionaries have remained and with each new event, I wanted to understand why conversion is such a layered word in our modern society. What was it about the conversion of adult men and women to another religion that stirred insecurity or apprehension in people?

In regards to your great grandmother, you write, ‘Not only was she the silent force behind Hardayal’s recalcitrance, Kalyani had also resolutely pushed for the education of her daughters’. Do you feel the conversion to Christianity was a boon for women’s emancipation in India? Why?

India saw the emergence of women’s education movements with the pioneering works of Savitribai Phule, Fatima Sheikh by the late 1840s. These early reformers laid the foundations for future enhancements in women’s education. Following their lead many pioneers like Pandita Rambai (also a Christian Missionary) dedicated their lives to this cause. Therefore, it is essential to recognise that the work on women’s emancipation wasn’t solely driven by the arrival of European or American Christian missionaries, but was also significantly propelled by these Indian reformers. 

In this context, it’s also worth highlighting that women missionaries recognised the crucial role of women’s involvement in evangelising India. In a society where patriarchal norms were deeply entrenched and the absence of women in public places was noticeable, it was challenging to engage women and therefore schools provided safe places.

My maternal ancestors benefited directly from their conversion to Christianity. Kalyani, my maternal great grandmother, faced numerous challenges–from embracing a new faith, to relocation to UP from Rajasthan,  learning new customs and  acquiring a new language. In the midst of these enormous changes, sending her daughters to Christian mission boarding schools required mental fortitude. In many ways Christianity offered an equal education and a window into western education, that my great grandparents aspired to achieve. 

I would add that while the role of Christian missionaries was significant, the resilience and aspirations of individuals like Kalyani were equally crucial in transforming educational landscapes for women in their families first and in turn collectively for India.

Your book shows two types of British colonialists—the ones who brought problematic laws that classified your ancestors as criminals, and the Christian missionaries who provided access to a decent life to your maternal grandparents. How do you see this contradiction?

The colonization of India and the arrival of Christian missionaries are two distinct events in Indian history. While the East India Company (EIC) was greatly suspicious of missionary works under their rule, missionaries found a more fertile opportunity to spread religion in India only when the East India Company was disbanded and the political transfer from the Company to the Crown was completed in January 1877.  However both made an impact in the realm of education and social services in Indian society.

The missionaries utilised the infrastructure and administrative changes brought about by the British to establish schools and hospitals, thereby making significant inroads into Indian society. This dual approach of development and religious propagation created a complex legacy that continues to influence contemporary discussions about the impact of colonisation and missionary work in India.

The Criminal Tribes Acts were enacted after the 1857 revolt, as the government grew increasingly suspicious of nomadic communities. The legislation increased surveillance of these tribes, leveraging the existing discriminatory caste system to maintain control. Resources were spent forcing these so-called criminal tribes to become sedentary and conform to the norms of oriental and caste society. 

There is an element in your book that kind of hints that Abrahamic religions did give an option to ‘lower castes’ to leave behind the oppression from ‘upper castes’. Do you think that was one of the reasons that many left their Hindu roots? 

While conversions are typically personal decisions, they can be motivated by various factors, including the promise of equality, education, and respect. Both Christianity and Islam promised an egalitarian and casteless society. They offered equality before God, which attracted many Indians from lower castes.

My mother's maternal grandparents Hardayal and Kalyani, converted for all these reasons.  

In my opinion, they perceived conversion to Christianity as a pathway towards a better future, offering an opportunity to break free from the cycle of deprivation. The specific event (the fire, as mentioned in the book) that prompted their conversion served as a catalyst, providing the necessary impetus. On the other hand, her paternal grandfather, Massey Dayal Bunch, who was a Kanauji Brahmin, converted to Christianity primarily for easy access to education and the prospect of poverty alleviation. Despite his higher social status due to his caste, poverty ensured limited access to education.

Conversions were importantly not limited to the lower castes; historical evidence shows that many Brahmins in Maharashtra also made this move and for far more commonplace and mundane reasons than we care to admit. 

Even after conversion to Christianity, your ancestors disregarded their Bhantu roots and called themselves as Rajputs. You explain this as something called Rajputisation. What do you think the term means?

I would say that my maternal ancestors chose to move beyond the social limitations and discrimination associated with being Bhantu. When they embraced Christianity, they retained as much of their Bhantu identity as they could, particularly in their food habits and language. Their conversion provided a fresh canvas for identity, allowing them to build a new life in Uttar Pradesh. However, their Bhantu association remained in many ways. For instance, Hardayal took deep pride in his Bhati-Rajput lineage. Bhati-Rajputs are essentially Bhantus who trace their ancestry to Bhantu soldiers in the army of Maharana Pratap from Rajasthan.

It was during the research for this book that I discovered the intense intersectionality of caste and caste movements. Growing up I had only heard the term Bhantu/Bhati-Rajputs, but learning that it represented a complex process and intricate movement within and outside caste through a process called Rajputisation, was a revelation to me. Many in my extended family also find this intriguing. The Bhantu Rajputs are a distinct group within the broader Rajput community in India, but they do not enjoy the same social standing as other Rajputs belonging to the Kshatriya caste. 

You write, “I can’t claim my birth was a momentous event for my family or the nation, but I do share my birthday month with a notable political entity — the BJP.” How do you think both these entities, you and the BJP, have evolved with the time?

The genesis of the BJP was a historic event, resulting from an organic movement rooted in the systematic ideological evolution since India’s independence struggle. The RSS ideology paved the way for the formation of the VHP and eventually the birth of the BJP. As a Muslim growing up in Uttar Pradesh during the Babri Masjid/Ayodhya crisis, my personal politics were largely shaped by these events.

Discovering that both the BJP and I were born in the same month and year was a revelation I made while writing this book. It made sense to explore this parallel, as my political values were significantly shaped by the political events orchestrated by the BJP in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Although my politics is no longer reactionary, it was initially influenced by the communal tensions prevalent at the time. The BJP has held political power in India for a decade now, consistently adhering to its core manifesto and evolving into an even stronger political force. 

How do you think the present government laws treat ‘criminal’ tribes? Are there remnants of colonialism in new laws?

The old Criminal Tribes Acts set the current temper of discrimination against these tribes. It was an official seal that relegated their existence to that of outlaws, looked at with suspicion then and unfortunately even now.

In 1952, the CTA was repealed however only to be replaced with the Habitual Offenders (Control and Reform) Act of 1952. In 1952, the Indian government repealed the Criminal Tribes Act, formally denotifying the criminal tribes offering an alternative but seemingly no less stigmatising moniker, ‘denotified tribes’ or DNTs as they have been referred to in modern Indian parlance.

 In Kanpur, a significant Bhantu settlement has been present since 1922, originally named the Criminal Tribes Settlement (CTS) and later renamed Raj Kiya Unnayan Basti after it was denotified in 1952. In Gujarat, the Bhantus, known as Chharas, live in Chharanagar, a free colony established following the closure of the Ahmedabad Settlement, which was managed by the Salvation Army from 1930. Despite these changes, the consequences of labels like DNT and ongoing discrimination have led to various social and economic disadvantages for the Bhantus, compounded by a long history of violence and abuse from higher caste groups and, frequently, state officials. In many ways modern-day Bhantu areas/settlements are stuck in time, not much has changed for them, which reflects a failure on the part of both society and the absence of integrating policies from the State. 

Have you or any member of your family ever faced rejections or ridicule because of your Muslim name? 

Speaking from my own experience, as a Muslim woman with considerable social and economic privileges in India, I have often faced othering and ridicule, but never outright rejection. My name has intrigued many, and because I do not conform to the stereotypes they hold about Muslim women, I also experience a certain level of acceptance. Interestingly, this acceptance has often led people to open up about their fears and biases regarding Muslims, assuming I would agree with or accept these fears as valid. Much of my adult life has been devoted to dispelling misconceptions about Muslims and Islam in general.

Your father, Abid Ali Jafri, was a man who never insisted on fostering Muslim identity among his children. Do you see that as a contrast to the one-dimensional images of fundamentalist radical Muslim projected by the media and Indian cinema? 

I truly believe my father wasn't an exception. Many of my Muslim friends were raised by parents who emphasised both modern education and knowledge of their religion and customs. The Muslims I know are confident in their identity as both Indian and Muslim, without feeling the need to choose between the two or harbouring insecurities. 

I completely agree with your observation that the media has created a one-dimensional image of radical Muslims who reject mainstream integration. The rise in the current trend of propaganda films as well as the choice of words the news media chooses, be it land jihad, love jihad, vote jihad–have all contributed to this distorted portrayal of Muslims.

As a member of the film fraternity, what are the changes in portrayal of Muslims you have noticed in the portrayal of Muslims in Bollywood during the last two decades? Have attitudes towards Muslims artists and crew changed?

Fortunately, as a member of the Indian film industry, I can confidently say that I encounter more Muslims on a film set than in any other workplace. Here, your work defines you more than your religious identity, and there is little tolerance for bigotry. I’ve noticed a positive shift in the representation of Muslim characters. Gone are the days of the stereotypical taweez-wearing, gentle soul figures or the purely villainous characters, often depicted with overt religious markers. 

For example, Alankrita Srivastava’s Bombay Begums features Fatima, a Muslim character (helmed by Shahana Goswami), who is both progressive and religious in a wonderfully layered and well written character. Similarly, Dil Dosti Dilemma, a web show based on Andaleeb Wajid’s Asmara's Summer, presents primarily Muslim characters living in a ghetto without resorting to caricature. 

These examples show that there are many positive/accurate portrayals that counterbalance the Islamophobic narratives we see very regularly in propaganda films and in the media.

The epilogue of your book is about your son, Dylan Jafri Roy. Are you ever afraid about his future in India, the way the country is changing?

I am an optimist. While I’m not afraid, I remain cautious. Ultimately, time keeps moving forward, and bigotry can only hold people's attention as long as their wallets and plates aren’t affected. I am hopeful for an inclusive India—a land where everyone has a place and is treated equally.

(Zeyad Masroor Khan is a freelance journalist and author of City on Fire: A Boyhood in Aligarh.) 

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