He lost his home in Pakistan and is yet to find one in India. First, it was their faith. Now it is lack of trust. Gopaldas Bagzai is one of thousands of Pakistani Sindhis living in India for several years, no better than refugees, without Indian citizenship. Tremors of the Babri mosque demolition unsettled Bagzai’s life in faraway Jacobabad in 1992 and he fled to India with his wife and six children. At 56, he shudders at the thought of going to Pakistan to get a computerised national identity card (CNIC). “They will brand me as a traitor or an Indian spy or may be even put me behind bars. Who’s going to issue me a new identity card now?” says Bagzai.
So far, he has managed to secure visa extensions and renewal of passports for his family but next year, he must make the trip across the border. The Pakistan High Commission does not recognise handwritten identity cards anymore; it insists on computerised cards. “Leave alone Pakistan, I dread the prospect of going to the High Commission office, they warned me of dire consequences the next time I approach them,” says Bagzai of his recent visit to New Delhi. He even met a fellow Sindhi, from Raipur, who was jailed for 15 days in Pakistan when he went there to seek a CNIC.
So Bagzais remain people without papers — labelled as Hindus in Pakistan or Pakistanis in India, alienated anyway. Their citizenship applications in Madhya Pradesh are yet to be processed. Every time they leave town, they must inform the district administration. But for all the uncertainty of the present and future, Bagzai would never return to the past. His son recalls December 1992, days after the Babri Masjid was razed in Ayodhya. For weeks together, the Hindus in his neighbourhood were harassed. His sisters did not dare move without a burqa. “We are not Indian citizens but we feel safe here,” he says.
Citizenship hanging, Sindhis in Madhya Pradesh know the days ahead will be tough. At a camp in Indore, 3,500 Sindhis turned out to apply for Indian citizenship. Others just hang on, struggling to find a livelihood.
A few months ago, the district administration launched a drive against quacks and stumbled upon Pakistani doctors who had valid degrees but were not enrolled with the Medical Council of India. The MCI does not recognise Pakistani doctors because they are not bona fide citizens. Rakhi Chawla, 22, on the other hand, is caught between two countries. When her father Deepchand moved to Indore, she was 18 months old. While her parents and two siblings born in India got citizenship recently, she is not sure where she belongs. “Who will identify me and issue an identity card?” she says. She neither has a valid Pakistani passport nor an Indian one.
Sindhis who are not citizens can’t own property, nor are they eligible to avail loans. But known for their business acumen, the community has success stories even in these times. Those who pulled through well, however, could be misleading example — for more and more Sindhis to cross the border, hoping to make it big.
“Despite being born in another country they feel safe here,” says BJP leader Shankar Lalwani, but there is little either government has been able to do. The amendment to the Citizenship Rules of 1956, simplifying registration of Pakistani citizens in the border states of Gujarat and Rajasthan, has come as a ray of hope for Sindhis living illegally in this state.
The district collector can now grant citizenship to Sindhis living in the border districts of Rajasthan and Gujarat following the wars between India and Pakistan in 1965 and 1971 and their dependents who married Indian citizens.
After several representations from Sindhi organisations, the Madhya Pradesh government has written to the Centre seeking similar amendments to the Citizenship Act. Looking for home for one and half decade, Bagzai keeps his fingers crossed.