Home: A Journey Between the UK and Punjab

By Manjit Kaur | Opinion |

On my current visit to Punjab, I have been reflecting on my sense of identity and home. Before I arrived, having not been for 13 years, I was excited. But if I am honest, after visiting different villages and cities, I began to think about the changes that have taken place, both good and bad. It also got me thinking about what home means to me now at the age of 62.

What is home; where is home? For someone like me, a Punjabi Sikh female born and bred in the UK, this is not a simple question; it is layered with emotions, experiences, and contrasts. In a very simple sense, home is where I grew up in Birmingham, UK. This is where my family lived, where I went to school, made childhood friends, and built my life. Yet, home is also a place I first visited as a child, a distant land full of memories, warmth, and contradictions, the land of my ancestors, the Punjab!

THE VILLAGE

My first visit to Punjab was at the age of 11, under the saddest of circumstances, the passing of my grandfather (Baba). I first got to know him when he visited the UK; I was seven years old. During his time with us, I remember him showering us with love and affection. Stepping into Punjab for the first time, I felt completely out of place. The village looked nothing like home in the UK. However, I remember entering my grandfather’s house in Malhi village near Nakodar, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and welcome.

The lifestyle was unfamiliar, open spaces, simple brick houses, no modern kitchens. I questioned everything: How do they cook? Where do they go to the toilet? Why are they all constantly staring at me? Why is there no privacy? As I spent time there, I adjusted to the toilet in the field, crouching on the ground, bathing with water from a hand pump (nalka) and a bucket, and meals cooked on an open stove (chulha).

It wasn’t all one-way traffic. I remember introducing my aunty (chachi) to the idea of chips, which was a completely new thing to her! I showed her how to take a potato, peel it, chop it into small strips, and then fry them in hot oil. She was fascinated; I never thought that making chips was that exotic. It was a different world, yet one filled with learning, laughter, and love, as well as some discomfort.

One memory stands out for me, walking with my aunt as she carried food to the men working in the fields. We laughed, shared stories, and I began to appreciate the beauty of this place, the fresh air and green fields. Though daily life was quite simple, Punjab was vibrant, full of warmth, love, and a strong sense of community. Everyone knew each other; word of visitors spread like wildfire. But beneath this charm, I saw realities I wasn’t prepared for. Women had limited choices, suffering in silence because they had nowhere else to go. Social structures dictated their fate, and speaking up was seen as disrespectful.

When I returned at 18, I understood things differently. I saw a Punjab caught between tradition and modernity, between underdevelopment and chaotic development. Living in Jalandhar city for a year, I was struck by the language shift, many preferred Hindi or English over Punjabi. On the positive side, I learnt to read and write Punjabi through a personal tutor, who was brilliant. This really helped me with my Sikhi and reading and understanding Gurbani.

I never grew up with caste distinctions thanks to my parents, who never mentioned this to me. It was not until later that I became aware that I had a caste, but being totally against caste, I never mentioned this to my children. However, in India, caste was ever-present. Despite this, the cities seemed more open and welcoming, less bound by the rigid social divisions that were very clear in the villages. I remember being told not to sit and eat with the cleaners and farm labourers, whom I was told were of a lower caste to me as a ‘Jat’. I was very troubled by this and the taboos of untouchability, which reminded me of the worst kind of racism back in the UK. However, I resisted and made it my purpose to engage with them and learn about their lives and struggles.

CHANGING FACE OF PUNJAB

Over the years, I kept visiting Punjab, observing its changing face. The influence of the West was undeniable. People admired life abroad, wanting to leave rather than stay. I saw empty, decaying houses, symbols of dreams that had moved elsewhere. Many who had intended to return never did. This confirms to me that migration is almost always a one-way process. The younger generation aspired for a different life, one beyond the fields and villages of Punjab, but in the modern cities of Canada, the USA, and England. They are desperate to get out, and there are plenty of agents offering their services to obtain student and visitor visas. Sadly, unless they are well supported, the hopes and dreams that are sold end up as nightmares, with many wishing they had never made the journey in the first place.

Now, at the age of 62, on my most recent trip to Punjab for an eight-week stay, I have managed to get a real sense of where Punjab is today. Through talking to students, teachers, families, and ordinary people, and by travelling around both in the cities and villages, on all modes of transport, from auto rickshaws, taxis, buses, and trains, I have gained a real sense of the change taking place, both in attitudes and the environment. Though society is changing rapidly, and most people, from rich to poor, have access to mobile phones and social media, corruption and inequality are still widespread. The rich seem to be getting richer and the poor poorer. Next to huge, gated houses and high rise estates, there is still filth, rubbish, and broken roads everywhere. Money dictates respect: if you have it, doors will be opened; if you don’t, you are invisible. Some people share their wealth, helping others, while others simply end up hoarding it. Punjab, once known for its hospitality, felt colder. The once-proud land of Rangla Punjab seemed hollow, with people desperate to leave.

And as for politics, while every corner has posters of political and religious leaders asking for the support of the people, most seem to be disconnected. Speaking to ordinary farmers revealed to me that their aspirations do not reflect the propaganda that we see in the Western countries relating to demands, such as for separation from India. Their priorities are for basic needs such as a roof over their heads, food, clothing, education, health, and warmth. The grand idea of an independent Sikh homeland called Khalistan felt distant to them, and few were willing to even talk about it. This might be because they are afraid due to past suffering, but my sense is of a generational shift. Most people want to move on and build their lives in harmony rather than engage in conflict.

HERITAGE STRUGGLE

As I reflect on the Punjab of today, I see it struggling to hold onto its heritage. Modernisation has brought shopping malls, fast food chains, and international brands, yet at the cost of its unique cultural identity. The villages are being absorbed into the expanding cities, rural employment is in decline, and more and more people are moving to the cities for work. Everybody is trying to become like a ‘Westerner’, which is perhaps most graphically revealed in the regular spectacle of Amritdhari Sikhs dressed in full traditional bana (Sikh warrior attire) eating out in McDonald’s, KFC, and Domino’s Pizza. I have no problem with this, but the sight of men and women in Punjab adopting Western lifestyles reminds me of a coconut mentality, brown on the outside but white on the inside.

It’s painful to witness the erosion of tradition, the loss of community spirit, and the emptying of the villages. And yet, time moves forward. The world changes. People change! This is an unavoidable truth. But, for me, especially now that my grandparents from both sides and my dad and mum, who used to travel regularly to Punjab, are no longer alive, and all my immediate family live in the UK, I guess this is where my home is.

Manjit Kaur, a UK-based therapist and counsellor, is a presenter at the 1 Show Live at Panjab Broadcasting Channel, UK. She can be contacted via email at manjitkaur1show@gmail.com

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