Nusrat Fatima Jafri, a Mumbai-based cinematographer and accomplished writer, is the author of This Land We Call Home, a poignant memoir tracing the history of her family, who belonged to the Bhantus, a nomadic tribe from Rajasthan. The British classified the Bhantus as a “criminal tribe” under the Criminal Tribes Act of 1871, branding their lifestyle and existence as outside the norms of colonial society. Through this work, Jafri delves deep into the interwoven themes of national identity, belonging, and the quest for dignity that marked her family’s journey.
In the memoir, Jafri reflects on her family’s conversion to Christianity as a way to escape the rigid caste constraints and the social stigma of being “criminalized.” Her ancestors found solace and acceptance within the church, which offered them a sense of belonging and quality education through missionary schools. This exploration of faith, identity, and resilience highlights how deeply her family yearned for acceptance in the larger social fabric, even as they wrestled with India’s historic transitions—from Gandhi’s return in 1915 and the turmoil of Partition, to the impact of the World Wars and the Emergency.
This Land We Call Home pays tribute to Jafri’s forefathers and foremothers, the pioneers who resisted societal expectations, embraced alternative paths to faith, and endured societal prejudice, all while laying the groundwork for future generations. Nusrat’s writing is a homage to these “first feminists” and to the family’s tireless pursuit of freedom and respect within the complex structure of Indian society.
With a cinematic career spanning two decades, Jafri is also an award-winning cinematographer. Her most recent short film, Pilibhit, starring Raj Arjun and Joyshree Arora, earned her the IPTDA Award for Best Cinematographer in 2022 and a Critics Choice Award nomination. Born and raised in Lucknow, Jafri completed her schooling at La Martiniere Girls College and holds a degree from Delhi University along with a Master’s in Mass Communication from MCRC, Jamia Millia Islamia. Her work, both in literature and cinema, reveals her dedication to storytelling that shines a light on complex histories, ancestral legacies, and the shared struggles and joys that define our collective human experience.
1. Your book traces the story of your nomadic forebears who belonged to the Bhantu tribe, marked as ‘criminal’ under British colonial rule. What inspired you to dig into your family’s history and share this narrative with the world?
> This Land We Call Home was a story I wanted to tell for as long as I can remember. Growing up in a multicultural household with both Christian and Muslim influences, I was naturally interested in, and fascinated by both these cultures. Even as a child, I was captivated by the stories my grandmother, Prudence shared about her father, Reverend Hardayal Singh. He carried a Hindu name, yet he was a reverend, and that alone was such a beautiful nugget of my personal history.
The current political climate has cast a shadow over the word "conversions," giving it negative connotations, and I wanted to explore why and when this word became so charged in contemporary discourse. As I delved deeper into my maternal history, I learned more about the Bhantus, a largely nomadic tribe, one of the 200 communities criminalized by the British under the highly discriminatory Criminal Tribes Acts (starting in 1871). Very little research material exists on Bhantu tribes, mostly dating back to the early 1900s– literature profiling them as "criminal tribes" through an Orientalist lens. I noticed the blaring gap in their recorded oral history and which is why, it became even more urgent for me to share my history with the world.
2. The theme of conversion to Christianity is central to your family’s journey in seeking dignity and acceptance. How did you approach the complex subject of faith and identity while writing this memoir?
> Conversion was an act of defiance against a discriminatory society—one that imposed and insisted on an inherited social position. For Hardayal, conversion was nothing short of a rebirth.
When my great-grandfather and his family converted to Christianity, it was the result of upper-caste gatekeeping, coupled with the highly discriminatory Criminal Tribes Acts. Christianity appeared to offer a fair chance because it was perceived as an egalitarian faith. But perhaps what ultimately drove their decision was the sense of agency that came with this act.
As mentioned in the book, a deeply affecting event led to their final decision to embrace Christianity. However, as it serves as a spoiler, I cannot elaborate further on this point.
Faith and identity are recurring themes in This Land We Call Home. There have been multiple religious conversions in my family, each spurred by a significant event. I have discussed why each conversion was both unique and similar to the others. The book also touches on the history of conversions in India to Christianity, with a focus on how it wasn’t limited to people from lower castes. In fact, Maharashtra has a rich history of mass conversions of Brahmins to Christianity.
Since, I write about Christian and Muslim identity, in the book, I also talk about what it means to belong to these two minority communities in the India of today. I also talk about our insecurities and our legacies that help make India a unique chosen home to each one of us.
3. In This Land We Call Home, you explore the impact of major historical events like Partition, the World Wars, and the Emergency on your family. How did these events shape their sense of belonging and identity?
> This Land We Call Home is a story about the making of modern India through one family's multigenerational history. It upholds the understanding that the history of a nation is built on the history of its people, and how both are deeply interlaced. For instance, the book discusses how the 1918 Spanish flu affected Hardayal's family, or how Dorothy his daughter grew up to serve as a nurse in the Queen’s Special Contingent during the Second World War, posted in Iraq.
My mother Meera was born in 1947, and in many ways, India (with its independence) was also born that same year. Every political and social event is uniquely tied to one within the family. The demolition of the Babri Masjid had a definitive impact on my identity—both political and social—since I was a teenager at the time. In many ways, this political event changed the course of Indian history as well.
4. Your memoir reflects on the deeply rooted caste system in India. How did the caste-based discrimination faced by your family shape your personal understanding of societal structures and modern India?
> The caste-based oppression that my ancestors endured occurred before my grandmother Prudence was born. Fortunately, the Christianity they followed in North India remained largely impervious to the ill effects a caste based social order, unlike what was observed in South India. As a result, my mother grew up without being subjected to caste-based discrimination. I was raised in a Muslim household and because of my Syed upbringing, I was not exposed to conversations around caste. However, this is not to discount the fact that the caste system hasn’t seeped into both Christianity and Islam in India. I recognize the privilege I held due to the social status enjoyed by Syeds.
Another very important point to discuss is the varied notions of cultural identity. I instead grew up grappling with questions of identity and the pride associated with being "pure-bred"—a perception that carried its own demons to confront for children of multicultural households.
5. The women in your family, whom you refer to as “the first feminists,” played a significant role in shaping your story. Could you share more about their influence and how they helped break traditional barriers?
> Not just the women in the family, I also call my great grandfather Rev Hardayal Singh a feminist. My maternal ancestors benefited directly from their conversion to Christianity, with respect to access to education – which proved to be a significant boon for me. Kalyani, my maternal great-grandmother, faced numerous challenges—embracing a new faith, relocating from Rajasthan to Uttar Pradesh, learning new customs, and acquiring a new language. Amidst these enormous changes, sending her daughters to Christian mission boarding schools required considerable mental fortitude, which she admirably demonstrated.
The resilience and aspirations of individuals like Kalyani were crucial in transforming the educational landscape for women in their families, and by extension, for India as a whole.
My great aunts, the daughters of Hardayal and Kalyani, were not only highly educated but also worked as nurses in India’s top hospitals in the 1930s and 1940s. These were the same women who would have had very different lives and career trajectories if they hadn’t received the education that they did. Perhaps I was specially inspired by Dorothy (Kaali). Here was a woman who was named Kaali for the colour of her skin. She not only grew up to be fiercely independent but she also lent her services during the second world war. A young woman from an ex criminal tribe, fighting not just sexism but also colourism in a colour obsessed society. She was inspirational to me from childhood.
6. Your career as a cinematographer spans two decades. How did your experiences in filmmaking influence the way you wrote this memoir, especially in terms of visual storytelling and emotional depth?
> Before I became a cinematographer I was a journalist. I've dabbled in print journalism, maintained a blog and explored screenwriting in the past. Writing this book didn't seem like stepping out of my comfort zone—it flowed naturally.
While cinematography was my primary focus for some time, writing has always been a source of joy for me. My background in cinematography has shaped my writing approach significantly. I think my ability to see scripts visually helped make my writing descriptive and visually engaging.
7. The idea of nation-building and belonging plays a profound role in your book. What message do you hope readers will take away regarding India’s multicultural identities and the ongoing search for dignity and acceptance?
> A beautiful question! The "Home" in This Land We Call Home is India. I sincerely believe that my family, with its multicultural identity, is not unique. There are many such families, and it is in this multiculturalism that the true essence of India lies. India was never meant to have a homogeneous identity; it has always been a land where many different cultures and religions coexist, each lending its uniqueness to shape the India we have traditionally known.
I trust my readers' intelligence, and I have no doubt that they will see their own families and stories in this glimpse of mine. Respect is a mutual sentiment and dignity can never be negotiated. I am hopeful, that there is much to take from TLWCH.
8. Your family’s story intertwines with the broader history of India’s complex relationship with caste, religion, and politics. What challenges did you face in striking a balance between personal narrative and broader historical context?
> I didn’t face many challenges in presenting the personal narrative within a broader historical context. As I mentioned earlier, I firmly believe that the history of individuals and that of nations are deeply interwoven. While I had limited access to recorded Bhantu accounts, I was fortunate to have my mother and uncle as invaluable resources.
This Land We Call Home, is as much a story of a Bhantu beginning as it is about the fluid cosmopolitan construction of my lineage. I have roots in two very troubled minorities –Christianity and Islam. My paternal ancestors came from Iran and Iraq. We have had multiple conversions within the family – which, under different circumstances, would be regarded as beautiful and unremarkable. However, in the current socio-political climate, they take on added significance.
Navigating important political events, many of which shaped my political identity and are tied to the BJP, was tricky. However, since I relied on historical references, I didn’t encounter significant difficulties in that area. My biggest challenge in telling a personal story was to do so with integrity. One has to carefully weigh, sift through, and still present the truth. Many new insights unfolded during my journey. One significant discovery was the caste association of Bhantus with Rajputs, a gradual process known as Rajputisation. This was somewhat challenging to navigate because while some Bhantus identify as Bhati-Rajputs, they may not enjoy the same societal status as Kshatriyas. Yet, their identification as Bhantus with certain Rajputi concessions is also part of their truth. As a chronicler, I must present both these truths.
9. You’ve mentioned that your family found community and education through the church. How did access to missionary schools and their cultural practices impact your family’s future generations?
> Somewhat answered this in Question 2 and 5, can you combine these questions please.
10. As a filmmaker and now an author, do you see yourself continuing to explore the themes of identity, belonging, and heritage in future projects? Could you share any upcoming works you are currently working on?
> During the writing of This Land We Call Home, I was unconsciously peeling back layers of my Bhantu identity, an aspect of myself I barely knew existed. This journey has made me more attuned to the intricate realities of the world we inhabit. I am definitely exploring more on themes of caste and identity. I have written a couple of longform pieces focused on identity, further exploring the Bhantus and their enduring exploitation in modern India.
I am eager to delve deeper into this realm and have also begun working on my next project—an intricate, caste-based historical fiction that intertwines War, caste, race and love.
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