Of Rebuilding Homes and New Beginnings: Young Refugees in Delhi

The Quint brings you stories of six refugees in Delhi – their histories, memories and dislike for Delhi summers.

(On the occasion of World Refugee Day, The Quint brings you the stories of six refugees in Delhi. This is part one in a two-part series.)

First impressions last a lifetime.

Sitting in the Refugee Assistance Centre run by BOSCO and UNHCR in Khirki Extension, I was reminded of this proverb repeatedly. In front of me were young men and women around my age, narrating their first impressions of Delhi. They echoed what I thought about the city; it is too noisy, public transport is deplorable, and why oh why are Delhi summers so hot?

But, there was one difference. I am born and brought up in Delhi. The people I was speaking to, came to Delhi as refugees.

My impressions are cocooned by my family, my career, my friends. Stability, basically. Their narratives of Delhi were formed without the safety net of familiarity of culture or climate. Disruption, in other words.

Speaking to them, I walked away with a clutch of impressions, fleshed out with compelling stories; stories looking into the future, and stories bristling with the rawness of a separation. And so, in writing about the people I met, I cannot, in all honesty, do so with the accepted way of describing a refugee. (Name, age, nationality and years of living in Delhi.)

That, in my opinion, confines a person to a label. So, what I would like to write about are stories, woven with impressions; first and everlasting.

Masooda: A Life-Changing Walk to the University

I’ll tell you about one incident. It was about this girl called Farkhunda, do you know about it? She was killed, then thrown under a car and burnt in Kabul. And it happened on my way to the University, which I crossed everyday. It happened before Navroze, before our New Year, so I had holidays and wasn’t going to the University. My classes were scheduled to start a week later, but my mother insisted I stay at home for few days. When I finally went to the University, I was unable to look at the physical place where she was killed. I just kept my eyes down. After that, I didn’t think about my degree. I was thinking, if I get an opportunity to leave Afghanistan, I must. 

Masooda, Student, Refugee from Afghanistan

When Masooda speaks, her eyes light up. Even more so, when she talks about life in Kabul Medical University. But they bristle too, with anger and regret.

Anger at the lack of opportunities in Kabul for women, and despite being aware of circumstances in Kabul, regret for having just missed finishing her degree by one semester.

If there is peace, why should people run away? Even now my father says you couldn’t even finish your university. And I say, it’s okay. At least I came to a good place. For me, being secure is more important. I really want to work as a translator here, and earn money for myself. But I am waiting for my refugee card. And then, maybe study more. What is past is gone. I want to think of only the future. 

Mohammed Hussain: From Darfur to Delhi, Via Hyderabad

Comparing life in Mogadishu and Delhi, is like a comparison between life and death. There is no security in Mogadishu, there is fighting, no human rights, the minorities are not safe at all. My family was killed, and I was the only male member left. So, my mother told me to go somewhere safe. I wanted to go to Europe, but I came to India. 

Mohammed Hussain, Staff Member, Refugee Assistance Centre, Refugee from Somalia

Tall. And a toothy grin. That’s the first thing that hits you when Mohammed walks in to the room. He settles his lanky frame in a chair, flashes his customary smile and then, narrates the journey of how he reached Delhi.

I came to Hyderabad initially when I came to India, and I like it much better than Delhi. I was staying with Somali students there, but then I decided to come to Delhi since the UNHCR office is here. I looked for a job, but as a refugee it is so difficult to find one! I have been working here for a year, but I do odd jobs like translation and helping other Somalis in Delhi. I manage, somehow. 

Ibrahim: Of Bamiyan Buddhas and a Ride From the Airport

In Afghanistan, there is a myth. When the sun shines on the Bamiyan Buddhas, Solsol and Shamam, they turn to gold and everything shines. I don’t know how true it is, though. The statutes were destroyed by Taliban, but now I think the Americans are trying to rebuild them again. They can’t, because the sand and soil is different. But they have created a holographic image of the Buddhas, which glow at night. 

Ibrahim, Student, Refugee from Afghanistan

It is hard to keep pace with Ibrahim talking. He talks animatedly about his beloved Bamiyan and is almost stoic when he talks of the ride from Delhi airport to Malviya Nagar, where he lives with his relatives.

When I was in the airport in Delhi, I had seen people holding bottles of water and I thought, why are they doing this, in Afghanistan there is no culture of having a water bottle. Then when I felt the heat, I understood and the first thing I did was I bought water. My first few weeks in Delhi, I didn’t move out of my house, I was so upset with the heat, the noise and how narrow everything was. 

Ibrahim, Student, Refugee from Afghanistan

Read the Second Part of the Series: Of Bollywood Hopes and Unexpected Racism: Young Refugees in Delhi

(This article was originally published on 20 June 2016.)