Brown History

Brown History

"I Don’t Know How To Write About India"

Words by Nishad Sanzagiri

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Brown History
Apr 29, 2025
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Welcome to the Brown History Newsletter. If you’re enjoying this labor of love, please do consider becoming a paid subscriber. Your contribution would help pay the writers and illustrators and support this weekly publication. If you like to submit a writing piece, please send me a pitch by email at brownhistory1947@gmail.com.

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Mahadev Vishwanath Dhurandhar was a noted Indian painter and postcard artist. He was a popular painter during British rule in India. (Available in print)

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“I Don’t Know How To Write About India”

When the Diaspora Returns Home.

Photo by Nishad Sanzagiri

Just before leaving Zero Point in Sikkim — the last outpost of civilization before the land yields to snowy peaks, military fences, and the Tibetan plateau — I had to relieve myself behind a rock. There were no toilets. Only brittle shrubs, patches of snow, and a wind so sharp it didn’t care whether you were Indian or Chinese. The area was heavily militarized — Indian flags fluttered at absurd altitudes, convoy trucks thundered through narrow routes, and soldiers watched from distant vantage points. I stood there, exposed, glancing nervously over my shoulder, half-wondering if my movements were being clocked from somewhere above. The Republic had built border posts and fences, hoisted emblems and stationed men — but not a single public toilet. And I remember thinking, in that absurd, freezing moment: what is the responsibility of a non-resident Indian writing about India?

The question follows me like a shadow every time I return — and every time I write.

***

Some say the answer is obvious. Celebrate. Uplift. Be proud. You’ve grown up in the land of Buddha and biryani, of the Vedas and vada pav. You owe your country a curated portrait. Write about the food, the families, the festivals. Write about how far we’ve come despite colonization, partition, and poverty. Atithi Devo Bhava, Guest is God. Write Incredible !ndia — with an exclamation mark, please.

That’s the India I was raised to love — the one my parents carried with them as we packed our bags and left. “Never forget where you come from,” they’d say. “Be proud.”

But what do I do with the India I actually see?

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