Rasheeda Banu spent 16 years of her life navigating the complex corridors of government offices in Thiruvananthapuram and Delhi, all in the hope of one simple wish—to become an Indian citizen.
Published Nov 07, 2024 | 9:00 AM ⚊ Updated Nov 07, 2024 | 9:55 AM
Kannur Collector Arun K. Vijayan handing over the official citizenship document from the Union Home Ministry to Rasheeda Banu.
Citizenship of a country instills a sense of security. It grants the freedom to move, to live, and to belong, without the constant fear of being questioned or rejected.
Yet, there are many who live without this basic assurance, not because of any wrongdoing on their part but because they’ve been caught in the web of tangled bureaucracy, waiting to call a country as their own.
Rasheeda Banu, born in Karachi, Pakistan, and now living at Kathiroor in Kerala’s Thalassery, spent 16 years of her life navigating the complex corridors of government offices in Thiruvananthapuram and Delhi, all in the hope of becoming an Indian citizen.
Her longing for a sense of belonging runs deep. Her parents, originally from Thalassery, were stuck in Karachi during the Partition. Separated from their homeland during one of the most painful chapters in history, they had to build their lives away from the place they called home.
For years, uncertainty followed Rasheeda’s every step. But on 4 November 2024, after years of resolute perseverance, her wish became a reality.
In conversation with South First, Rasheeda shared the toll her long journey had taken on her emotionally. Though officially an Indian citizen now, Rasheeda is still grappling with several questions.
Her story is one of hope, a journey through history’s scars, and the deep yearning to finally belong to the land of her ancestors.
Q: Why did your Malayali parents decide to go to Pakistan?
A: My father, KV Hassan, arrived in what is now Pakistan when he was just nine years old. There was no separation between India and Pakistan. It was a single land, an undivided country.
His journey to Pakistan was not driven by desire for a better life. His family’s difficult circumstances forced him to go with his uncle.
In those early days, they worked in hotels. Later, they moved into the paan business, relying on betel leaves imported from Tirur in Malappuram.
Just as their business began to flourish, the partition took place, and large numbers of Muslim refugees poured into Karachi from India.
By 1960, my father returned to Kannur, where he married my mother. Ten years later, he took her to Karachi for fertility treatment, even though she wasn’t interested in settling there. I was born in 1972.
Q: Why did your parents decide to stay back in Pakistan?
A: My mother was deeply attached to her siblings in Thalassery, and she always longed to return after I was born. Despite their best efforts to return, political tensions between India and Pakistan made things difficult for us. The situation worsened after the India-Pakistan war. When I was four, my parents managed to return to India via Sri Lanka.
However, my father’s heart and soul were in his paan business in Karachi, making it hard for him to leave. When we came back to Pakistan, our family grew larger.
My father adopted the three children of his deceased sister, and they joined us in Karachi, where they became part of the family business. To run a business in Pakistan, we needed Pakistani citizenship. So everyone applied for it, and we received it.
Among my adopted cousins, Mahroof, my aunt’s son, married me. We have six children, four girls and two boys- Afshan, Sadiya, Muhammed Kasim, Sumaira, Marium, and Muhammed Ismail.
Q: You were well settled in Karachi, leading a luxurious life at that time. So, what made you return to India?
A: When Afshan started getting marriage proposals, we decided to return to Kathiroor.
I was the only child of my parents, and we felt that if our children got married in Pakistan, they would eventually lose their roots. In Pakistan, things are different. There’s not as much of an attachment to family like in our homeland.
This deep sense of connection took us back to Kerala. In 2008, my husband, our children, my parents, and I, arrived in Kathiroor.
Q: When did your struggle for Indian citizenship begin?
A: We all applied for citizenship after reaching Kathiroor. My elderly mother needed her birth documents to prove that she was born in India, but obtaining them has been a Herculean task. The paperwork required us to be physically present at the Kathiroor police station to sign documents, and we had to make frequent trips to the Office of the Superintendent of Police in Kannur.
Amid this struggle, my husband had to return to Pakistan to work in the paan business to assist us financially. We had some savings from selling our properties and shops in Karachi, and we were quite well-off there.
However, when we converted the money into Indian rupees, it wasn’t enough to buy a house. The difference in exchange value made it difficult. Since I am not an Indian citizen, it was even harder to purchase land or property in Kerala.
Q: What has been the most painful moment during this period?
A: Life has been a constant struggle for me until I became an Indian citizen (she has been recorded an Indian citizen since 24 April 2018). However, the most painful moment came in March 2024, when my father passed away.
Despite holding a long-term visa, he never obtained citizenship. This loss still weighs heavily on me. and my three elder children were granted citizenship in 2018, while my younger three are still waiting.
Among them, Sumaira’s four-year-old son, Hamdan, is a special child. So she urgently needs a passport and other documents to travel to Australia for his treatment. Marium’s husband is in Dubai, but she has yet to join him due to the delays. My youngest son, Muhammed Ismail, has aspirations of pursuing higher education abroad, but that too remains pending.
In July 2024, the Kerala High Court ruled that Sumaira and Marium should be granted citizenship within 90 working days. According to the Citizenship Act, Ismail will be granted citizenship immediately. The main obstacle had been my mother Fathima’s lack of a birth certificate. Now, it has now been submitted, and I hope she will receive her citizenship soon.
Q: Do you encounter any challenges from the people around you?
A: Yes, but not from my neighbors, relatives, or officials in India. For Hamdan’s treatment, Sumaira and I frequently need to travel to Hyderabad and AIISH (All India Institute Of Speech and Hearing), Mysuru. For this, we require an NoC from the Kannur Police Superintendent.
During health emergencies, the police officers have always been supportive. The officials at the Kannur Collectorate, too, have been cooperative and supportive.
When inquiries have come from the Union Ministry, our neighbors have never gave a bad impression about us. Initially, our relatives were welcoming, but over time, they too began to feel apprehensive due to the ‘citizenship issue.’
One day, we faced a major crisis. When Sumaira and I arrived in Hyderabad with Hamdan, the house owner asked us to leave upon learning of this issue. That night, we struggled to find another place to stay. People often have a sense of suspicion or fear when they become aware of such matters.
The Pakistan embassy has shown a great deal of cruelty towards us. When trying to obtain Indian citizenship, we were required to surrender our Pakistan passports and other documents. I had to surrender my children’s documents when they turned 18, but according to Pakistan’s law, they process these documents only when the individual reaches 21.
This delay made our journey even more miserable. Especially after my husband was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I had no choice but to travel alone or with my young children. I still remember how the Pakistan embassy staff would close their small windows as soon as they saw me.
Q: When Kerala witnessed major protests over CAA, did you experience an added sense of fear?
A: No. By Allah, I can swear on this because I have always been certain of my truth and my intentions. What, then, do I have to fear?
At that time, when my neighbors mockingly tell me, ‘Pack your bags, you’re headed to Pakistan,’ I just laugh and reply, ‘Even if you were sent off to Pakistan, I would still be right here in Kathiroor. (laughs)
Q: Would you like to visit Karachi with your grandchildren to share the story of Partition with them?
A: No, I have a 16-year-long story of struggle to share to them. That’s enough.
I don’t want to go to Karachi, not even for a visit. But I do have another dream, to travel to Makkah and Madinah with Hamdan.
(Edited by Majnu Babu).
