I spent my entire afternoon at the Partition Museum. It’s been two years since its inception. Located at the beautiful Dr. B.R. Ambedkar University in Old Delhi, it’s the saddest place I’ve ever visited. The experience is heavy. As you enter, you first encounter Sindh and the Sindhis—mostly Hindus—and their culture. Then you see the independence movement, followed by the Partition itself.

There can be a thousand debates about whether the Partition was necessary, and a hundred more beyond that. But as you walk through the museum, you realize it was about real people—people with lives, dreams, neighbors, and love. Overnight, some became enemies. You see a replica of the train they arrived on, accompanied by its screeching sound in the background. You see how people came with nothing. The refugee camps in Delhi and Amritsar, the blood on the streets, the butchered bodies—it’s visceral and gory.

You see the sewing machine, the cups someone brought with them. Some brought nothing at all. The Partition, when you look at it, is a vast saga of loss and grief—so much loss. An entire generation inherited this loss and the grief that came with it. No one should ever have to endure this. As you view the refugee camps and the people who arrived with wounds, you want to scream that no one deserves this—no one.

At the end, you can sign postcards. I did too. I wrote only this: “I am sorry for what happened and for the inheritance of loss. May no one ever go through it again in human history. I am sorry.” That marks the end of the walk. You look back, and the poster of Garam Hawa stares at you. As you leave, the last song plays gently in the museum: “Tu Hindu Banega na Musalman Banega, Insaan ki aulad hai insaan banega.” It plays on repeat.

I walked back home feeling sad. Maybe it was the Delhi pollution, but my eyes were constantly wet.

If my work has made an impact on you, you can buy me a coffee here. This will help me to keep writing and healing more. Thank you.