In February, 2025 we presented an audio installation at the Manifest:io in Berlin with The Extended Reality Ensemble (XRE) in our ongoing collaboration Letters Without Borders, an exhibition uncovering how personal narratives of migration and identity can inspire the creation of a collective artwork.

Alfaaz presented three audio letters written from the perspective of a woman in Punjab in 1984 – before, during and after Operation Blue Star, a military operation in India that took place to remove Sikhs from the Golden Temple, the subsequent assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi and the massacres of Sikhs that followed.

These letters portrayed the realities of migration and the emotional challenges of leaving home. They showcased a transition from voluntary migration to follow the rest of their family in Australia, to forced migration as a result of rapidly escalated political situation, eventually having to leave immediately due to their safety.

Written and recorded by our founder Karan Rathod, this piece was broadly based on the experience of his mother and her family leaving Punjab due to the ongoing political tension in the ‘80s. Below are the letters in their written form.

1984

26th January 1984

You’re missing out on eating fresh Johari pakore here. Though they’re not the same as what they used to be compared to when his mother made them. Jalandhar has been cold, so it’s perfect weather for it. The number of winters you all have missed. I don’t know how you’ve been away for five years.

The last year of college has been tough, but I only have a few months left now. I’ve had to start thinking about my final exams and experimenting working with oil paint more. It’s taking me some time to get the hang of it, but I’m getting there. And guess what!? I’m finally having my first exhibition soon. They’ve asked me to showcase that painting of our courtyard. Remember mom used to make us sit in the courtyard and watch her make butter? We used to run from our rooms, through the white pillars that surrounded the centre square and sat in front of her, on the ground, in a row. I remember how you always sat by terra cotta birdbath. The smell of fresh butter would wake dad up in the morning and he’d be there soon after.

I’m struggling to think about leaving India and coming to Australia. The other day, someone came to look to buy the house. They offered a lot of money, but we said no. I know you’re all working really hard to get us there. And I’m sorry we didn’t go to our visa interviews earlier this year.  We just don’t feel like leaving. This is home. All my friends are here. We all grew up here. It’s our culture. Our identity. There are barely any Indians there. Are there even any Sikh temples there? I don’t think they’ll understand my paintings either. And besides, my English classes aren’t fun. This language doesn’t make sense to me.

Anyway, we’re working hard to get all of our stuff together. We have a visa appointment in two weeks. Hopefully things go smoothly and we can make it there before the end of the year. I promise we won’t skip them this time. 

13th of June, 1984

I don’t know what news you’re getting there and how quickly, but something happened at the Golden Temple a few days ago. There was an attack on Sikhs by the army on Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s orders and now things have erupted. They’re calling it “Operation Blue Star.” They said they were just after the separatists, but they stormed the temple and also killed people who had just come to pray. Even children. I don’t know how many of us Sikhs got killed, but it seems like a lot. 

Our people have been protesting but the police have been really brutal. They’re calling it ‘unrest’, but we’re standing up. The other day I saw someone dragged out of their home. We’re hearing about things like this happening more and more everyday, even here in Jalandhar. If I’m honest, we’re feeling a little nervous. I’m sure things will settle down in a few days. We don’t want you all to worry, even though you will because you’re family. We’re safe, but I’m not sure what things will look like. 

We have our visas now. We sold the house and have to be out by the end of the year. But It would be nice to spend at least the start of our last winter here. I want to have a few more cups of chai sitting on the blue tiled edges of the courtyard every morning, shawls wrapped over our shoulders to keep us warm. Listening to mom singing, the mist from her breath dancing with every word she sings. 

We said we’ll be there by October, but we’ll book our flights for the new year. We just want a little more time.

30th October, 1984

Things are getting worse here. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi just got assassinated. I heard her two bodyguards did it. They were Sikh. And now Sikhs have been getting murdered around the country. The other day our neighbors were walking home from college in the afternoon and two police officers took them. It’s been four days and we haven’t heard anything. I’m hearing about these threats more and more and people are getting attacked everyday. I thought the worst was over, but it’s just getting worse. Things in Delhi are also bad.

I was walking to get some groceries yesterday. I’ve only been leaving the house if I absolutely need to. It was only a ten minute walk and I was stopped twice by the police. They were asking where I was going. They let me go. Almost as if they let me off this time just because there were others around. But each time they stopped me, I thought I was going to end up being another story of someone who had died at the hands of these people. Or at this point, just another lost whisper in the street. 

Someone knocked on our door today. Hard. In a way that I thought they were trying to shatter the windows of the house to force us to leave through them.  We didn’t open the door, but they said they knew our brothers had moved away and it was just the two sisters and mom at home. I don’t know how they found out. Mom is really scared. I feel like we’re next. Or something could happen at any time.  The mobs aren’t just random men. They have information and know where to find us, to target us.

We booked our flights. The soonest ones we could get. And all of a sudden, two weeks feels too long. Two more weeks on edge.

Until then—we will go to Delhi. I want to sit in this courtyard. I don’t want to leave like this. I was getting used to the idea of being in Australia, but on our terms. To be forced to leave so suddenly. I feel like my home is being stripped away from me.

I want to stay. I want to fight. I want to stand in the courtyard and say: this is mine. This is home.

But I can’t. We’re forced to leave.

I used to swear I’d never leave. That I’d grow old here. That my children would climb the guava tree like we did.

But I won’t.

Instead, I’ll leave in the middle of the night. A suitcase in one hand. Ma’s wedding shawl in the other.

And I don’t know if I’ll ever come back.