On paper, Syed Jamil Ahmed belongs to Bangladesh. In reality, the 86-year-old Karachi resident has spent much of his life adapting to borders that shifted around him. Born in Barharwa, Bihar, in 1940, he migrated first to East Pakistan after Partition and then to Karachi following Bangladesh's independence in 1971. "I still think about going back to Bangladesh," he says.
For many Pakistanis, migration stories begin and end with Partition. For Urdu-speaking Biharis, displacement came twice: first in 1947 and again after the creation of Bangladesh. Between one and 1.5 million Biharis eventually migrated to Pakistan, most settling in Karachi, where neighbourhoods such as Orangi Town, Korangi Town, Musa Colony and Bihar Colony became centres of the community. Yet their story rarely features in mainstream accounts of South Asian history.
Ahmed was born in his maternal grandparents' village in Bihar. His maternal grandfather was a zamindar, while his father worked for the railways before opting to move to Pakistan after Partition. The family settled in Syedpur, Khulna and later Dhaka. Ahmed rejects the common assumption that Bengalis and Urdu-speaking migrants were always at odds.
"We were misguided into believing Bengalis and Urdu speakers couldn't live together," he says. "They were good people. They were educated." He remembers East Pakistan as a place where education was valued and where his family built a stable middle-class life. "It felt like home." That changed in 1971.
His elder brother was arrested during the conflict after Bengali friends arranged for his detention, believing prison would be safer than the violence outside.
"There was never any case against him," Ahmed says. As violence spread, schools closed, jobs disappeared and families scattered. Unlike many displaced Biharis, Ahmed's family never entered a refugee camp, instead moving from one house to another before leaving through Nepal and arriving in Karachi in 1973. "Karachi didn't feel like home when we first arrived," he says.
For 32-year-old Shahid, Bangladesh is a place he knows only through family stories. Born and raised in Orangi Town, he is part of the second generation of Urdu-speaking Biharis whose parents migrated to Karachi after 1971. "My parents came with nothing," he says. "They had to start from scratch." His father worked multiple jobs to educate the family. "They never wanted us to feel like refugees."
Yet questions about identity persist. "When people ask where I'm from, I say Karachi. Then they ask, 'Originally?'" His answer reflects three generations of migration. "My grandparents were born in India. My parents grew up in Bangladesh. I was born in Pakistan." Despite decades in Karachi, the family continues to preserve aspects of its heritage through food, language and wedding traditions. "We're not exactly Bihari anymore. We're not Bangladeshi either. We're Karachiites with a long family history."
For 68-year-old Iqbal, Bihar Colony represents more than a neighbourhood. It is where thousands of families rebuilt their lives after arriving in Karachi with little more than their belongings. "Everyone around us had the same story," he says. "Someone had lost a brother. Someone had left their home overnight." Residents pooled resources, opened businesses and gradually established schools, mosques and markets. "There wasn't much money, but there was always someone willing to help." Today, he believes the community's history is fading from public memory. "People know Bihar Colony by its name," he says. "They don't know why it's called Bihar Colony." He worries younger generations will grow up without understanding how the neighbourhood came into being. "If we don't tell these stories, people will think we were always here."
Ahmed believes the history of Urdu-speaking Biharis has been reduced to political narratives that overlook the experiences of ordinary families. "Our education doesn't teach the past," he says. "Nobody teaches the reality of Bangladesh." His own life spans three countries. He was born in India, spent his youth in what became Bangladesh and has lived in Karachi for more than five decades.
When asked what he misses most, his answer is immediate. "The rainy days," he says. "The good days in Bangladesh." For people whose life has been shaped by changing borders, it is not maps they remember, but the feeling of a place that, however briefly, simply felt like home.