The word diaspora carries the weight of generations. Whispered through centuries, it begins with scattering—violent, voluntary or somewhere in between—and continues as a story of staying connected even when flung far. The Greeks called it diaspeirein—to scatter through. And though it was first used to describe Jewish communities after exile, its power lies in how people have since made it their own. For Indians abroad, it’s a term that feels strangely familiar, as though it was always waiting for them.
Scattering is not a single event. It’s a slow, shifting tide. India’s outward journey didn’t start with planes and passports. It began when ancient traders hugged the coastlines of Southeast Asia, moving cinnamon and stories as early as the 1st century AD. Chola ships carried more than cargo—they carried belief systems, sculptures, and settlers who would leave behind their own echoes in places like Bali and Angkor Wat.
Then came the British. Once slavery was abolished in 1833, the empire needed new hands for sugar plantations and railroads. Enter indenture. Over 1.5 million Indians were pushed and pulled into faraway colonies—Mauritius, Fiji, Trinidad, South Africa. A system dressed in contracts, but powered by desperation. These weren’t just migrations; they were rewritings of what life could mean under a foreign sun.
Of course, it wasn’t all indentured. Alongside them travelled the moneylenders from Gujarat, the shopkeepers from Tamil Nadu, the dreamers with suitcases full of ambition and cumin. They weren’t tourists. They were the first nodes in a network that would eventually span the globe.
Fast forward to the 1960s, and India’s overseas story found new chapters. This was the New Diaspora, full of engineers, doctors, professors and techies. Western countries, seeking talent, opened doors. Indians walked through them, sometimes in silk, sometimes in suits. The Gulf, too, emerged as a magnet, especially after the oil boom of the 1970s. Labourers, mechanics, nurses, clerks—all carving out lives in mirrored towers and migrant quarters.
By 2024, the Indian diaspora numbers around 35.4 million. It’s not just a statistic—it’s a living, breathing mosaic of people who carry curry powders in zip-lock bags, WhatsApp their grandmothers every Sunday, and follow cricket matches at 3am. Some send remittances. Some send poems. All send a signal home.
But diaspora isn’t just about where people are. It’s about what they remember. What they keep. The myths they inherit and the myths they create. For Indians abroad, the connection with home isn’t seasonal. It’s stitched into rituals, into how Tamil is spoken in Toronto, or how Navratri finds a home in Nairobi. There’s memory in the masala. There’s kinship in community halls and WhatsApp groups with too many emojis.
That memory is not static. It changes with each generation. The children of migrants are often fluent in hyphenated identities—British-Indian, Indo-Canadian, Indian-Australian. They grow up with one foot in Diwali and the other in daylight saving. And that’s not confusion—it’s expansion.
Diaspora doesn’t ask for uniformity. It thrives on contradiction. You can work at Google and still wear bangles to a board meeting. You can be Muslim and celebrate Holi because your neighbours did when you were six. You can be Sikh in Seattle and still remember the smell of your grandfather’s wheat farm in Punjab. The lines are messy, and that’s precisely what makes the story richer.
Governments, too, are catching up. India’s official use of terms like NRI (Non-Resident Indian), OCI (Overseas Citizen of India), and PIO (Person of Indian Origin) reflects an understanding that this scattered community is more than an emotional thread—it’s a policy reality. Diaspora votes. Diaspora lobbies. Diaspora builds temples and tech companies, sometimes in the same suburb.
The word itself—diaspora—has expanded to hold many other stories. The African diaspora, shaped by forced migrations through slavery, still pulses with resistance and resilience. The Armenian diaspora, born from genocide, continues to carry grief alongside generational pride. The Irish left during famines, the Chinese during civil wars, and each community stitched its memory into the new land with varying degrees of acceptance.
But for Indians, the word fits because it captures something uniquely familiar: a way of staying rooted even while floating. Of making new places feel like home without erasing the old ones.
There’s no single way to live abroad. Some keep India on speed dial, others keep it tucked in a dusty photo album. Some return every year, others haven’t been back in decades but still know how to tie a saree blindfolded.
To be part of a diaspora isn’t to have left something behind. It’s to carry it, quietly or loudly, across borders, customs queues and the passing of time. To scatter doesn’t mean to forget.
And somewhere between Heathrow and Hyderabad, Mississauga and Madurai, there’s always another story waiting to be added to this long and beautiful scatter.
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🌍 The #IndianDiaspora, now 35.4mn strong, traces its roots from ancient traders to modern techies. 📜 Shaped by indenture, migration & ambition, it thrives on cultural memory—blending traditions while building new identities worldwide. ✨#TheIndianSunhttps://t.co/F3mcNdOGsR
— The Indian Sun (@The_Indian_Sun) March 25, 2025
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