Every evening at 4.30 PM, in Hussainiwala, Punjab, a crowd gathers near the National Martyrs Memorial. As the sun dips, soldiers on both sides of the border stomp, salute and shout slogans: "Hindustan Zindabad" meets "Pakistan Zindabad." It is an echo of Wagah, but smaller, lesser-known, and perhaps more intimate. Only a few kilometres away from the Memorial lies a Muslim pir’s dargah revered by Indians and Pakistanis alike. Pilgrims are known to have once sought permission from the Border Security Force (BSF) to cross over and pray.
Here, the memory of the freedom struggle meets the paradox of partition. Hussainiwala is also the site where Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, and Sukhdev were cremated in 1931—a place of patriotic pilgrimage that now looks out across the barbed-wire fence of the border.
This coexistence of tension and faith, separation and connection is what fascinated journalist and author Pradeep Damodaran to travel India's frontiers. His 2017 book "Borderlands: Stories from India's Boundaries" (Hachette) is a result of a 17-month journey of documenting life on India’s margins.
But why did he take this journey? Damodaran pointed back to his own history. His first book, "The Mullaperiyar Water War" (2015), examined a long-running dispute over a 130-year-old dam built in Kerala but supplying water to Tamil Nadu. “Every time this conflict flared up, the interstate border in Kumily and Cumbum would be sealed, restricting all movement,” he said to Outlook Traveller. That experience left him fascinated by the invisible lines that could so profoundly alter people’s lives. Add to that his long-standing passion for remote travel and the timing—he had just turned 40 and wanted a break from routine work—and the idea of "Borderlands" took root.
Borderlands, Damodaran argued, are not just about geography. They are lived spaces where identities blur. Residents often share more with people across the line than with citizens in their own country. They belong to an India that India itself is unaware of.
In Bihar’s Raxaul, the border with Nepal is so fluid that daily life spills easily across it. Villagers go to Birganj for markets, marriages, and even movies. As Shambhu Das, mukhiya of Barthamayi village, told Damodaran: "Indians here often cross into Nepal just to watch Bhojpuri films in Birganj’s theatres."
Families on both sides share geography, language, and religion that tie them closer to each other than to the far-off state capital. Even construction material tells a story—locals still float logs down from Nepal's forests to build homes in India.
In Jaigaon, West Bengal, the border with Bhutan is marked by the ornate Bhutan Gate leading to Phuentsholing. Here, the interaction is more symbiotic: Indians cross for clean streets and Bhutanese shops, while Bhutanese come to Jaigaon's markets for cheaper goods. Some Bhutanese even rent homes in India while working across the line. "If you talk to residents of Phuentsholing in their fifties, many will recall schooling in India, since Bhutan's education system was still developing when they were kids," Damodaran said.
Other frontiers are marked more by neglect than interaction. Minicoy in Lakshadweep lies closer to the Maldives than to mainland India. This distance is not just geographical but psychological. When Independence came to India in 1947, Minicoyans remained unaware about it for four years, only learning in 1951 that they were part of a newly-formed nation. "It is sad but true," said Damodaran, "that if a tsunami swept Minicoy away, few would remember that such a people and their culture ever existed."
Here, village life is run by the Moopan system, where headmen and headwomen share authority. Uniquely, Minicoy's families follow a dual residence pattern: men and women spend part of the day at their in-laws' homes and the rest with their parents. "I was told that both men and women inherit two homes on marriage," Damodaran recalled. "It was unlike anything I had seen."
At the far east end of the country lies Moreh, Manipur, a bustling outpost on the India–Myanmar frontier. Damodaran described how one half of the bridge lay in India and the other in Myanmar. Children play freely on one side of the border, their tossed sticks drifting across an invisible line into another nation. For locals, borders are less rigid than they appear on maps. These are sites where markets, dialects, and even currencies flow into one another.
For travellers, the borderlands hold contradictions. They mark divisions on a map, yet on the ground, they are places of exchange; where rivers flow both ways, dialects blend, and rituals cross unseen lines.
"Borders are supposed to divide," Damodaran said, "but they also shape a continuity that refuses to end."
At India's frontiers, one begins to see that the nation's story is not confined to its heartlands but written equally at the margins—where the past meets the present and distances, cultures, and lives overlap to create reality.
Q1. What is Borderlands: Stories from India’s Boundaries about?
It’s a travel narrative by Pradeep Damodaran that explores India’s border regions, revealing how people live, adapt, and connect across the nation’s boundaries.
Q2. Which areas of India are featured in Borderlands?
The book spans India’s borders with Pakistan, Bangladesh, China, and Myanmar, as well as the island frontiers of Lakshadweep and the Andaman & Nicobar Islands.
Q3. What are the main themes of Borderlands?
It explores identity, belonging, displacement, resilience, and shared culture in communities that live at India’s geographical and political edges.
Q4. Why are India’s borderlands significant?
They reveal the human stories behind geopolitical lines — how ordinary people navigate isolation, nationalism, and cultural blending at the nation’s periphery.
Q5. Who should read Borderlands?
Travel enthusiasts, sociologists, and readers interested in India’s diverse cultures, frontier regions, and contemporary travel writing will find it deeply engaging.
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