Decolonisation is very much a 21st-century buzzword. From the demolition of Coulston’s statue to the repatriation of the Benin Bronzes to changes in the education system – this trend is not likely to die out. But as we look forward to a world in which necessary and uncomfortable conversations are had, we can also look back on the irrefutable history of Imperialism in India that remains a key piece in the puzzle of our surroundings.

Imperialism has taken on a life of its own, becoming a distinct character in our history. Cambridge, as the third oldest university, is reminiscent not just of great hall dinners and the echoes of famous footsteps once passing through its campus but also of a more sinister tie to Britain’s colonial past. Though not commonly addressed as we tuck in to college brunch or pass through Sidgwick Site, the redress of this past is not something that the university, as a whole, has shied from. Decolonisation Working Groups are actively revising colonial narratives in their collections; Eurocentricity is being challenged within educational spheres. This critical analysis of the ugly face of Imperialism and shift towards an inclusive new face is a gradual (and uneasy) one, but I wonder, in this educational climate so vastly different in its attitudes to that of even a century ago, how students’ Indian ethnicity play a role in this new cultural climate?

“Her generation cultivated sugar cane – and I’m pursuing quite a different path”

As a half-Punjabi and half-Kiwi Brit, the importance of education was rarely understated; my naniji (grandma) grew up in a farming village in the northern Indian region of the Punjab and longed for an education that after the age of 14, she was not afforded. Her generation cultivated sugar cane – and I’m pursuing quite a different path. “From Babak to Cambridge”, she says. Yet, within this turn of phrase muttered over a simmering pot of dhal, lies a deeper message – tying the prestigious experience that Cambridge affords to one’s ethnic roots is a weird feeling, an identity disorientation that speaks to all the ages of immigration and spans all manner of geographical distances. But, just like Jaipreet Kaur Lully, an HML student at Murray Edwards, I feel a certain pride in my Indianness.

“It feels special being Punjabi and being at Cambridge; I feel that it’s a celebration and makes older generations proud to know that their hard work also had a subconscious part in this,” Jaipreet tells me, “previously this goal was less conceivable”. This is certainly true, looking further back at the context of 20th-century India and its relation to Cambridge; India was only given independence in 1947, which triggered an institutional redress of Cambridge’s role in upholding imperial ideologies. I need look no further back than my grandma’s youth to be reminded of the generational trauma of British-Indian communities across the UK triggered by this. Reginald Dyer himself, who ordered the attack on civilians in the Punjab, later recognised as the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre, walked these very streets during his studentship. It’s reminders like this, Jaipreet feels, that sits at the core of addressing student values for minority ethnic communities: “As a Cambridge student, you become representative of the university, and you’re tied to its values. So, in a sense, it is our duty to both support and question its histories.”

“As a Cambridge student, you become representative of the university, and you’re tied to its values”

This introspection is not only important, but it’s a key aspect of the university admissions process. The “questioning spirit” underlined in the University’s Mission and Core Values extends to this level of analysis – the very admissions process (a nauseating reminder, I know) requires you to challenge your own views, ideas and even the perspectives of others. Our understanding of diverse cultural narratives is brought forward into the collective sphere of our education; it informs how we view ourselves within this place ripe with every variety of history. And, as Indian students, many seem to feel that this past irrefutably influences their present reflections on studying at a place with clear ties to a painful past.

However, despite feeling socially integrated into Cambridge as a city and university, the journey to culturally identify with the place you study is not a straightforward one. Shereen Bansal, a NatSci Student at Caius, feels the way we “view the history of prestigious institutions” inherently emphasises that this recognition, and indeed a celebration of ethnic difference, is a perspective only recently shared in this community. Having recently celebrated Diwali, I felt some of that bizarre dysphoria of lighting the traditional candle whilst situated at an institution whose legacies of colonial wealth (in particular that amassed from the East India Company) helped build the university in which I now study. A place that you have essentially been told is now your place as a student doesn’t easily reconcile with these fixed truths.

Mysha Ali, a Caius Engineering student, echoes this idea. “Sometimes it feels like a reminder that this place wasn’t made for people like me,” she says. Whilst that is certainly true of the past, I can now look upon Cambridge as a university in which Indian communities can flourish. With both regional and linguistic societies and events that uplift these communities alike, it feels as though Cambridge can be made for anyone; given the opportunity, ethnic minorities don’t have to exist in the margins of Cambridge society.

In a university that was once inaccessible to many, the opportunity for reflection, dialogue and growth is now at the forefront of the Cambridge experience. The students who walk its halls today represent a future where inclusivity is no longer an aspiration but a living, breathing reality. Cambridge, with all its history, can be a place of unity and transformation, where Indian stories add to the richness of its ongoing legacy.