Autobiography of an Archive: A Scholar’s Passage to India

Imagine stepping into a vast chamber of history, where every dusty shelf and fragile manuscript whispers stories of power, memory, and identity. The archive is not merely a silent repository of documents but a monument—an enduring symbol of the state’s claim over history itself. The archive embodies the state’s interest in preserving and shaping the past to justify its present authority. This dual nature makes the archive both a treasure trove for historians and a potent instrument of governance.

Long before modern archival institutions existed, history was etched into the very fabric of monuments. In premodern South India, inscriptions on temple walls and copper plates served as living archives, embedding genealogies, land grants, and royal edicts into the sacred space itself. These inscriptions were not just records but declarations of power, sanctified by their permanence and visibility. History was monumental in both form and function, inseparable from the institutions and rulers it celebrated.

Yet, encountering such an archive can be overwhelming. The sheer volume of documents, the labyrinthine catalogues, and the fragmented nature of sources create a daunting landscape for any scholar. One can feel lost amid thousands of pages, unsure where to begin or how to discern significance. But this challenge is part of the archive’s nature—it is both a gateway to truth and a maze shaped by political and historical contingencies.

Consider the colonial archives, where the accumulation of documents was deeply intertwined with imperial ambitions. The British colonial state in India transformed record-keeping into a bureaucratic art, using archives to classify, control, and contain the colonized populations. Colonial archives reflect the shift of state anxiety from political sovereignty to social and cultural surveillance. Caste classifications, ethnographic surveys, and land records were not neutral but instruments of power, shaping how India was understood and governed.

Even local archives, such as those in former princely states, reveal the complex layering of history and colonial influence. The dusty volumes of land settlements and genealogies tell stories of privilege, resistance, and adaptation. They are living documents, still invoked in courts and village disputes, bridging past and present in tangible ways.

As we embark on this journey through the archive, we begin to see that history is not a fixed narrative but a contested terrain. The archive itself is a text—fragmented, partial, and shaped by the hands that collected and preserved it. To understand history, we must also understand the archive’s power and limitations. This insight sets the stage for deeper exploration into how history and anthropology intertwine, how empire shapes knowledge, and how academic institutions engage with these legacies.

Let us now move forward to explore the personal and intellectual passages that reveal the archive’s human dimension and the scholar’s quest within it.