Almost a third of Sri Lanka’s Tamil population—those who trace their ancestry to the North and East of the island, the Tamil homeland—were forced to flee Sri Lanka. Together with their descendants, they now number close to one million people scattered across the globe. Yet the scale and significance of this displacement remain poorly understood, not only by the wider world, but even within the Tamil diaspora itself.

What struck me most was discovering that many second- and third-generation Tamils have only a limited understanding of why their parents and grandparents were compelled to leave their homes and rebuild their lives under unfamiliar skies. At the same time, I encountered a growing curiosity among younger generations—a desire to understand their roots, their history, and the forces that shaped their families’ journeys.

This longing is not unique to Tamils. In Australia, I have observed similar quests among descendants of Irish, Italian, and Greek migrants, often generations removed, who feel an innate human need to reconnect with their origins. It became clear to me that Tamils, too, would inevitably embark on similar journeys of rediscovery. The question was whether a meaningful narrative would exist to guide them.

Telling the Story Through People

There was, I felt, a pressing need for a work that could meet this need—one that provided historical and sociological context while remaining accessible and deeply human. A purely chronological or political account of events, focused on causes and consequences, though important, risked being perceived as distant or abstract. The story of displacement needed to be alive and relatable.

The most powerful way to tell this story was through the voices of those who lived it, and of their children who inherited its legacy. Storytelling grounded in lived experience has the ability to humanize history, making it authentic, immediate, and emotionally resonant.

In curating Uprooted, I was mindful that for these stories to resonate beyond the Tamil community, the individuals featured needed to be recognized in their adopted countries for their achievements and contributions. They had to represent a wide range of disciplines, geographies, and experiences, reflecting the truly global nature of the Tamil diaspora, with women and men fairly represented.

The result is a collection of thirty-four Tamil men and women of Sri Lankan origin whose lives trace the trauma of displacement, the struggle to belong, and the triumphs achieved against formidable odds. They include artists, writers, journalists, educators, scientists, humanitarians, human rights advocates, social activists, politicians, culinary experts, sportspeople, survivors, and storytellers. Together, their narratives form a rich mosaic of resilience, creativity, and commitment.

George Alagaiah BBC Journalist

From a displaced Tamil child to one of Britain’s most trusted journalists, George Alagiah reported not for spectacle, but for humanity. His life and work remind us that the world is best understood through the voices at its margins.

 Shankari Chandran, winner of the Myles Franklin Prize, Australia’s “Booker”.

Once told her stories were “not Australian enough,” Shankari Chandran rewrote the literary map.
Her journey from the margins to winning the Miles Franklin Prize redefines who gets to tell the Australian story.

 Maya Arulpragasam M IA Musician

From refugee child to global provocateur, M.I.A. turned lived experience into sound, spectacle, and dissent.
Her music insists that war, displacement, and power are not abstract ideas—but personal histories.

Beyond the Tamil Diaspora

My own journey in researching and curating this collection has been deeply humbling. Wherever possible, I spoke directly with those featured, listening carefully as they shared their stories in their own words. In some cases, this was not possible—some individuals are no longer with us, and others could not be reached despite sustained efforts. In such instances, I relied on a wide range of sources, including archival materials, published interviews, public records, and media coverage, approaching each story with care and respect.

As I immersed myself in these lives, I was repeatedly struck by the strength and determination that defined them. Many navigated the challenges of adapting to dominant cultures while negotiating the tension between inherited traditions and contemporary identities. Experiences of ‘otherness’ were common, yet these stories are not defined by loss or victimhood. They are stories of people who found ways not only to survive, but to thrive—and to give back to both their ancestral homeland and the countries they now call home.

It became increasingly clear that the significance of these narratives extends far beyond the Sri Lankan Tamil diaspora. Uprooted offers compelling evidence of multiculturalism at its best. At a time when societies across the world are becoming more diverse, these stories demonstrate how cultural pluralism, when embraced, strengthens social fabric and enriches national life.

As such, Uprooted is a book for the diaspora and beyond—for all those who seek to understand what a truly multicultural globe can look like. Rooted in the Tamil experience, it speaks to universal questions: how we belong without erasing where we come from, how we honour inherited identities while embracing the values of our adopted societies, and how stories of displacement can become stories of contribution, dignity, and hope.

In telling these stories, Uprooted seeks not only to preserve memory, but to foster understanding—across generations, across communities, and far beyond the Tamil diaspora.