Baloch, Aboriginal, and Beyond: Tracing Forgotten Lineages & Evolving Identities

I recently came across a fascinating family history article by Sabah Rind, a writer of Baloch and Australian Aboriginal descent. Her lineage is remarkably complex—she is at least a quarter Iranian, predominantly Baloch (5/8), with the remainder Malay (1/16) and Aboriginal (1/16) heritage. Yet, despite generations of intermarriage, her roots remain deeply embedded in the Global South and the Islamicate world.

Her father is Baloch, but her grandfather was half Baloch, a quarter Aboriginal, and a quarter Malay—a lineage shaped by centuries of Indian Ocean migration, trade, and cultural fusion.

Among the 400 descendants of the original Badoola-Marium pairing, Sabah remains one of the most ethnically Baloch, while many others have assimilated or drifted toward new identities over time. Her cousin, Dr. Umber Rind (they seem to share the same grandfather, Numrose, and it’s a bit confusing since they discuss different ancestries) writes on being a proud Indigenous Muslim woman descended from the cameleers.

This reminded me of an Australian colleague I once worked with—a white-presenting man with the surname Khan. He once mentioned that his grandfather had moved to Australia and was Pakistani—or so he thought. Given the historical patterns of Baloch migration, I now wonder if his roots actually traced back to Balochistan, a region whose history and diaspora remain surprisingly underexplored. Muslim contact with indigenous Australia seems to go back to the 18th century with Makassan contact with Australia.

“Regina Ganter and Peta Stephenson, building on Ian McIntosh’s (2000) research, argue that elements of Islam were creatively integrated into Yolngu culture, with Muslim influences still evident in certain ceremonies and Dreaming stories in the early 21st century. Stephenson further speculates that the Makassans may have been the first to introduce Islam to Australia.

Anthropologist John Bradley of Monash University supports this view, stating:

“If you go to north-east Arnhem Land, traces of Islam can be found in song, painting, dance, and funeral rituals. It is patently obvious that elements have been borrowed. Linguistic analysis also reveals hymns or prayers directed to Allah.”“

This idea—that ancestry is often more layered than we realize—brings to mind Dr. Peter Khan, a very prominent Bahá’í figure and a former member of the Universal House of Justice, the highest governing body of the Bahá’í Faith. Born in Bowral, New South Wales, Australia, Dr. Khan traced his family origins to Khasi Kalan, Ludhiana, Punjab, India. When he was 12, his family became the first Muslims in Australia to embrace the Bahá’í Faith—a profound example of how migration, faith, and cultural transformation intersect.

This brings me to an encounter I had last month in India, one that further illustrates the fluidity of identity and the pressures that shape it. At a Bahá’í Feast (which we hold every 19 days), I got to talking to a very pleasant Bahá’í man with a Hindu first name. I assumed he was of Hindu ancestry, but what surprised me was that his entire lineage was Muslim—from Uttar Pradesh and the Bohra community. Over generations, his family had progressively taken on Hindu names (their surname was their grandfather’s takalus, which was religiously ambiguous but leaned Hindu), and he and his brother had both married Hindus (one was an arranged introduction with a Brahmin girl). He quipped that if Muslims in India wanted to ease their struggles, they should do what Indian Christians did—incorporate a Hindu first name or some Hindu cultural marker.

His comment stayed with me. The “flight from Islamicate”—the gradual shedding of visibly Muslim identity markers—seems to be an unspoken survival strategy in certain regions, whether through name changes, cultural shifts, or social reinvention. It’s something I’ve noticed in my own life too; whenever I’m in India, I find myself leaning into my Irani-Parsi heritage and playing down any Islamicate affiliations—a silent adaptation to the environment. I suspect even in last decade; my own identity has rapidly shifted away from the Ummah and more towards the Brahma.

Whether through Sabah Rind’s lineage, the Baloch diaspora in Australia, or Dr. Khan’s journey from Punjab to Bahá’í leadership, these stories illustrate a fundamental truth: identity is never static. It moves, evolves, and reshapes itself across time, borders, and generations.

Meet the fourth generation of a Baluch Afghan cameleer

But it was not an easy task for a Baluch Afghan cameleer to marry an Aboriginal woman at the time with the Chief Protector of Aborigines, A. O Neville, deeming the marriage illegal and wanting to take Marium away from her husband and put her in an Aboriginal settlement.

Before marrying Goolam, Marium Martin’s name was Marian Martin. Source: Supplied

“Because of his culture, he wanted to marry her and at that time the Afghan men honoured the Aboriginal women by marrying them, not raping them, if you know Australian history,” Ms Rind said.

Auber Octavius Neville – known as A. O. Neville – was given the role of Chief Protector of Aborigines of Western Australia in 1915 and held the position until 1940.  It gave him the power to dominate Aboriginal life for over two decades. He was responsible for the removal of mixed-heritage Aboriginal children from their families, later to be known as the Stolen Generations.

Marium Martin died at the age of 27. Source: Supplied

Ms Rind remembers Goolam and Marium’s only daughter Nora who died in 2005, recounting the story of them hiding in the bush with her older brothers to avoid being captured by the department of child protection.