Cooking Hope, Living In Exile: The Story Of Sri Lankan Refugees In Chennai

Born in exile, Gourinathan has never known the agony of living in a land torn apart by civil war. But his parents did. In the early 1990s, after being targeted for being Tamils in Sri Lanka, they fled to Tamil Nadu seeking refuge. Gourinathan was then a three-month-old foetus in his mother’s womb.

More than three decades later, Gourinathan still lives in Chennai, officially designated a refugee. His parents died as refugees. At Chennai’s iconic Ripon Building, Gourinathan recounted the life of being born a refugee and the everyday struggles that continue to define their existence.

Gourinathan is among the nearly 60,000 Sri Lankan refugees living across Tamil Nadu. The state government has set up refugee camps in 28 of its 32 districts, with some of the largest camps located in Ramanathapuram and Trichy districts.

“Though we were born in India and have never been to any other country, we still do not have citizenship rights. Many of the documents and entitlements accessible to ordinary citizens remain out of reach for us,” says Gourinathan, an inmate of the Puzhal refugee camp in Chennai.

Flavours of Ceylon

Last month, with the support of civil society organisations and the Chennai Corporation, residents of the camp started a small hotel in a Corporation building, serving what they describe as authentic Sri Lankan food — an attempt not only to earn a livelihood but also to preserve a part of the culture they grew up hearing about from their parents.

“Earlier, I worked as an accountant in a private IT company,” says Vijitha. “My parents told me I came to India when I was just 23 days old. I studied while living in the camp. Some of my relatives are in other camps, and even to visit them we need prior permission from the authorities.”

Vijitha says she has never been to Sri Lanka, yet the island remains emotionally present in her life through stories, memories, and distant relatives. “I don’t want to go back to Sri Lanka, but many of my relatives, whom I have never met in my life, are there. We speak to them over the phone. I love this country. But I hope that one day I can at least visit my parents’ home and meet my relatives,” she says, her emotions caught between the country that gave her life and the land where her roots remain buried.

According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), nearly 79 per cent of Sri Lankan refugees in India have lived in the country for more than 30 years, while about 45% were born here. For many families, exile has stretched across generations, leaving them suspended between two countries — one that they fled and the other that still does not fully recognise them as its own.

“While refugees continue to have access to voluntary repatriation, interest in returning to Sri Lanka has declined significantly in recent years,” says Sachitanada Valen Micheal, Head of Field Office at the UNHCR in Chennai. “In response, there is growing emphasis on local solutions through various initiatives of the Tamil Nadu government and the Union government. In September 2025, Sri Lankan refugees were exempted from penal action under the Immigration and Foreigners Act, facilitating continued protection and inclusion,” he adds.

Stateless in Chennai

Several organisations work alongside the government to help refugees navigate legal, educational and livelihood-related challenges. Among the oldest of them is the Organisation for Eelam Refugees Rehabilitation (OfERR), which has been working with Tamil refugees since 1984.

“The state and Union governments have addressed the issue of Tamil refugees with utmost humanity,” says Suriya Kumari of OfERR. “Many refugees were born and brought up here. Though the citizenship issue persists, they are able to live peacefully in India.”

Over the decades, refugee communities have built lives, families, and relationships within the camps and beyond. Many refugees married fellow refugees, but their children, too, continue to remain outside the ambit of citizenship rights. Others, however, found a pathway to legal belonging through marriage to Indian citizens.

Geetha counts herself among the fortunate few. Her memories of Sri Lanka are distant and fragmented. “We came from Trincomalee. I am not a citizen of this country, but my children received Indian citizenship because my husband is an Indian citizen,” she says. There are many women like Geetha whose children secured citizenship rights because one parent was an Indian citizen — a contrast that highlights the uncertain legal status of thousands of others who, despite being born and raised in India, continue to remain refugees in the eyes of the law.

“The hotel, named Adasil — an ancient Tamil word for cooked food — has made our lives more settled,” says Vijitha. “Earlier, we used to work in different places. Now we are focused on building this organisation, and we enjoy working here.”

The restaurant employs 26 women, all of them Sri Lankan refugees, many of whom have spent most of their lives in camps across Tamil Nadu. Beyond providing employment, the initiative has also created a sense of dignity, community and emotional belonging for women who have long lived on the margins of society.

India currently hosts nearly 250,000 refugees and asylum-seekers. Though India is not a signatory to the 1951 Refugee Convention, it has historically provided asylum and assistance to displaced communities through a mix of ad-hoc government policies and international humanitarian arrangements.

Among the largest recognised refugee populations in India are Tibetans, with more than 100,000 people living in settlements across various states after fleeing Tibet following the 1959 uprising against Chinese rule.

The arrival of Sri Lankan Tamil refugees began in 1983, when civil war erupted in Sri Lanka between the government and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE). As violence escalated, thousands of Tamils crossed the Palk Strait seeking safety in Tamil Nadu, bound not only by geographical proximity but also by deep linguistic and cultural ties.

More than four decades later, many of those who arrived as children — or were born in the camps themselves — continue to live in India balancing memories of a homeland they barely know with lives deeply rooted in this country.