The day has been extraordinarily ordinary.
The only way I could beat the palpable fear of what-next this morning was by sinking into the even distraught Partition narrative. The proximity of politics and the stupidity of religious/class/caste rioters combined to evoke childhood curfew memories. Growing up in Upper Assam, there was always some curfew or the other, whether from the authorities or from those who challenged it. Armed men were a common (rather, soothing) sight, but the absence of "enemy" was an eerie feeling. In spite of seasonal differences, the nature of my family was to lap at every call. We were everything -- Bangladeshis, Bengalis, refugees, outsiders, also middle-class. I guess Partition prepared lineages and legacies to succumb, to obey. We never took it to heart, friendly puppies.
Last November, a chance writing of a Common App about a restaurant on the Wagah-Attari border enthused my interest in the narrative. As I revisited Amritsar, and stories on Partition, I realize how critically ruthless the drawing of borders have been. They scarred souls.Witnessing the hypermasculine performance, the paranoid patriotism (amidst popcorn chants of Vande Mataram), and the indiscipline of the crowd, spoiled the disciplined aesthetics of the Beating Retreat.
Amidst Bollywood beats which unites India like nothing else, I was left with an epiphany. A bird had just flown from the Indian blue sky into the Pakistani blue sky. Without signifiers, life would be so much more inclusive and plural.
All that unites us now is the uncertainty of the unknown.
#21DaysLockdown
The only way I could beat the palpable fear of what-next this morning was by sinking into the even distraught Partition narrative. The proximity of politics and the stupidity of religious/class/caste rioters combined to evoke childhood curfew memories. Growing up in Upper Assam, there was always some curfew or the other, whether from the authorities or from those who challenged it. Armed men were a common (rather, soothing) sight, but the absence of "enemy" was an eerie feeling. In spite of seasonal differences, the nature of my family was to lap at every call. We were everything -- Bangladeshis, Bengalis, refugees, outsiders, also middle-class. I guess Partition prepared lineages and legacies to succumb, to obey. We never took it to heart, friendly puppies.
Last November, a chance writing of a Common App about a restaurant on the Wagah-Attari border enthused my interest in the narrative. As I revisited Amritsar, and stories on Partition, I realize how critically ruthless the drawing of borders have been. They scarred souls.Witnessing the hypermasculine performance, the paranoid patriotism (amidst popcorn chants of Vande Mataram), and the indiscipline of the crowd, spoiled the disciplined aesthetics of the Beating Retreat.
Amidst Bollywood beats which unites India like nothing else, I was left with an epiphany. A bird had just flown from the Indian blue sky into the Pakistani blue sky. Without signifiers, life would be so much more inclusive and plural.
All that unites us now is the uncertainty of the unknown.
#21DaysLockdown
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