bits and pieces of thoughts, visual politics and travel experiences
Dastgeer Sahib - an epitaph
The beginning of the day this morning was not one of the lightest. The gray sky above Berlin met with the news of the fire of Dastgeer Sahib, a Sufi shrine in the centre of Srinagar, the summer capital of kashmir.
The shrine is one of the symbolic landmarks of the city: a massive structure made of carved wood, with tall spires, papier mache decoration, large chandeliers hanging over the prayer room.
In the complicated tale of Kashmiri syncretism, Dastgeer Sahib is a symbol of tolerance and coexistence: an emblematic trait of Sufism in general and a point of pride in the specific Kashmiri declination.
In a country plagued by inter-religious conflict, the coincidence of the fire with the beginning of a large and highly contested Hindu pilgrimage has a sinister taste. No conspiracy theory, the two events are totally unrelated: it is just a cynical serendipity.
The fire of Dastgeer Sahib is one of those news that doesn’t quite make it to the global news. Still I thought, that Dastgeer Sahib would deserve a little epitaph, a little thought - even just in passing.
The singer was singing
And they question him
Why do you sing?
He answers them as they seize him
Because I sing
And they have searched him:
In his breast only his heart
In his heart only his people
In his voice only his sorrow
In his sorrow only his prison
And they have searched his prison
To find only themselves in chains
— Mahmoud Darwish
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Termites
Termites have eaten my bamboo bed in Bangalore, the only material possession that physically connected me to India.
An important object that I had it made thinking that it could be a way to anchor my presence in India.
An act of stability, an attempt at stabilisation.
And then today I got the news of the termites.
In a moment when I am seriously thinking of what next and more insistently about where is next.
The detachment from India had started to seem unavoidable, but still difficult to articulate and a little painful to conceive.
And then the termites came.
I could not think of any more cinematographic way to happily close a chapter and start pondering about the next page.
I am sorry, Bangalore, I cannot stay for much longer: termites ate my bed.
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