Not eating makes me irritable, which is unfortunate because I diet. Since I swore off food after 6 pm sometime in mid-May, I have been thinner but grumpier, and most nights you can find me cocooned in my own thoughts watching cooking shows as if they were virtual meals. As you can imagine, my social life has nosedived. Irritable, hungry people do not go out to dinner parties.
So it was that last week I was alone at home scrolling through all the think pieces on the Indo-Pakistani quagmire. I hesitate to even type the word ‘India’ now because the moment you do there are seventy nasty letters that arrive like Hogwarts-style posts of poison from across the border. I got some letters like these last week despite my cheery optimism (or maybe because of it), and although they usually don’t faze me, the hunger won its games and I was elbow-deep in a vitriolic reply (ALL CAPS ALL THE TIME) when I was distracted with the incoming bong on another email. Like a jittery pheasant I pounced on what I thought was more hate-mail but was disarmed to find a very sweet invitation letter to the opening of the South Asian galleries at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
If Philadelphia were a person, it would be an old woman who was born rich but now lives in student housing and talks constantly about how great things were before "the revolution"
How exciting! This was going to be a starry event, one of those dusky galas wherein Bruce Wayne stylishly broods until he is interrupted by a calamity while well-dressed debutantes flee frantically in the background. Or so I hoped. The Philadelphia Museum is one of the finest American museums the country has, and is housed in a large, beautiful purpose-built building that the city itself seemed to be built around. You may recall its regal steps from the movie ‘Rocky’ (Sly Stallone climbing up-and-down in a cardiovascular fit of glory). The city itself has seen some better days. For some reason I’ve been going to Philly quite a bit these past few months, and I’ve come to a conclusion: if the city were a person, it would be an old woman who was born rich but now lives in student housing and wears an old shawl while serving tea and talks constantly about how great things were before “the revolution”. In short, she’s seen better days. The grandeur of the buildings in the historic city center is now jarring among the miles of shuttered loft spaces and abandoned houses.
Pakistan-born artist Shahzia Sikander (left), whose video animation work was specially commissioned by the museum for the re-launch of the South Asian galleries
Once upon a time, of course, Philadelphia was an important port, home to much industry and a bustling society (which is why the museum was so well-endowed), but now it is dwarfed by its proximity to New York and DC - and wears a permanent air of decline. Still, a weekend away from my ongoing feud with the bar below my apartment is a welcome chance, so I RSVP’d to the museum immediately.
After a short train ride down and a quick change at a hotel (I don’t do night travel), I took a car, which dropped me at the majestic entrance of the museum. It looked like the beginning of a ball. Once past security and the check-in table, I was in the large central atrium echoing with the chattering of about 300 people dressed in everything from tuxedos to ghararas. There was an open bar (yay) and scattered around the room were tables stuffed with desi finger foods like samosas and kababs (YAY!!), and this is where I spent most of my wonderful evening.
The curators have obviously been working on the project for some time, and after some emotional speeches, they invited the guests to the galleries which were one floor up, past the medieval section. I’m chuffed to say this was not my first museum event, and my favorite bit about being at a museum after hours is how you can roam around the galleries as if on a private tour.
Once I’d passed the medieval courts and crucifixes (#papadontpreach), the South Asian galleries revealed themselves with a Tibetan courtyard. A caveat here is that the galleries were not solely South Asian, but moved rather heedlessly between Tibet, China, the Indian Subcontinent and Iran. The galleries were smaller than I had imagined, but they were well-appointed. The best part of them, however, was the wonderful piece the Museum had specially commissioned by Pakistan’s very own Shahzia Sikander (*applause*), which will rest in its own little room on permanent display. The piece is a video animation filled with miniature imagery juxtaposed with a moving sound piece by Coke Studio star Ali Sethi. It’s contemplative, beautiful and cerebral, like much of the rest of Sikander’s work, and I hope you get a chance to see it one day. It behooves me to mention that she was the only contemporary artist who was part of the display, and that this is a major honor for the country at large.
On another note, I was happy to socialise with expatriate South Asians generally. I met several Indians (two in the air force, another a former general whose father was born in Lahore) and it was a relief to chat in the culturally rich but politically neutral space of the American museum. It reminded of all the trite things I and others say about unity amidst division; but it did so in a way that made me nostalgic for Pakistan and India both. Alas, given that I was responsible for eating two-thirds of the samosas in my vicinity, my happy feelings could just as easily have been the fried pastry working its wonders.
