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Phantom Limbs

Text by Shah Numair Ahmed Abbasi

Most schools in Pakistan inculcate that the genesis of the ‘South Asian Muslim identity’ lays in the advent of Muhammad Bin Qasim. The commencement of our history lessons from this conquest is not only problematic for being a single story (it is overly simplistic and creates false assumptions about individuals, groups, and places) but also instills a potentially toxic, nationalistic sentiment that creates a dissonance amongst people who were previously unaware of their supposed differences.

In reality, the region we now identify as South Asia has existed for over millennia with most of its history spent in the presence of human inhabitants. Nationhood, citizenship, and identity are recent constructs that while fuelling a sense of solidarity among smaller groups, adversely created fractures between various lands and its populace. Self-interest, power, security, and an implanted sense of otherization motivated the erection of barriers and borders that not only disrupted interaction but also impeded human migrations and transnational movements that have otherwise existed and seamlessly operated for centuries.

Born in Lahore, raised in UAE with several geographical displacements, Saba Qizilbash’s hybrid identity propelled her to not only question the abstract concept of home, but also inspect how human movement is policed, altered, and restricted. Her recent body of work is an inquiry into the human migrations and the geopolitics across the South Asian landscapes. Most of the context behind the work stems from the artist's personal experiences and histories such as her frequent visits to Srinagar and Lahore, the stories of her ancestors’ migrations, and even the latent origin of her perceivably Central Asian surname.

The large-scale photographic drawings are highly detailed. The artist’s use of graphite to reconstruct the landscapes is an autopsy to understand and dissect the politics of the familiar terrain and the memory its vestiges embody.

Qizilbash’s drawings hold the potency to bend time. The disoriented viewer is left conflicted and cannot adjudicate whether the scenes are from a distant bygone or an apocalyptic, post-human future. Furthermore, in light of the recent events such as the tragic Beirut blast and the global lockdowns because of the pandemic, it is a disconcerting realization of how current the emptiness and the decrepit rubbles feel. The visuals come across as both detailed documentation as well as a whimsical imagination. They look familiar and seemingly capture reality, but they also allude to a mutated, otherworldly paradigm. Qizilbash poses several possibilities in her drawings. By deliberately conglomerating a myriad of ‘what ifs’ she weaves the past to the future and coalesces both fact and fiction to create an illusory déjà vu experience.

The locations and landmarks rendered in Qizilbash’s drawings are primarily those that have been drastically affected by the demarcation lines. These landmarks have undergone either a change of

name, faith, or purpose. The artist retells the stories of separation and affliction that these sites have either experienced or witnessed and now withstand to share. For instance the Neelam/ Kishenganga River originates in Sonamarg area of Kashmir, India, and meanders into Pakistan. The river effortlessly oscillates between its two identities every time it snakes around the line of control. Its benevolence has also been weaponized by either country in a jingoistic race to build dams and hydel plants at the expense of the villagers nearby. They were displaced for the construction to proceed and deprived of the immediate benefits from these man-made thresholds.

Qizilbash is also interested in regions around the border – the lines of control. In her view, these no man’s lands have no nationality, no faith, and no ownership. A feeling of abandonment emanates from these sites – a series of ‘has/had been’. With no actors present, they demonstrate some sort of former occupancy and past human activity. This post-humanistic topography signifies a future in which bodies are enhanced, replaced, or surpassed. These ghost-towns are no longer defined by species or by carbon-based physicality. There is an undeniable sense of privation that can be extrapolated from the tragedies these sites recollect. The artist uses these as iconographies to silently lament over an individual as well as collective loss.

Migration and movement are intrinsic to South Asian identities. While many South Asian memories of migration are about trauma, loss, and harder life events – there are also memories of intimacy, yearning, and reconciliation. Qizilbash retraces most of these historic migratory as well as trade routes. She erases barriers and any human presence or protocols to facilitate an unhindered movement of human traffic. For example, “Torkham to Lahore” and “Wagah to Kolkatta” are the second and third of a series respectively in which the artist continues charting one of Asia’s longest and oldest roads, the Grand Trunk road. The 2500-year-old route that stretches from Kabul to Chittagong and connects Central Asia to South Asia is now divided between four countries. Qizilbash maps these routes and physically navigates these spaces. In ‘Karachi to Lucknow’ Qizilbash recounts how refugees, intending to migrate to Pakistan after the 1965 war, had to first migrate to East Pakistan before taking a long, arduous coastal journey to Karachi in West Pakistan.

Within one frame, Qizilbash situates the two coasts of Chittagong and Karachi to expedite and ease the otherwise cataclysmic exodus. A ramp placed in the center of the composition invites the viewers to walk into the landscape and take a neutral stance. She enables us to observe the grim and grievous history as an objective bystander.

Qizilbash also encourages travelers and displaced persons to keep moving in what looks like a maze. The visuals do not look stationary. Instead, the cacophony from the melded sites reverberates a sense of urgency and discourages any rest breaks. These are neither destinations to arrive at nor the points of departure. Similar to fleeting views from a moving vehicle, the progression of images are snapshots taken mid-journey. This continuum of locomotion is reinforced by the intricate network of roads, tunnels, overpass, rivers, and railway tracks that seem to have no beginning and no end.

Some of these drawings are cast in resin. The artist employs this ancient form of protective coating to

quite literally preserve the quasi-historical narratives that are replete with emotions of aggrandization,

longing, and melancholy. Using drawing as investigative research, Saba Qizilbash reopens unresolved

accounts and excavates living archives and material memory to reminisce the stories of crossing

borders. She chronicles the undying consequences of the politics of cultural policy, nationalism, and human geography.

Qizilbash also postulates the several possible futures of dynamics of migration, mobility, and citizenship against a global backdrop where personhood has the ever-changing become an increasingly fluid and complex concept.

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