Twenty five years of terror, alienation, exile. Kashmir’s art echoes the rage. And is now demanding a stage to vent it. The Srinagar Biennale will be a first step. Come butcher, sing me a song For I am waiting for sleep to come Weave me a lullaby” Ten sheep skins on the wall instead of a blackboard. On the school chair, an oxygen mask. Underneath, an oxygen cylinder. Ice, and a notebook. Shoe moulds on another wall. A childhood in a lost place. A memoir of extremes. Made in 2013,…
Read MoreSongs of the wounded
