Chapter II - London
And suddenly I’m in it again. In the middle of it all, at the British Museum.
I stand against a gold crown that shines shamelessly at me. It belonged to a nomadic 19-year-old girl who lived in first century A.D., around Tillya Tepeh (in today’s Afghanistan). The precious heirloom was designed so that it would fold, piece by piece – how practical.
It keeps on shining amongst other pieces of jewelry, with such prosperity that it’s hard not to wonder, what happened. The geometrical pattern looks so “modern” that I laugh at how unique we think “modernity” is.
Post modernism, formalism, structuralism; all these ‘isms’ to make us feel like we’re constantly progressing and developing— Oh yes, we are evolving, no?
I see a pattern: birth, progress, reaction, regress, and death. There is nothing linear about it.
I look at maps of long-gone polities and gated cities. I notice the luxurious landscapes that people had the pleasure of looking at, and how much space they each had to roam around.
Every pillar, every public garden, every wall, was beautifully hand carved with ornate designs, and with such purpose and care that I had to search for some air when I imagined them getting violently seized, looted and destroyed.
The victorious Empire, whether it was the Persians, Greeks, or Mongols, would then seep in and settle. Or abandon what was left of the city for us to dismantle and show case in museums centuries later.
And then foolishly I think, I wish our cities had gates. Nostalgia for things we never had, is the foolish part.
