“We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine”.
I drew this rough and quick in 2014. Never published it because I didn’t think it deserved to be seen. But, what the hell…
1947 saw arbitrary borders being drawn across one nation, slicing the heart of an entire people in two, forever. Just like the Syrian people, families from both sides of the border left behind everything they considered home – to stay alive, to be forever estranged from their loved ones, and to forever remain a foreigner in one’s own home. On the way, both sides killed, raped and tortured each other – like a man who tears out his own hair in anger and despair, wounding himself to alleviate the pain.
On one such dark night, a young man whose true love, Husna, has stayed behind in Pakistan, writes a letter that will never reach her. But he imagines that they are both looking into the same moonless sky and his words will find her. Broken and bitter, he asks if, now that there were two nations, does the sunrise look different in Hindustan? Do leaves in autumn no longer change colour in Pakistan? Does Pakistan also silently weep at night for all the lost loves, just like Hindustan? He lost Husna and she him, so who really won in this war?
PS: If you don’t read Urdu or Hindi, I am sorry but I don’t think I can do justice to the translation for this one. But you can listen to the song here.
I’ve always wondered what it must be like to kiss a man with a full face of beard. Do beards get in the way? Do they chafe? Do you discover cookie crumbs and then become entirely engrossed in trying to pick them out? I don’t know. But I was at the beach a few weeks ago when I saw this couple taking selfies. They seemed very much in love and totally fine with the beard situation.
So, I sketched them and came up with this bad pun on Weird Love; Beard Love.