Rashi Puri

[thestory-project]

A Discovery of Loss is a study on the partition on the Indian subcontinent that took place in 1947. It is an attempt to understand the personal narratives of partition that have been tucked deep within memory of all those who experienced it. In this study, I look for habits and hobbies that people carried along in memory and through practice from the homes that they left behind. Through conversations with partition survivors I aim to understand partition and what it means to them. Among other things, this study is an exploration of memory, home, belonging, landscape and language. In case you know someone who migrated in 1947 and would like to share their story, please reach out to me through DM or email me at [email protected]

[thestory-project]

After the war, we moved to Kanpur where my father was in charge of disposing bombs, parachutes, guns, and all the things that were left over. There were a lot of parachutes, beautiful silk ones, and the thread was just wonderful! 
My mother would sit and take out all the thread from these parachutes so that nothing would get wasted and my aunt then used that thread for crocheting. The fabric was so lustrous that women would often ask my mother for parachutes to prepare clothes for their daughters’ trousseaus. A parachute would be enough to stitch clothes for the bride. So every time someone asked, my mother would buy a parachute and give it to them.

[thestory-project]

Lahore: 1914 | 1909 A city in memory. A city in stories. A city that is slowly finding its way into my everyday. A city unvisited, yet feels like home. #lahore #home #stories #partition1947 #partitionarchive #memory https://www.instagram.com/p/CJc8gGWJsU6/?igshid=cuc4jv5xf9oc

[thestory-project]

Every morning, white Jasmin dawn the cut work jaal trays on the table. The warm yellow at first shyly, and then confidently spreads all over the wooden console in her room. The flute seller who, with his fluted bicycle passes by the house, playing a different tune every morning. 
Being away, I think of the pink boganvillas. Oh the boganvillas with their soft, almost translucent butter paper like textured petals, and how they softly land. Carpeting the ground and decorating the skies. And Lahore! A 1914 map of the garden city neatly placed on my wall, with which, I begin and end all my days.

[thestory-project]

'War dekhi, partition ke sufferes dekhe. I didn't see the partition but I saw the ones who suffered because of it. The sufferes.' She tells me in a firm voice.

But behind that firmness was pain. For, the "sufferers" were a part of her family as well.

[thestory-project]

Who knows what is forgotten and what is remembered. Perhaps, what is forgotten is all that he remembers, all that he thinks of, until he forgets it again.