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It is a choreography, A dance. A party to forget the horror of a war, so that hate becomes palmas. Not long ago through that border, trains were carrying corpses. India and Pakistan were the same country, Until England granted independence, And the others discovered that they hate how the brothers hate. Muslims and Hindus massacred for many nights without days. Smelled to death everywhere. The chronicles of what happened shiver.
And hate is inherited. It is curious the ease with which love vanishes in the face of hate resile, What goes from parents to children. India and Pakistan are two intimate enemies. We went to Wagah's border, In the Punjab Indio, To contemplate the famous ceremony of the flag descent. It is a difficult show to describe. On the Indian side is a Hollywood production. On the Pakistani side it looks like a religious festival where men sit aside, Women to another.
In both sectors they have built a stadium to see the ceremony. On the Indian side, flags were sold, souvenirs, Snacks ... the homeland turned into a show. A "Cricket game" that is played every afternoon at the same time between soldiers.
The color difference is striking, that teach the difference in religions, The origin of that eternal hatred, of that incurable wound. The Indian stand is an explosion of color, Pakistani is more sober, Blacks and white predominate.
All shout, Chillan, They go crazy before the strange choreographies of their military. They, dresses with their galas, They challenge their dances. Then the flags go down, The people go crazy because there are the last jumps there, Las Cabriolas, And the gate is running again two countries split by its gods.
Dance as a sign of peace, they dance to make the challenge a dance and not, again, An orgy of stabs.
Video: Francesca Blasone
