“Mashq” in Urdu means Practice.

Every narrative, every practice, every Mashq begins on ground level, with footsteps – the ones unheard, others unseen. Footsteps weave places together. Places that you associate yourself with or detach from. Footsteps are myriad – one can’t calculate them because each one of them possess a cryptic trait: kinesthetic gestural impulses or a form of tactile arrest. Some are alarming, some are calming; They carry rumors, they carry secrets. They are the infinite collection of individualities. These footsteps marry themselves to a path and then divorce it sooner or later – don’t they remind you of your expectations, or realities which have disturbed the comfort? Those pedestrian movements are whispering, talking, shouting and calling; do you recognize those narratives? Their thronging mass reminds me of those nights when l felt my pulse drumming beneath my skin. I hear them breathe and talk about limitless intentions. I like their Mashq, which they follow and repeat. Do you?