Dastarkhwan is not just a piece of cloth—it is where warmth is nurtured, where stories are shared, and where the dastarkhwan becomes a silent witness to everyday solidarity. Growing up, I watched how it gathered people, binding them together over meals. No matter what happened during the day, no matter the disagreements or silences, when food was laid out, we sat together. The dastarkhwan didn’t just hold plates and bowls; it held us, reminding us that we belonged to each other.
When I was living in Delhi–I used to visit Jama Masjid during Ramadan, I feel that same sense of togetherness. In the crowded courtyard, strangers become familiar as we sit side by side, waiting for the call to prayer. Someone passes me a date, another pours sherbet in my glass. We do not know each other’s names, where we come from, or where we will go once the meal is over—but in that moment, we share everything. The hunger, the relief, the gratitude.
Sitting on the dastarkhwan, whether at home or among thousands, is an act of quiet solidarity. It is a reminder that we are not alone, that we sustain one another, not just with food, but with presence.
All images are shot on iPhone. (2022)
