By Tishani Doshi As the author engages with the late Bhupen Khakhar's art, she finds a clear and strident message serving as a warning for those being peddled nostalgia into supporting Britain's estrangement from Europe Some days ago I visited the Tate Modern in London to see the Bhupen Khakhar retrospective “You Can’t Please All”. I went with an agenda: to love the show. My friend and teacher, the choreographer Chandralekha, had shared many stories with me about Bhupen. When I began dancing with her in 2001 she told me about his incomparable wit. She said that he was a homosexual with a toothy smile, that they were always laughing together and that his paintings were marvellous and playful and ribald. She must have said more, but this is what I remember. When he died in August 2003, after a battle with prostate cancer, I found Chandra sitting outside her house in Madras, staring into space. “They’re all going,” she said. She was 74 then, losing friends steadily. I had only
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