It is theoretically possible that precisely in this moment, somewhere in India, a Rajasthani editor of a regional portal about the situation in their Vicinity, is sharpening his columnist pen, informing readers about an incredible belief somewhere in Europe.

Voja Zanetic

We will open our reflections on the Open Balkan with a true story from Rajasthan, in faraway India.

About a third of the way along the highway between, for example, Pali and Jodhpur, is a place knowledgeable travellers will recognize because of an old 350-cubic-meter Royal Enfield Bullet motorcycle, decorated with flowers and framed by a large glass showcase. This is a miniature temple built in honor of the deceased young man Om Sing Ratore, who crashed into a tree, most likely under the influence of alcohol, back in 1988 and died on the spot.

Legend has it that the motorcycle Om was driving was removed from the scene of the accident and taken back to the police station, but that it then disappeared from the station during the night, only to reappear next to the tree where the tragic ride ended. The police removed it once again, but the miraculous return to the tree happened again, so the superstitious Indian police left the motorbike standing right where the life of its driver ended. For almost three and a half decades now, that place and that motorcycle have been visited by numerous pilgrims from all over India, in order to fulfil their wishes, mainly related to traffic and travel. The most common obligatory religious ritual is a toast with a strong alcoholic drink, probably in memory of the tragic causes of this traffic accident.

Few claim to have seen the engine start on its own on May 5, the anniversary of the accident, and run for several minutes. It ran in place, of course.

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It is theoretically possible that precisely in this moment, somewhere in India, a Rajasthani editor of a regional portal about the situation in their Vicinity, is sharpening his columnist pen, informing readers about an incredible belief somewhere in Europe.

In fact, in the countries around the E-75 highway – astonished Rajasthani and other Indian regional readers could be reading – there has been a common belief for decades that the countries of the Western Balkans will one day join the European Union. With faith in magical powers of dormant European values, numerous pilgrims from Brussels visit the region and toast the accession process, in order to fulfil superstitious wishes against malignant Russian and Chinese influences in this part of Europe.

But since the countries of the Western Balkans, much like the late Om Sing Ratore, ran into obstacles on their way to the EU, it was necessary to find a means of transport that, like the aforementioned Holy Bullet, will miraculously launch its European integration engine. At least sometimes, even if only in place. And then the Open Balkan magically appeared, the “Om Baba of Southeast Europe” – a Rajasthani columnist would bring this unusual belief closer to his readers, who are already familiar with the fact that a road to somewhere can easily end in a glass showcase decorated with flowers.

Rest in kilometers.

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India aside, the Open Balkan would be better suited the name Closed Balkan. This could be done, for example, in memory of the Greek Prime Minister Mitsotakis, who stated a few days ago that the countries of this region should join the EU in – 2033. Along with the remark that, and I quote, “that date is ambitious but realistic”. End quote. This cordial bureaucratic optimism confirmed that the European Union is, in fact, still closed to the Open Balkan, which then, in fact, becomes the recently proposed Closed Balkan. And with all its other possible positive features, this open-closed community has one that is spiritually most positive and most important: in its essence it represents a religious association of all local beliefs that a territory in the middle of something can be easily and quickly integrated into that something. And if we see the signatories of the new agreements of the Open (and Closed) Balkan reading out of the Holy Agreements and Clusters, dressed in blue church uniforms, with the soundtrack of the Ode to Joy from a mumbling a choir, we will then know that a modern religion has finally taken its formal form. We should also wish it believers, because there aren’t many left now.

Five thousand kilometers away from Rajasthan.

In the heart of a very faraway Europe.