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TEZHIB'S SUBSECTION FOR PHOTOJOURNALISM

T AS AWW UR VOLUME ONE

│2 TEAM INTRODUCTION EDITOR Eesha Iftikhar SENIOR EDITORS Manahil Siddiqui Emaan Sohail JUNIOR EDITORS Muskaan Mujahid Zainab Farid Marium Jamal Wajeeha Shakeel DESIGN LEAD Wajeeha Shakeel DESIGN CONSULTANTS Eesha Iftikhar Emaan Sohail ASSISTANT COMMUNICATIONS Soha Aftab Background Photograph by Asad Anwar

CONTENTS Editor's Note

Faculty Advisor's Note

The Horror 2020

Metamorphosis

Fire Breathers

The Three Rupee Lady

Railway Station, Okara

Story Behind the Mohalla-TurnedMarket of Perfume Chowk

Kaam

Stone-Hewn and Steel-Bound

Karachi’s Streets & Open Wiring: A Tragic Love Story

A Family of 7 + 1

A Sense of Hope

The Unseen

Choori Bazaar, Hyderabad

Social Documentary Photography Black & White Photography Architectural Photography

"a bridge between people’s imagination and their voices"

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EDITOR'S NOTE

There are not many people who pause to descry things that do not normally catch the eye. Everyone can sling a camera around their neck and go for a loiter, but only a few possess the skill, the passion, and the eye for uncovering the unknown or distinguish a shade of color in a blur. When I was designing the foundation of Tasawwur, the main goal in my mind was to build a platform for these special people so the world could marvel at their work and their research. My tasawwur was shared with a few individuals, and like all things inevitable, we converged together and decided to build this journal — piece by piece. Tasawwur’s first volume is out. It was put together with many days of hard work by my incredibly dedicated team, exceptional insights from our patron, support from Tezhib’s core team, Professors from IoBM, IVS, Karachi University, Habib University, IAC, Iqra University, Okara University, Sindh University, and BNU, and the undergraduate students who have not only produced but also trusted us with their remarkable work. I hope Tasawwur will continue to exist as a bridge between people’s imagination and their voices being heard. Someday, my goal is to encapsulate moments taken from the streets of Dhaka to the railways of Delhi to the markets of Dera Ghazi Khan. If you are about to flick through the pages of Tasawwur’s first edition, I sincerely hope the photographs tethered with heartfelt personal essays will flutter your fancy and inspire you the way they inspired us. Eesha Iftikhar Qazi Editor —Tasawwur Volume I

FACULTY ADVISOR'S NOTE

"I hope these photographs help you see differently, and with empathy."

I am immensely proud of our very small team that has done a truly wonderful job producing Habib University's first-ever publishing endeavour that solely focuses on photography and photojournalism. Tasawwur's first edition features photographic works revolving around Social Documentary, Architecture, and Portraiture. We received 45 submissions from students of various universities across two provinces of Pakistan - Sindh, and Punjab - and ended up selecting 13 of the best works. Over the coming years, we hope to receive more submissions and certainly ensure better representation from students in Azad Jammu & Kashmir, Balochistan, Gilgit Baltistan, and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. In the decades to come, I want to see Tasawwur as a nationally respected photography platform that gives birth to high-quality, homegrown photojournalism and provides recognition to promising student photographers when they need it most in their careers. This first edition would not have been possible without the hard work of Eesha Iftikhar Qazi, Manahil Siddiqui, and Emaan Sohail who first had the tasawwur (imagination) to develop a photography subsection and later exhibited the fierceness required to turn imagination into reality. I hope these photographs help you see differently and with empathy. Haya Fatima Iqbal Assistant Professor of Practice, Communication & Design Habib University

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Disclaimer: The following submissions contain content, including mentions of death and substance abuse, that may be upsetting for some readers. Discretion is advised.

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If you're lost and alone Or you're sinking like a stone Carry on May your past be the sound Of your feet upon the ground Carry on —Carry On (2012) by fun.

In a storm of agony and depression, the motorcycle that many people would see as a vehicle, I see as a symbol of hope and need.

The calamities of 2020 knew no bounds. One crisis after another, the year continued to worsen, eventually throwing all humankind in an abyss of anxiety, fear, and hopelessness. It all began with the looming threat of war breaking out across the globe, but the fear of warfare was soon replaced by the anxiety of quarantine, as planet Earth became a sad host to the pandemic COVID-19.

The Horror 2020 by Asad Anwar Iqra University

Pakistan, a country already plagued with deprecating, deadly crises, also became a victim of the horrors of 2020. Relieved that the pandemic did not affect our country as much, we were reaching the brink of consolation on Eid when the PIA passenger plane crash whooshed us back to a state of silent, speechless, hopeless solitude. Still exhibiting resilience, the nation struggled to find happiness, but the efforts were drowned in the monsoon rainfall alongside the rest of the city. Swimming against the currents, we continued to lose to the inhumanity of people when sectarian wars broke out coupled with obscene rape cases that left our women mortified. Nonetheless, what is truly remarkable is that even in an utter state of darkness, marred by the deadly silence of inhumanity

and ruthlessness of others, our people choose to see light at the end of the tunnel. Similar to how individuals dragged their vehicles through the flooded roads of Karachi in the mere flickering of the dim street lights just to find their way home, we as a nation drag ourselves through each day along with our past baggage, hoping, believing, and trying to find a path to happiness, to finally reach the light which our eyes imagine, to eventually find Pakistan. This photograph is a depiction of the struggles of the common person. A man, who is half-drenched in water contaminated with electrical wires, germs, and pollutants, yet still fighting through all those difficulties to get to the dry end. In a storm of agony and depression, the motorcycle that many people would see as a vehicle, I see as a symbol of hope and need. The man is desperately trying to protect his vehicle, emblematic of how a desperate person holds onto the feeble thread of hope, wishing against all odds that the end result may come in their favor. Similarly, I also equate the individual’s vehicle to his need; he needs the motorcycle to get to work the next day, or complete his errands, or more so just to save the bike he may have spent years working in order to earn it. This is how the common person functions as they hold onto hope, not because they want to, but because they need to. A person cannot function if hope dies out since hope is the glimmer of life. It is with this inherent need of hope that the common person keeps battling the dusty hues and coldness of life, merely to seek refuge in a warmer being.

Metamorphosis

by Omar Rahman Beaconhouse National University

The photograph is from a photo series named “Life Inside the 13 Gates of Lahore,” which documented life in the Walled City of Lahore, also known as Old Lahore. After spending quite some time in the Walled City, an interesting observation I had was that this area of Lahore, which is said to be founded during Medieval times, was caught in a state of metamorphosis; between embracing modernity and clinging onto traditions. As the world around the Walled City of Lahore changed, it largely remained unaffected by the rampant globalization and various other changes to Lahore's architecture, ecology, and socioeconomic norms, to name a few areas of change. The roads grew wider and wider, the skyline added more and more skyscrapers, and newer businesses opened around the Walled City, yet it remained the same; until it did not. When the Shahi Guzargah Project ("Royal Passage Project") began in 2012, it changed the state of affairs in the name of conservation which had been the same way for hundreds of years. That is when the Walled City of Lahore, which had protected itself from numerous alterations, began to change and was in a state of metamorphosis. As I was wandering through the Walled City in the early hours of the morning, watching it wake up from its deep Sunday slumber, a lot of the population was carrying out their morning routines. Some were having breakfast, some were hurrying to get somewhere, shops were opening up, but the presence of newspapers and people reading newspapers was omnipotent. People would sit or stand anywhere and would get lost in their newspapers. The man in this particular photograph was so immersed that he did not look up once to look at the numerous motorcycles passing by, missing him by inches despite relying on a walking stick. A long telephoto lens was used so that the man would not be disturbed by his newspaper and to show the contrast between forgetting the olden ways of living and the man engrossed in his newspaper. A slow shutter speed was used to blur out the motorcycle passing by and drive the point home with a sharp focus on the man reading the newspaper and the newspapers sitting on the edge of the bookstall. The Walled City has narrow alleyways where people hang different fabrics to dry or decorate them whenever there is a festivity. These hangings, along with the drooping electricity wires, create “pockets” of light between the shadows, which were used to “light” the subject naturally.

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Fire Breathers

by Shumaiza Sohail Shaikh Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture

As a concerned and eager human being, I believe that everybody’s story is important to be heard by the most reachable people around. Playing my part as a budding photographer here, I decided to document one of the stories I consider important. This story revolves around a man who plays with fire as part of a game and risks his life every day for the sake of entertaining the masses.

the reason why his daughter does not want him to perform around areas where her in-laws can run into him. In addition to that, people only value these fire breathers for the unconventional work that they do. Hardly anyone is interested in talking to them and knowing their stories. Half of the audience is scared of them and the other half considers them unimportant to talk to — their stories not worth listening to.

Zulfiqar is a fire breather and the sole earner of his family. While breathing fire is not something everyone can do, but like Zulfiqar, those who can are exploited while not being paid enough. Even when Zulfiqar does private shows, his payments are filtered through organizers. Above that, certain times of the year — such as months like Ramadan — prove to be quite difficult for fire breathers who are left with no work and thus, no salary. But they try to find alternatives.

Zulfiqar learned fire breathing around the age of 13 out of his own personal interest. He was a very obedient student back then and his passion for learning the art was real. So, he always followed the rules and he still does. He teaches many students of his own now and had even initiated a club in Lyari where he taught and performed. But, with the urban violence in Lyari, most people do not prefer coming to the area. As a result, his club was shut down and never reopened. But even then, he is very well known for his work because he has performed all over the country.

Zulfiqar, for instance, sets up a samosa stall when he is not breathing fire. Zulfiqar is quite famous for what he does but he also gets laughed at by a few and this embarrassment is

He has represented Pakistan through different platforms, including his work with the army as a private entertainer for their

communities. Once, Zulfiqar performed at a wedding where one of the spectators loved his performance so much that they took him to the UAE where he performed and worked as a sports car mechanic on the side. But according to Zulfiqar, he was exploited once again, when the person delayed his salary for 3-4 months. At the same time, Zulfiqar was not allowed to go back to Pakistan. So he ended up breaking this deal and returned to Pakistan to resume his fire breathing career. Upon his return to Pakistan he met Afzaal Afridi, a well-known magician, who then introduced Zulfiqar’s group to Port Grand, where he works to date.

Fire breathing has infinite risks. A member of Zulfiqar’s group was burned alive on stage while performing at a wedding. This was not because of the lack of his skills, but the incident occurred when he was given petrol (which is highly flammable) instead of kerosene, resulting in an explosion of fire. Fire breathers play with death every day of their lives. A few doctors who have attended their shows have told them, “Koi acha kaam miley to kar lena” (translation: If you find some good work, do it!) because of incidents where performers have mistakenly ingested kerosene, resulting in fatal consequences. While some people deal with minor issues like diarrhea, if the kerosene reaches their lungs, they often develop breathing problems with permanent and even fatal lung damage. Zulfiqar Hussain finds a lot of inspiration in Bob Marley, who he believes is a revolutionary singer. Particularly because the singer believed in equality, a cause that Zulfiqar is also passionate about. The fire breather also mentioned that he picks a leaf out of Marley’s book and even gets high on a drug that the singer loved as a way of suppressing his senses while playing with fire. Zulfiqar's earnings are considered haram (earnings obtained through unlawful means) as according to most people “naach gaane ke paise haram hote hain” (translation: Money earned from singing and dancing is forbidden in Islam). However, according to him, his religious approach and faith in Allah is very strong and the values he believes in go deeper than these assumed societal claims about religion. For me, Zulfiqar has been a great subject to document and learn from. Everything he says teaches you something about the nature of life — the blessings and the tough times. This project developed a love for photojournalism in me and taught me how meaningful it is to learn from the lives of others through acknowledging their experiences.

The Three Rupee Lady

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by Areeshah Qureshi Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture

This photo series highlights the life of Parveen Saeed and her ever-growing Khana Ghar. I first heard about Khana Ghar through a video about it on Facebook. After further research and countless tries to contact the organization I was finally able to get in touch with Parveen Saeed. Coming across Khana Ghar was like finding treasure in an unexpected place, a place where you would expect only sorrows and misery, Khana Ghar shone like a beacon of hope for the people living in Khuda ki Basti. Khana Ghar’s journey began in 2002 when Parveen Saeed witnessed the murder of two children at the hands of their own mother as they had nothing to eat. They were her neighbors. It was then that she realized that most of her neighbors were poverty-stricken but too afraid to ask for help from anyone. "I could not bear to look at their crying faces, full of hunger. I did not want them to die of hunger eventually." Starting from her own neighborhood, Parveen Saeed started selling food for Rs.3 in front of her house, and thus Khana Ghar was born. Since then, she has expanded, from a mere stall to a proper restaurant-like space with a tandoor installed inside, and moved her Khana Ghar to a nearby lowincome housing society called Khuda Ki Basti, providing three meals a day for Rs.3. “Do you ever regret leaving your career in journalism and dedicating yourself completely to Khana Ghar?” “There were times in the beginning when I thought to myself ‘what have I done why did I leave it all behind but then all those thoughts were erased the second somebody thanked me for doing what I do or when I saw the smiles of hungry children as soon as they saw plates of food being brought to them.”

Parveen’s organization runs solely on donations. This not-forprofit organization feeds people for a mere Rs.3 per meal. More than 500 people rely on Khana Ghar for their lunch, while many join for breakfast and dinner as well. For the people of this locality, Parveen Saeed is an angel sent from the heavens who not only helps in relieving their hunger but also provides monthly rations and necessities to the extremely underprivileged. Khana Ghar daily feeds thousands of customers, a large chunk of which belongs to kids. As soon as the clock strikes 12:30, lunch hours begin at Khana Ghar, and a pool of kids start lining up either to eat here or take food home to their families. Sundays are special to Parveen Saeed. Every Sunday, she visits Jam Chakro, one of Karachi’s biggest landfill sites, where most of the city’s garbage is dumped and distributes food and biscuits. The kids of this landfill await her, and as soon as they see a white high roof, they come running towards it with huge smiles on their faces, screaming, “Biscuit Aunty agaye (biscuit aunty is here)"

Familiar with the weekly process, the kids line up instantly when they see Parveen Saeed get out of her car and ask for help from the local vendors for distribution. Kids and adults from all over the area come running not only to eat but also to greet Parveen Saeed, inviting her to their homes made of mud and broken sheets of iron. To the people of this landfill, she is no less than a savior. Despite all the shortcomings throughout the years, Parveen Saeed’s untamable force, dedication, and love for the needy is what has kept Khana Ghar alive and functioning all this time and hopefully will continue to do so.

│14 by Ayesha Jabeen University of Okara

Railway Station, Okara

As soon as I looked at the colossal structure of the station, it felt like I was transported back to my childhood memories of playing, singing and running around these walls of the patio. This high standing structure, known to the realm as a ‘Railway Station’, stands in the middle of my city, Okara. The newly erected architecture, its huge arches, airy corridors and grandeur of the building is no less than a structure from the golden epoch of Muslim history, The great Mughal era. My ears were occupied with the birds chirping, it felt like they have known me for ages, inducing a sense of belonging to this place. Through this project, I wanted to show people Okara through my eyes. It feels surreal that this Railway Station has been such a monumental development in the city but rarely anyone outside Okara knows of it. The modern new railway station was rebuilt on January 22, 2018 and was inaugurated by Khawaja Saad Rafique who was then the Federal Minister for Railways. It was constructed under the supervision of the National Logistics Cell with the cooperation of NESPAK with the primary aim being the transportation of military personnel and their families. The old Railway station drew a lot of inspiration from the colonial era — which is when it was built. At the same time, it was much smaller in size and almost reaching the point of deterioration. Because the station is close to the Cantt area, whenever army officers and families were posted here, they would have an extremely difficult time travelling to and from Okara because of the old Railway Station. The Station has been renovated from the ground up and has been turned into a viable trade route while also increasing connectivity and mobility to and from the city.

Center of the building, showing the Three Arches

Main entrance to the station.

Pictured above is the main entrance to the station

The fibre glass ceiling.

Mid-right side of the building.

Interior of the station, focusing on the appearance of the Arches

Mid-corridor of the station.

Story Behind the Mohalla-Turned-Market by Sumaika Ghani of Perfume Chowk Habib University

Painted across streets and closed shutters of small shops throughout Karachi, the name Perfume Chowk has been familiar to anybody open to traveling in the city — even to a little extent. However, as an observer of this city from afar, this was the very reason that pushed me to know more than just the name of this peculiar Chowk. Hence, I took out my camera bag, booked a ride and set out to know the story of this place, unknown to me. Where did the name “Perfume Chowk” come from? Who are the people living and earning there? These were the questions running through my mind before I reached the chowk. (The word chowk can be defined as an open area with a market at a place where two roads meet in a city). (Oxford Learners' Dictionaries, n.d.) It was while photographing, that I decided I wanted my final images to be in black and white. This choice was an attempt to communicate, not through colors but the subject only. A pedestal fan in the background, a cup of tea in hand, and a variety of perfumes placed carefully on the table. These objects defined the emotion of the area in the rawest form

and helped me portray my subject (i.e. Mursaleen Sherwani’s son) and his relationship with his surroundings in a way that would not have been possible in color. Son of Mursaleen Sherwani — The Man behind the First Perfume Chowk The setup of perfumes on the chowk has been there for more than 15 years now. Mursaleen Sherwani was the one who started his small business with Rs. 500. The man went around different neighbourhoods and painted his shop name "Perfume Chowk" in Urdu. The unique marketing tactic gave his place a recognition to the extent that the whole area is now known by the same name.

Khan, M. (2014). Scents of Perfume Chowk. Retrieved 23 August 2021, from https://www.dawn.com/news/1134081 Oxford Learner's Dictionaries | Find definitions, translations, and grammar explanations at Oxford Learner's Dictionaries (n.d.). Retrieved 23 August 2021, from https://www.oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/

“I chalked on walls, bridges, pedestrian bridges, rickshaws and buses to spark curiosity, so that people would start visiting my stall. I named the traffic circle ‘Perfume Chowk’ through my wall chalking. Luckily, this strategy worked very well in the past and it does so even today,” Sherwani told Dawn News. (Khan, 2014)

Kaam

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by Zainab Farid Habib University

Karachi is a city of diversity. Everyone in the city has their own story of how they ended up here or started doing something they never even dreamed of. Each person has a special skill that enables them to put food on their table, be it something they inherited from their family or learned from someone else. This story revolves around eight individuals who, by choice or not, learned some skills and are now practicing them to provide for themselves and their families. It focuses on getting to know just a little about what they do and how they ended up where they are today. The series ‘Running Legs’ by Lisette Model (1940), focusing on the legs of people roaming on the streets was the inspiration behind capturing people's hands doing different tasks that are their source of earning. The purpose was to highlight the importance of their hands, the skill they practice and introduce it as a part of their identity. By focusing on the hands only, I wanted to isolate them from all other physical features, parts or things that are part of their identity. All attention was on the hands to showcase the skills and power they have. Sajjad Hussain, 36, has been working at the same puncture shop for 19 years. He came from Punjab to Karachi to find work here. For him, there is not much time to take risks as this is the only skill he has developed over his life. “I have a wife and children to support, what else can I do, this is the only thing I know,” Sajjad adds.

“Biwi aur bachoon ka pait bhi toh palna hai.”

“Yehi kaam seekha tha toh phir kuch aur kya karta.”

Similarly, Dawood, 60, has been working as a cobbler all his life. He started off by working for his Ustaad (teacher) from whom he learned this skill. Now for more than 20 years, he has been working on his own by setting up a small stall on a footpath in Dhoraji. He tells “What else can I do; this is what I have learned all my life.” Since the age of 17, Mohammad Tahir, 40 has been dyeing cloth. This is his family work. His father and ancestors used to do this and from them, he has acquired this skill. Watching his father work since childhood, he dreamt of doing nothing else. Tahir had his own shop in Gulshan-e-Iqbal but the increasing rents in Karachi could not make the shop survive and he had to shift to working for someone on a salary. Even though it has been two years since he closed his family shop, he still carries all the skills he learned from his father to keep earning for his family. Sultan, 62, took the chance life gave him and learnt what he was always passionate about: the art of embroidery on clothes. He went as far as to abandon his studies after completing 9th grade. It has been 50 years since he started doing this work. Sultan worked before at a store called Gul-eRana and now, it has been 30 years of him working at Idrees Boutique. At one point in time, he left his passion to start his own business. But he ultimately gave that idea up to follow his passion. “I had this desire to start my own business but it did not last long as this is what I always wanted to learn and do,” Sultan adds. To provide for his family, Abdul Mudabbir, 21, came from his village to find work in Karachi six years ago and started working at chai dhabas. He states, “There is no particular reason for doing this job other than the fact that I know how to make tea.”

With limited skills and bills to pay, Asghar Ali, 36 continued his family work as a polish man. He, his father along his eight brothers, all do the same work of polishing. He learned this art of polishing from his father at a young age and started working formally at the age of 16.

“Hum mashaallah 8 bhai hain sab yehi kaam karte hain.”

Circumstances were not easy for Irfan, 26. He had to abandon his studies after completing 11th grade as his mother married him off. To feed his wife and children, he started working as a driver. He worked for three years there but then left the job to start his own business. He now sits at his brother’s paan shop while his brother is away completing his studies. Irfan’s main focus now is to educate his children. He thinks that, “Jobs bind a person. Having your own business is different, gives you stability.”

To contribute to his family expenses, Qasim, 40, started off by working at a chicken shop where his brother used to work. He learned all his skills there. “There was no particular reason to work at that shop, it was just that my brother got me a job there.”, Qasim tells. Since then he has been doing this work and now it has been almost 15 years that he has opened his own shop to run. Looking at these stories, not everyone gets the chance to be someone they want to be. Different circumstances in life lead people to choose paths that they might have never imagined for themselves. Some are left with no options but to pursue careers that can help them provide for their families leaving no space for them to take risks and follow their hearts. But by a stroke of miracle, many — in the process — realize that the path they ended up choosing is the right one for them.

“Bhai ne wahan nokri lagwa di toh bas yeh kaam seekh lia.”

Model, L. (1940). Running Legs [Gelatin silver print]. Chicago: Art Institute of Chicago.

“Khandaani kaam hai humara.”

“Bas bhot shouq tha yeh kaam seekhnay ka humaisha se.”

“Yeh seekha toh ab yehi kar rahay hain.”

“Nokri mai mohtaji hai apnay kaam ki baat alag hai.”

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Stone-Hewn and Steel-Bound

by Zunairah Qureshi Habib University

Curving through skies, dashing through the ground, the steel and stone-ground urban reality that you traverse can prove captivating beyond its functional purposes. I love photographing mountainscapes and tree canopies — all the fine details that come together to form natural landscapes. But, particularly in Islamabad, what I find utterly fascinating is how nature melds into forms of urbanization. This drew my attention to urban structures themselves, to the blocks of stone and steel beams that add to the visual aesthetics of the city. The structures that have carved through nature and punctuate our lives hold a wonder of their own. I was used to capturing picturesque scenes found in nature. Taking on the challenge of breaking away from habit and photographing urban structures made me realize that proximity and perspective can make all the difference. I found that their dramatic shapes and patterns can draw you in towards the eternality of the passive yet domineering structures. I captured these photos after spending several days just scouting places. I prefer to photograph subjects that I stumble upon instead of preempting exact details. I took the time to look out for urban structures that would arrest my attention while I was out and about the city. I learned that fascination could arise from the structures themselves or the fine details, the unique patterns, and the shapes they make. This is why you will notice that not all the subjects can be categorized as structures in the proper sense of the term. One is just an underconstruction building extension, while another is simply parts of an abandoned foundation. I chose to photograph my subjects from angles and perspectives that rendered them aweinspiring. I have photographed taller structures from below so they can be captured in their all-encompassing glory as they loom above us. This also represents the functional role of urbanization and how it takes over the lives of us city dwellers. I left out the location or surroundings of the structures and purposefully photographed parts of them instead of presenting them in their entirety. This was an attempt to present the structures in a more abstract form, focusing on descriptive details to their simple construction and design. The recurrent patterns of arches and curves, the looming lines, and crisscrossing beams are details that lend to a site of wonder which we may miss as we pass by in a rush. These details in stone and steel, either through intention or otherwise, exist to make our surroundings a little more enchanting. Here I have put together a visual exhibit so you can pause and marvel.

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Karachi’s Streets & Open Wiring: A Tragic Love Story

by Fatima Hassan Habib University

My project titled “Karachi’s Streets & Open Wiring: A Tragic Love Story” is an attempt at documenting the streets of Karachi as viewed through the city's open wiring network. It, at large, covers how the wiring network has not only taken quite a lot of physical space but also hijacked the visuals of the city.

unattended open wiring network entails is only paid attention to when any dreadful incident takes place. Even then it is not the authorities taking responsibility on their own but the people at stake who, through their outcry, draw attention to it. The very soil of Karachi that holds the foundation of these electric poles also bears several dead bodies of the citizens who have fallen victim to electrocution due to these neglected wire networks during rain spells.

I, as a documentarian, have taken the position of a spectator for this project. I have encapsulated my experience as a tourist of Karachi and documented how my vision is obstructed by the open wiring network through my every sight. While the threat that this outdated wiring network poses is of concern, the issue has been falling on blind eyes for very long. The negligence of the authorities has forced the biggest stakeholders of the problem i.e. the local residents to eventually become indifferent towards it. It certainly is extremely inhumane to be thinking like this, but it is very likely that something tragic will need to happen for this issue to be taken seriously. The gravity of the danger that the

The citizens of Karachi have not voluntarily become, but are forcefully made to be indifferent towards such a pressing problem. It is the result of this helpless acceptance of the problem that discussions about the threat of these open wires have taken a backseat, and the very sights of the network have become a strong and permanent part of the city’s identity. So strong that it is now hard to imagine Karachi without it. This project documents this very identity of Karachi. The photographs attempt to visually demonstrate not only the severity of the unkemptness of the wire networks but also the normalcy with which life under the network is

functioning. The roads are crowded with vehicles, boards, people to some extent and buildings, yet the maximal visual space is taken by something that otherwise does not hold much significance: the open wiring network. The streets, though physically very different, give a visually similar feel. Most of the places that have been photographed would have made for some interesting and visually appealing sights. Not that they are no longer appealing, but our line of sight is now constantly obstructed by the wiring network. It can be assumed that the wiring is adding some value to the visual appeal of these sights, but the nature of this value remains unsettled. It is debatable how different — and to what extent — the visuals would look, if we hypothetically eliminate the wiring from the photographs. Not underplaying the threat that the open wiring poses, it is crucial to acknowledge that these visuals of the city are now added to the aesthetics of the city when everything is only tragic about it. The visuals of this reality — a reality that is so lifethreatening — have become an aesthetic that street photographers now love to capture. I might not have set out to do the same but I am — to some extent — also guilty of having done it in the process.

A Family of 7 + 1

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by Mahnoor Nadeem Habib University

The symbiotic relationship I, or in fact my entire family, have with Lola is unique. Lola was only three months old when my mama and I saw Lola’s photographs and immediately decided what we would name her. A couple of days later, I went with baba to get her. It was nighttime, I was in the car alone in the passenger seat while baba had stepped out to bring Lola from the man. We had taken a red basket to bring her home in and when the basket was brought in the car by baba, there was breathing being inside it. I was tickled pink at that moment, it was warming. I moved the lid up and thought to myself, “There she is, my little baby.” Lola was curled up in a corner, sleeping so peacefully. She was so small, and fragile, and I felt motherly, like a mother seeing her newborn for the first time.

I went with black and white because I wanted to give this portrait the touch of primeval Hollywood Vogue photoshoots, where my model was my cat and not a white skinny blonde with a flowy see-through dress.

However, here the feeling happened without a birth delivery, but very much like the delivery adults tell their children how they were brought to them, or how cartoons tell kids where babies come from. That day Lola became a part of us. We went from a family of six to a family of seven until 2018 when my youngest sister was born, and we became eight (MashaAllah and Alhamdulillah). Lola has curated a special place in all of our hearts. Some days when she goes missing in search of a suitable mate for herself, the house becomes forlorn. Some days I think about Lola leaving us, not her body, but her soul leaving her body — I don’t want to live long enough to see that. I am also a believer of pets and owners uniting in the hereafter and spending eternity together; that is one of the reasons for looking forward to the hereafter with grace and hope, and loving God more.

Every time I look back at these photographs, they fill me with a rush of nostalgia. These photographs are also a reminder that my cat is an art piece, and should be shown to every individual who knows how to appreciate art, life, animals, and cats, of course. I went with black and white because I wanted to give these portraits the touch of primeval Hollywood Vogue photoshoots, where my model was my cat and not a white skinny blonde with a flowy see-through dress. I was sprawled on my terrace floor in the most eccentric positions, following Lola around as she did her thing. Pets fill the void of the heart; do not ever let someone else take their place and do not abandon them when the void is filled by someone new. Once a lady told us, “You do not adopt them, they adopt you.”

A Sense of Hope

by Arabina Shahzad Indus University

When I look at this picture, the first word that comes to my mind is 'hope.' I hold this picture quite close to my heart for various reasons; firstly, because it has my mother center framed while praying in the Shahjahan Mosque located in Thatta, with the rays of the sun gently cascading the frame of her face as she loses herself in the gulf of her faith — strong yet serene. Second, this was my first time setting foot inside a mosque, admiring its architecture and vast hallways that were filled with stories from decades ago and will continue to harbor many more as long as the building stands amongst its decrepit surroundings. It is true, the rush of the first experience can neither be replicated nor replaced and so I took in the beauty of the terracotta and sapphire-colored indents in the corridors while constantly reminding myself of the history and the legends that surround the excellence of this building. Everything felt like it had fallen into place, every question answered and every marvel discovered — until I turned the next corner and saw my mother. Watching her wrap her dupatta over her head, her lips recited an incantation as she surrendered herself to the trance that comes with devotion to prayer. I stood there mesmerized by the scene that played before my eyes as if it had been placed there only for me to see. I watched her lay her forehead on the ground, and at that moment, it hit me; I was never going to feel this way again. And so I grabbed the camera that had been dangling around my neck, and I captured a moment that gave me a sense of hope. How does one believe in themselves through someone? Someone they've never met, someone they might never meet. This blind faith, the purest form of love that gives hope to even the most lost travelers, passed through me like a wave, and I felt it for the first time in my life. Things will get better again. So I put down my camera and began to pray.

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Starting early in the morning, the fishermen drag fishnets deep into the sea to start their process.

The Unseen “By fairy hands, their knell is rung; By forms unseen, their dirge is sung.” -William Collins The Unseen is a six-picture black and white series that documents the unseen fishermen of Karachi’s Clifton beach/ Sea View. In this age of color, the choice of black and white was solely to eliminate distractions and keep the subjects in focus. All of us have seen Karachi's chaotic public beach at least once in our lives. We have seen the horse, camel, and buggy rides, the countless gol gappay, and chaat walas, but how many of us have come across the camouflaged and scattered fishermen trying to make a living amongst the public at the beach. This series highlights their everyday lives, from fishing to selling the caught fishing openly at the beach. Studying only five minutes away from a sea view, it became sort of a ritual to visit it once or twice a week, admire the busy beach, and with it, its people. I had noticed these fishermen a few times from afar but never went too close. I always assumed they were trying to catch the rubble or working on the pipeline near McDonald's. Never had I once imagined that

by Areeshah Qureshi Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture

they were fishing until one day when a bunch of us decided to walk towards the shore. I saw them; some selling the fish, others dragging the fishnet deep into the sea. Shock was the first emotion that came to me, followed by curiosity and amazement. When searching about them on the internet, it seemed as if their existence was unknown to anyone on it. So this became my sole motivation to photograph them. When first approached, most of these men refused to talk about their process or why they were fishing on a public beach; the only reply these men gave was that I was interrupting them and that they needed to make money to live. So I decided to observe them instead. After a while, I asked if I could take their pictures. They seemed hesitant; however, they eventually agreed. Starting early in the morning, these men drag the fishnets deep into the sea. The fish caught is simultaneously kept in the open for onlookers and potential buyers near the Sea View McDonald’s.

Finally, the unsold fishes are taken back to their homes and/or sold in their locality. Whilst observing and photographing these men, it became clear to me how hard this job was for them; from the continuous interruption of the onlookers and people visiting the beach to making sure they don’t accidentally harm any of the public with their fishnets, all of this to make enough money to go about a day or two. These fishermen of Sea View earn a living whilst staying invisible to most public visiting the Clifton beach. They camouflage themselves into the busyness of the beach and remain unseen throughout their process of fishing. Collins, W. (1746). Odes on Several Descriptive and Allegorical Subjects.

The caught fish being dragged back to shore.

The heavy fishnets are then brought ashore to be collected.

Once the nets are emptied the process to catch more fish starts again.

The fish caught is simultaneously kept in the open for onlookers and potential buyers.

Every single fish which is caught or washed ashore is precious to these fishermen as this is what their livelihood depends upon.

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Choori Bazaar, Hyderabad Having been born and raised in Hyderabad, the city is very close to my heart. I also have an interest in history, which has often led me to be transfixed by the old areas of the city. Choori Bazaar (Bangle Market) falls in one of those areas. It is one of Hyderabad’s oldest bazaars and one of the biggest markets for bangles in the entire world. It has led Hyderabad to be known for its bangles and bazaar nationwide. My approach to this project was to show the bazaar as I see it. I aimed to depict its history and importance and how the bazaar is in the present day. I focused on capturing the space of the bazaar, shopkeepers inside shops, and the bangles to capture the essence of the market as I saw it. Located near the Pakka Qila in the old parts of the city, one would find Hyderabad’s Choori Bazaar split into two after navigating from the cloth market. While the bazaar may seem to be split in two on the first view, it is really spread all over the city. The first part of the bazaar is reserved for the initial processes of production, where collected glass is recycled and turned into large rolls of glass. Those glass rolls are then sent to individual workers’ houses all over the city, where men, women, and children all work to cut the glass and bend it into a circular shape that we recognize as a bangle. The bangles are then sent to the third part of the bazaar — in the old city where they are packaged and delivered to the entire country from. This is also where they are cleaned, colored, and designed over after which they are ready to be sold and worn. What makes this bazaar special is that there are only two of such bazaars in the entire world. One of them is in Hyderabad, while the other is in Firozabad, Utter Pradesh in India. After the partition, many bangle-makers in Firozabad migrated to Hyderabad, where they continued their craft.

by Bhawna Lohana Habib University

Despite the bazaar being famous and well-known all over South Asia, the actual physicality does not reflect its history. Just as a person walks through Hyderabad’s busy cloth market with people rushing past each other, leaving no space to enter the Choori Bazaar, they find themselves feeling as if they have left all markets behind. The bazaar looks empty despite being adjacent to the busy cloth market. There is no life in the Choori Bazaar apart from the shopkeepers and workers transporting bangles from one place to another. October is a time associated with pre-wedding seasons where all shops and markets selling clothes, jewelry, shoes, and bangles are swarmed with hordes of women dealing with shopkeepers as they try to get the best deals to match with their outfits on weddings days. However, Choori Bazaar remains deserted. The shopkeeper pointed out Chehellum (Chehellum is the 40th day of mourning after the death anniversary of Prophet Muhammad's grandson — Hussain) to explain the absence of people in the bazaar as most weddings happen after that. He noted that the physical condition of the bazaar could also be another reason for that. A wholesaler noted that ever since it rained in August, many sewerage lines in the bazaar had overflown, leaving a constant puddle of dirty water mixed with trash on the side of the road. The rain had damaged not only the sewerage lines but also the road, which had already been left uneven with multiple potholes, making it extremely difficult for a person to even walk through the

bazaar. Despite rain occurring three months ago, nothing had been done on a governmental level to clean up or even help the bazaar. It has been up to the shopkeepers and wholesalers to make their own effort by pitching in to clear up the trash and water. It is not the case that any of the political parties have not taken any notice of the situation. According to the shopkeepers, representatives from MQM visited, but there has been no follow-up on actual work. Despite the area’s MPA and MNA representing the PPP, no one has yet come to visit or help. Choori Bazaar is one of the most famous places in Hyderabad because of its rich history, and it is sad to see it receiving neglect from the people in power. The bazaar has also been suffering due to a general rise in prices of gas, electricity, and other utilities necessary for the production of bangles. As a result, wholesalers, shopkeepers, and craftspeople; all end up bearing many expenses, which makes expansion difficult. As the bazaar is one of the only two places in the world that produces bangles to this scale, a common question always arises as to why these bangles are not being sold internationally. According to the people running bangle wholesale businesses, it is because of the government's lack of support for the industry. For Choori Bazaar’s bangles to be exported and celebrated, the industry needs to be recognized and supported formally by the government so that it has a chance to grow.