Four years ago, a friend of mine told me he had been visiting orphanages and old homes around Karachi. "Take me along, next time you go?" I curiously said. At the time, I didn't quite realise what I had signed up for. My first visit left me shocked. I had to leave instantly; I was overwhelmed. Imagine walking into a room full of the loneliest people in the city.
In Karachi, a city that throbs under our very feet, it was difficult to adjust to how everything felt still in the old people's home — the absence of noise struck me like a blow. The residents here have gaunt, hollow faces, etched with memories of the past; some fond, others clearly not so much. Traces of who they once used to be are now only faint glimmers; in a quick smile or a silent nod.
These homes are smothered by an isolation so thick, it is heartbreaking. Every session left me emotionally drained; when I left the homes, I felt exhausted from standing under the burden of their loneliness. Would I ever have the heart to leave a loved one here? Would I ever be left here by someone I loved?
Their suffering and endurance inspired me to develop a photo series, which led to numerous visits to several different old people's homes in Karachi over a span of three years. These trips would often leave me bitter. Perhaps we ought to shut these places down, I would say to my friend heatedly, referring to their dilapidated enclosures.
My photo series had long ended but I kept going back.
