NO Exit

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.