While I was growing up, my mother used to tell me stories where I was the hero in a strange mystical world with endless possibilities. I used to navigate my way through the peculiar plot twist to reach the ultimate ending based on my choices. Those stories somewhat became reality when I moved from Hyderabad to Karachi. I had to navigate my routes to find comfort. The fear of the unknown and being displaced from your familiar surroundings is an overwhelming journey. In my small-scale illustrative paintings, I create my sanctuary in a city that I am at a distance with. To me, home is not just a physical space but comfort stems from memories, emotions, moments, or simply an association with physical objects and space. Windows act as portals between the realms of comfort and the city of the unknown. Relating to characters from classic storybooks like “Alice In Wonderland”, “The Chronicles of Narnia”, “James and The Giant Peach” and “Coraline”. I further take inspiration from these storybooks for drawing and color palettes.

The crocodiles of Manghopir have been my muse for the past few years. Visually, they transport us to a time long-forgotten as their migratory origins contrast with their presence in specific spaces. Observing their filial relationships inspired me to draw connections between human experiences of recordkeeping to crocodiles and the local mythology behind them such as Surr Ghatoo, Morsahab, and the Makara. By comparing crocodiles living in a shrine to human saints, I look at power, hierarchies, and question humanity’s perceived sense of supremacy.

In this body of work the crocodile’s power fades with  death, leaving only a frail husk of a skeleton. Death holds power over all mortals,  especially here in Sindh, a region which carries its history and mausoleums in high regard. While museums honour ancient times, they also fabricate narrations. By manipulating these elements, I have created a collection of artefacts using heritage crafts such as kashigari and ajrakh, that in my opinion are modes of narration as well as a significant part of the burial practices within Sindh.

My work revolves around the idea of our daily conversations and discussions with people. Ever since I came to Karachi from Afghanistan, I have had problems in exchanging my thoughts with other people. My conversations with them are a combination of the languages I am familiar such as Persian, Arabic, English and Urdu. I repeatedly used those words that are common in these languages and which made sense to others. I have tried to represent this language dilemma with the repeated use of letters mainly focusing on the shape and structure of specific letters. The use of phonic letters and symbols in my work represent not just the travelling of the sound but the rhythm of being transferred in a certain way. It is not just a letter or alphabet; my work is what I am speaking about. It is a tool of passing on the idea to others for understanding.

In 1947, my great grandparents migrated from Bihar to East Pakistan, losing everything they loved and owned in their hasty exodus. Then, in 1971, they had to once again evacuate their home and flee to Sindh in the midst of a civil war. Through losing both my paternal grandparents, Daada and Dadda, to dementia, I realised that the loss of homelands and the loss of a love that creates makeshift homes in unfamiliar cities, is the same loss. Dadda passed away in 2018. Earlier this year, when Daada, too, lost his battle against dementia, I began conducting oral history interviews with the Muhajir (migrant) grandparents of my friends and colleagues who narrated their lives and showed me their belongings from partitions in South Asia. From their lives, I learnt that just as a print is simply a memory of its plate, when immaterial losses ail the business of life, materials and their absences attempt to fill the memory gaps in vain. My studio practice combines traditional and alternative printmaking, pencil drawings, and creative writing to investigate these migrant materials and their absences.