I closed my eyes to recall what comes to my mind when I think of Karachi…..it hurt firstly, only to think. Secondly, a lot of graffiti and then kites. Yes, those particular red and green ones chalked around the city with phrases. I remembered the city’s name and death tolls flashing in news bulletins. It hurt even more now. I opened my eyes thinking what terrible symbols of such an iconic city these are. Karachi is more than this but these identities from the past few decades have taken over my memories of it. After all I’ve grown up hearing of killings, riots and strikes. I don’t know why my art teacher was making me go through this. These artists, I tell you!
But then I was never caught in any of that, right? So why was I bothered. I was supposed to create. Draw, paint, sculpt, and install a piece of my mind, myself or anything that connected to me. I was trying to do just that. I met myself in the process. All caked with violence, blood, atrocities, though. However, none of that matched my condition. Here I am a perfectly well-settled teenager, studying well, given all rights and privileges, rather more by the standards of a household in Pakistan. Where was all this pain coming from? Was I sick? Did I need help?
Sure I did but not because I was going crazy. I had just discovered the first layer of impurities caked up on my existence. In my comfortable life, the images of bloodshed and misery got trapped into hurtful pustules. Not only do these cause discomfort but scar the pictures from our mind forever. Perhaps, this is what my creativity suffered from.I needed to release the pain of violence and atrocities that I had been consuming through my five senses throughout growing up in Karachi.
Like every sore and blister serves its time, the ones in my mind had. Now, the pus inside them waited to be released. Not by being popped by force but to be released naturally. And what’s a better choice than draining them through creativity. I relieved myself with art and writing, find what drains yours!