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ID:
146934
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| 2 |
ID:
146931
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| Summary/Abstract |
Ambreen Riasat woke up one summer morning and realised she was getting late for school. Her elder brother, Nauman, was already awake and she could hear him pack his school bag. Outside, the sun was already glaring down on the tall green trees and the grass rustling in the air on the mountain slopes. She rushed to the bathroom, a tiny space just outside her house with a pit and a tap. She washed her face, came back in, zipped up her school bag and ran to school. She was wearing a bright red shalwar kameez, a dress she had slept in.
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| 3 |
ID:
146933
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| 4 |
ID:
146935
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| 5 |
ID:
146932
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| Summary/Abstract |
Dozens of people are gathered outside Shamsi’s Film Studio in Korangi Industrial Area on a sweltering Karachi evening this June. They are all pleading with the guards to let them in. “We were told that entry passes are available at the gate, but they are not,” says an elderly woman with two children, without clarifying the source of her information. “We have come here from so far, please don’t send us back,” she adds, to no avail.
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