Like Baba, Like Bia

Baba, my father, used to call me Bia. Many times, I have recounted the various gifts I received from him—though often not appreciative of them when they were presented. Here, I recount those that have guided my aesthetic journey.

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Summer of ’88

Little did I know in the start of that summer it was my last one in Lahore. By the fall of same year I was 6,300 km away on British Council fellowship at Chelsea School of Arts. Then I was teaching photography at NCA. Most afternoons,after college, I would traipse the city to discover new places, sample food, drink copious quantities of sugarcane juice with lemon and ginger, and to photograph people.

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Filing cabinet pet-named Gold

If you have stored your treasures of archived negatives and slides like I have, hung systematically in a filing cabinet, I dare you to lift them out. Even a cursory glance using your naked eyes, will bring you face to face with those captured moments. Be prepared for a time travel ride in a golden carriage; the images have that magic.

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intimate self-portrait

As I kissed last of the guests good night after my birthday gathering, I could sense cold creeping up, my light and my shadow sentinels, stood motionless.

I felt weak and exhausted, torn between self-preservation and self-harm. Continue reading intimate self-portrait