Pakistan, there are many versions

Letters to home. Stories here and there.

1972.

Sumaya held her breath. The stench of the decaying flesh was more potent at the beginning, exchanging places for what the others felt. The man was hovering near his body, flayed out on the couch in an unnatural position. The soul remained standing near the body, constantly wrapping its right hand around its wrists.

At the circus, Raza watched the carousel turn. It moved slow enough to be rhythmic but every now and again it would have to be stopped. A linkage in the structure was loose and the ones seated on that station would start getting to close to the one in front of it. Almost in cadence, creeping up with each rotation like the seconds hand in pursuit of the minute, like clockwork.

Discover why today's trailblazers work, play and pioneer in a building like no other in one of the most distinctive districts in here.