Ali Baluch is a Baloch lens-based artist hailing from Malir, Karachi. While photography forms the bedrock of his practice, he expands his visual narrative through experimentation with film and sound. His body of work documents Malir, offering a critical gaze on the Malir Expressway project’s catastrophic impact on the region’s seasonal river, farmlands and lives. Ali’s work sheds light on the nuanced lives of Malir’s communities impacted by climate change, and the labor they are exploited for. He is dedicated to creating powerful lens-based projects that illuminate stories from Karachi erased from the mainstream due to structural violence against indigenous voices and countercultures.
In his artist statement, Baluch says: My project focuses on the catastrophic impact of infrastructural development and extractivist regimes on the lives of Malir’s climate-vulnerable communities and ecologies. My documentation of the unsustainable Malir Expressway project and its devastating effects on Malir’s ecology and people, entirely erased from mainstream narrative, serves more than just photographic evidence; it is a truth telling device against the systematic undermining of indigenous communities in Pakistan.
My lens captures the ongoing destruction of the Malir River, once a vital source of irrigation and sweet water, now threatened by urban waste and catastrophic flooding risks. It reveals the harrowing displacement of Malir’s indigenous communities, whose fundamental connection to their land and livelihoods is being severed, a stark contrast to global efforts to uphold indigenous rights. My work is aligned with histories of refusal and reverence in Sindh, vibrating with the spirit of local activism that achieved victories like the Asian Development Bank’s withdrawal from the project.
Water remains omnipresent in my project. Not just the visible sea, but also the spectral presence of the imperiled Malir River, a contested memory that lingers with an eerie atmosphere. Through photography, film, and sound, I explore these relationships to land, water, and the impact of exploitative regimes, ensuring that these vital – often unheard – stories from Karachi’s resistance and countercultures are seen and remembered, so that they reverberate far beyond their origins.
He speaks with Omair Danish about film, photography, and his project called ‘Death and Flowers’.
OMAIR DANISH: What is your relationship with photography? How and when did you start taking pictures? What are your earliest memories of it, and how has it continued to be a part of your daily life?
ALI BALUCH: I began photography three years ago, and I started taking it seriously one-and-a-half or two years ago. It started because I was really into films, I loved watching them, and I wanted to make them. I went to a film school in Karachi University, but then I dropped out. I used to replicate shots from films that I was particularly interested in, by some of my favourite cinematographers, such as Christopher Doyle. I used to copy those shots and the scenes I really loved with my phone. That’s how I got into photography, and that’s how I fell in love with the medium of the camera. After that, I discovered Magnum Photos and a lot of Karachi photographers as well as international ones, including some legends. And that’s how I then moved into the documentary and street side of things.
OD: What drew you to the street and to documentary, especially to documenting life in Karachi?
AB: I went into documentary when I thought, I need to do this. I really liked trees, and I live in Malir so I used to photograph the trees there. There was this one tree I really loved. One time, I didn’t visit the area the tree was in for two or three months, but then I thought that I should go and see that tree again. I went to that place, and the tree wasn’t there. It just wasn’t there. And it wasn’t there because of the Malir Expressway project and the development. That’s when it clicked to me, the thought that I should document my hometown, where I live, because I really love Malir, I really love this place. I was three when I moved here, my parents were here before, I’ve always had a strong connection to it. After the tree incident, I started working on a project on the Malir Expressway and Malir River and the way it’s affecting my area and the whole of Malir. That’s where the need-to-create documentation mindset came from.
OD: That’s very powerful, because I can imagine that growing up there and seeing your hometown change in front of your eyes must have been very difficult. That brings me to my next question: why photography? Why not writing, why not filmmaking, why photography specifically? What do you enjoy about taking photographs – especially in the context of Malir? Why do you think it has value for you?
AB: Initially, what I loved was film and filmmaking. But once I got into it and started making videos and short films, I realised filmmaking needs multiple people. It needs money, equipment, and a lot of things. I still love it, I still want to make films, but at that time I thought photography was an easier medium and I could do it alone. I like to work alone most of the time, so I thought it might be the perfect fit for me, the perfect medium through which I could practice my work and express myself. So, the transition happened just because I was recreating films, and then I fell in love with photography and thought that was my true calling. I am still into films, and want to make them. The project I am working on regarding Malir also includes a short film, but I haven’t posted it online.
I think the people of Malir, and maybe Karachi generally, find joy in small things
OD: What is your relationship with the Malir River specifically? The photos that you have taken along the riverbed and its surrounding areas, do you have any memories from those places? Would you visit them regularly? When you went there to take photos, how did you feel?
AB: My connection with the Malir River is strong because it goes way back, to my parents, my mom, my granddad. My mom always tells me that her father used to take everybody to the river when they were young, and at that time there used to be a lot of water, so they would swim. There was also “chikni mitti” so they would make sandcastles with their toys. When I was young, we used to go there and swim too. We were obsessed with collecting rocks, we’d bring them home and build a collection. We used to play football on the good side of the river where there was grass. That area tends to lack grounds, so that was a good place for us to play. In general, I think it’s mostly Sindhis and Baloch who live in the Malir area. Both people have a strong connection with water as well, be it Sindhu for Sindhis or Balochistan’s oceans. So my connection with water exists because of that and because of personal experiences. When I go there now to take photos, I find that it has changed a lot. It does not have that same character from before. Now, sandmining takes place there – government-backed sandmining – with the sand going to Bahria Town and other places. It’s really depressing, honestly. I go with a friend sometimes, we sit there and have that conversation about how it used to be, and how it is now. Even when I was young, our parents used to say it had changed a lot, so I can’t even imagine how it has gone from that to this. It’s not a good feeling.
OD: Do you think there’s something different or special about Malir River that you haven’t seen in other bodies of water in the city or around the city?
AB: In Karachi, there is the Lyari River and the Malir River. I don’t think before this year I ever saw the Lyari River flow. This year, after so long, was the first time it flowed. And usually when I’d see it before, it would mostly be gutter and there wouldn’t be anything else there. Our [Malir] river is also seasonal, but it still flows, and there’s more water. And even when there isn’t enough water in it, there are people. When I go over to photograph, I always find little kids playing, and women, old men, teenagers, everyone. People bring their goats for walks; they collect wood for their cooking. So, children play there – and sandmining goes on as well. It’s a really happening place, there are always lots of things about. And because I photograph it, I have a proper connection with it. I also think that when the Malir community was first formed, the river really shaped the whole area – where people lived and the location of the villages. I’m not sure whether that’s the case with Lyari, so I think that’s what makes it [the Malir River] different.
OD: Yeah, I see that in your photos as well. I really like how people are very much visible in them, especially children. Do you speak to them, do you interact with the people? Do you have a relationship with the children there?
AB: Yes, I do, especially with the children and the elderly. I go there regularly, so the kids recognise me and enjoy seeing me. One of my best photos is of a kid jumping from a hill and there’s water around. I’ve captioned it ‘The Flying Kids of Malir.’ The story behind it is that I was in a totally different place taking photos, and one of those kids ran towards me and said, “Bro come, you won’t believe what’s happening there, you will love it. It will be a nice photo.” Even he knew it would be a nice photo. We both ran towards the kids, where there was a small pond and hills. The kids were bathing in the water, and one of them was jumping into it from the top. I took the photo. I think, from the photos I’ve taken, that’s my most favourite one, and that’s because of my connection with that kid who came to me and told me he thought it would be a nice photo – and it was. There’s a lot of this kind of back and forth. They come and suggest things I should photograph. Sometimes, they’re just funny things, but sometimes they’re really good as well. Elderly men ask me a lot of questions about where I come from and what I do. Sometimes they recognise my elders like my grandfather. One time, someone came and said to me, “Your grandfather used to be involved in the decision making, what are you doing here taking pictures. You should learn from him.” I just said, “Okay, thank you.”
OD: When I photographed kids on the street, they always specified how I should take their photos. They’d gather all their friends and get into groups for their pictures. In your photos, I think the river is its own character.
AB: It really is, and also because I keep going there, the kids know I’ll come back and take a photo of them eventually, so they like to keep themselves in my good books.
OD: Do they ask if they can take photos from your camera?
AB: Yeah, they do, and a lot of times they take pictures of me. They say, you took photos of us, now uno reverse, we will take pictures of you. That happens often.
OD: It’s very much based on participation on both sides. And that must inform how you take photos, and what kinds of relationships you build with the people there. It’s not just you going there taking pictures, it’s also how they see you in those places.
AB: Yeah, exactly!
Now when I leave my house, I can see the expressway. There used to be a huge garden or orchard behind my house but now that is gone too
OD: I can see that you have a lot of landscapes, and there are a couple of photos where you can see the Expressway coming closer and closer to these landscapes. Overtime, you’ve seen that in front of your eyes. How do you think it’s changed that landscape, not just in general, but also for you?
AB: The expressway has changed it a lot. Before I even get to the landscape, I think about how a few years ago, when I would leave my house, I would see woodpeckers and sparrows, and lots of other different birds. Now, there are no birds left except crows. The birds have gone, the trees are gone, the farms are gone. There used to be no pollution here, and now there’s quite a bit of it. And, again, it’s from the Malir Expressway. Now when I leave my house, I can see the expressway. There used to be a huge garden or orchard behind my house but now that is gone too. When we used to go around the area before, we used to see trees and greenery. Now we see the Malir Expressway and a lot of these development projects. It’s not just the expressway – that just goes over the river. There are a lot of other projects that affect the climate of Malir. Most of these projects are completed before they even get the approval from a climate perspective. The Malir Expressway also did the same thing.
OD: That is very upsetting. It must be tough seeing the world around you change so rapidly. What can you tell us about the images in this series? I can see this photo of the man who is praying towards the river. There are also these kids who are jumping in this well and taking a bath in there. What is the story behind these images, how did you approach them? Was there anything else also happening around this?
AB: Two of my friends and I went there on a bike. We were very happy because we’d gotten the news that the Malir Expressway had completely collapsed at a point in the middle. We were going to see it. We parked the bike on the expressway because the road was closed since much of it was destroyed. There were a lot of people there – construction workers, engineers, and just regular people who were there to see what was going on. They were going down to where the water was, sand we decided to go there too. There’s a dam there, the Memon Goth Dam. This was after heavy rains, and the dam had burst. We got down and there were kids playing. The person in the image who’s praying is actually my friend. He’d gone off to pray as we’d started taking pictures. When we reached where he was, we saw he’d found a very peaceful spot for himself. I took a photo of him as he prayed. On the other side of the dam kids were swimming in the water and some people were bathing. Whenever our dam bursts, people treat it like it’s a picnic. They bring their chai and sit there and enjoy themselves. It was the same that day when the expressway broke, everyone was just there to see what was going on while sipping on their chai. Enjoying and having fun.
OD: That must have been a fulfilling experience. Knowing what you know about the environmental degradation that has taken place there, and seeing that people still find small moments of enjoyment, how did it feel after taking those photos on that particular day?
AB: It felt really good, honestly. I think the people of Malir, and maybe Karachi generally, find joy in small things. This was especially visible in that moment. In those three days during which I took the pictures of the river flooding, I was really sick. But I thought, this will only happen again a year later, and the way the landscape and situation is right now, who knows if the river will come again next time or not? That really pushed me. At the time, I was really in pain, so I wasn’t thinking much. There was no damage or loss to anyone in Malir during this flood, but I will tell you the story of when the Malir Dam burst in 2020. Our houses were flooded with water, four villages were flooded, and the water was flowing so fast it got into people’s homes, causing damage to their furniture and walls. For two or three hours, it was a hellish situation, and people were scared for their lives. People died, lots of animals died. We could see cows floating on the water and going into the river while we stood on our roofs. But after those three hours, when morning came, everybody was at the dam to see how it broke, everyone was enjoying themselves. Even when the rescue teams came, people were joking with them – the people whose houses were flooded. Afterwards, everyone was at the dam with chai. The landscape there is very beautiful, with a lot of places like that. Everyone sat in their corners having family gatherings, chatting, seeing what’s going on. I think this happens often in Malir, especially when it comes to the river.
OD: Since you’ve been actively visiting the river in the past couple of years, where do you see it going from here? The Malir Expressway has been declared complete by the developers, while half of it is actually indefinitely paused and they’re still excavating the riverbed. And yet, the city is celebrating this expressway. How do you feel about this, how do you think it’s going to change Malir and the future?
AB: It is definitely going to change Malir. Our elders always used to say that whenever the river’s path is blocked or narrowed, the river will find its way. They used to joke that the river gets angry, and we can see that. There were never floods in Malir, but now they happen. Other than the expressway, sandmining is also really dangerous. A lot of kids have died because you never know how deep an area is since they’ve removed the sand from there. There have been a lot of cases like that in the last year. People didn’t know how deep a spot was and went in, and never came back. The flow of the river has been affected too. I don’t know that much about that, but our elders say so. There are police and surveillance in Malir [to stop the mining]. But I see the trucks and tractors excavating sand every day. It’s illegal, but the police take money from them [the sandminers] and lets them do it. Two, three weeks ago, there was great lighting, so I got off my bike with my camera to take pictures while they were mining. The police were there in the distance – but they’d taken money. When they saw the camera in my hand, they thought I was a journalist, and they ran. The path to leave was in my direction, but they drove through the river on their bike so I wouldn’t be able to take their photo and they wouldn’t be caught. If we go near Gadap, or farther from Malir where there are fewer people, we can see at least ten trucks at a time sandmining. They take all this sand to Bahria Town. If this continues to happen, I think it’s going to change Malir and the river a lot. As far as the expressway goes, pretty much everyone here opposes it. Even people who don’t have an idea of the damage it causes oppose it, because it is not useful for them and they don’t get any benefit from it. People in the area are not generally that well off, and they don’t have cars. They mostly have bikes or use public transport. Overall, this is just bad and harmful for the people of Malir. They don’t feel good about it, but they can’t do much about it either, except protesting here and there.
Omair Danish is an archivist, photographer, researcher/writer, and nonfiction editor at Lakeer, currently pursuing an MA in Cinema and Media Studies at the University of Washington, Seattle. His work has appeared in Wasafiri. On most days, you can find him thrifting books, playing video games, or taking pictures on the street. More about him here: @cubisticromeos.