Pakistan’s passionate, young artists defy stereotypes - a walk in the old city with the artsy youth of Lahore. Story excerpt: "Vibrant, young, and liberal, the city of Lahore has been the progressive capital of Pakistan for over a century. The city—created in part to be a haven for Muslim minorities—took on the artistic mantle in an unconventional way. In 1875, when the area was still part of India (and still under British control), a western advocate for the arts named John Lockwood Kipling helped open an art school and a museum there. Kipling was the school’s first principal and the museum’s first curator. His work was to preserve and showcase the crafts, music, and architecture native to the Punjab region. (His son, English author Rudyard Kipling, wrote Kim, a novel set in colonial India in Lahore.)"

The ancient mud wrestling tradition Excerpt from story: "India and Pakistan for centuries have been hosting a sport few people have heard of today. A form of competitive mud wrestling known as kushti or pehlwani, its roots may date to as far back as the 4th century B.C., though interest in the sport has been declining for at least two decades. The sport is as really a way of life, almost a devotional practice that requires discipline. Sex, alcohol, and tobacco are forbidden. And a specific, dairy-rich diet is meant to provide the proper nutrition to support the wrestlers’, or pehlwans’, rigorous training demands." Story here : https://www.nationalgeographic.com/photography/article/pakistan-wrestlers-lahore-sports

I love Karachi very much. A fascinating city, a burning light, and mini stories everywhere. Built on countless waves of migration, this megalopolis has been called the largest refugee camp in the world, over 20 millions and counting. Looking for nothing in particular, I spent a few days walking around Karachi and it’s surroundings, meeting perfect strangers. Part of my Perfect Stranger series.

High in the Karakoram mountains, near the border with Tibet, The Hunza valley has been called the Shangri-La of Pakistan. A land of snow capped, ancient beliefs and a robust, gracious people. But with the improvement of the road access, the place is slowly changing. Excerpt from text by ©Mareile Paley: "Mashruf, the Bitan of Tsil, believes in fairies. Twenty one to be exact. " There are 21 fairies, always 21. When I burn Juniper branches, they come. It reminds them of the forest they live in..." Fairies are no laughing matter in Northern Pakistan's Hunza valley."...

Full video here, © Matthieu Paley : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=haK9j0RL9tU “We are the Anti-Taliban! We stand for love, tolerance and the great infinity”. South Pakistan is the birth place of Sufism. Every year, an estimated one million pilgrims gather in the small desert town of Sehwan Sharif in Pakistan’s Sindh province to celebrate the world’s biggest Sufi Festival. Intoxicated by dance, love and devotion its followers commemorate the death anniversary of the Sufi saint Lal Shahbaz Qalander. Revered by Muslims and Hindus alike, the “Red Falcon Wanderer” is the patron saint of the outcasts of society. For three days and nights, musicians & poets, transvestites & prostitutes, beggars & holy men all unite in an infectious chaos of trance dance and prayers, defying Islamic hardliners. “Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.” Rumi, 13th century.

“1999” Pakistan, the first year. In July 1999, at the impressionable age of 25, my girlfriend and I left New York with a one-way ticket to Pakistan. We headed for the mountains. They were gigantic and treacherous; the people living amongst them were warm and touching. Soon we were addicted. We opened up new passes, learned the language, went into the wild. Karakoram, Hindu Kush, Pamir, year after year, we must have trekked over 3000 Kilometers. I was near K2 on 9/11. Soon I was asked to go and photograph demonstrations in the streets of Islamabad. I tried, but it didn’t feel right – this was not the Pakistan I wanted to portray. In October 2001 we had to leave, obeying our embassy’s advice: the airport might get bombed. We flew to Bangkok, leaving most of our stuff, our friends, our life behind. I didn’t take many pictures during that first year in Pakistan – film was expensive and a round trip to the nearest photo store was a 35 hours bus journey through the Karakoram. I had a Nikon F100 and a Horizon, a cheap Russian panoramic camera. I was walking the hills, experimenting, learning.