Once a year, at the shrine of Sehwan Sharif in South Pakistan, an eclectic group of Sufi believers heads across Sindh and Baluchistan provinces, from water holes to water holes to reach another shrine.

In extreme heat and difficult conditions, we followed them for 14 days and 180 Km across desert and mountain passes. Most of these Sufi pilgrims live a minimalist life, having barely any possessions, often single men or women that swapped the materialistic life for a life of devotion, walking old sacred routes and staying in shrines, living off alms.

They can wear black cloth or colourful garments, some have long dreadlocks, others weight themselves with up to 40 Kg of chains tied up to their body. There is an air of anarchy, a pursuit of freedom; it made me think of them as the punks of Pakistan. Many smoke large quantities of marijuana. They come alone, some with families, some even bring their pigeons for blessings. They all walk very fast, purposefully, often singing their passion for God, a long caravan spreading for days, fuelled by this intense spiritual quest, sprinkled with laughter. At night, we slept under the stars.

This is the story of Qismat Ali, Haji Baba, the two Sultan Fakir, Raja Aslam, Manzoor Ahmad and so many others. My love goes to them.

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Some new Urdu words I learned:
Ziker: meditation
Rooh: soul
Ikhlaq: morale
Sakhi: generous
Bekharz: selfless
Hidayat: guidance
Kabuter: pigeon