Pakistani's pictures do the talking By Muddassir Rizvi LAHORE - The narrow alleys behind the majestic Mughal-era Badshahi masjid (King's mosque) in Pakistan's second largest city cradle a people who are looked down on as social outcasts. Though these musicians, dancers and sex workers provide services to many, they are stuck in professions that are not rewarding, either financially or socially, in the mainly Muslim country. But for the majority of them there is no way out because society is not ready to accept them into the mainstream. Depression and gloom underline the lives of these social outcasts of Heera Mandi, Lahore's red-light district. Heera Mandi, Pakistan's most notorious neighborhood, has attracted many researchers, photographers and filmmakers in the past, but Iqbal Hussain, a painter in his late forties, stands out in the way he brings to the world the pain and misery that afflicts its inhabitants. The difference between his work and that of others lies in the fact that he has felt this pain and misery himself. "My family belonged to the same community. My relatives were engaged in the same profession. I had to work so hard to get out," Hussain says. "I know exactly the feelings and problems of these people - I have lived through them," he adds. He is now an assistant professor at Pakistan's prestigious National College of Arts in Lahore. But he continues to live in Heera Mandi, struggling for the financial and social integration of his neighbors in a society where the mention of Heera Mandi is still taboo. His daughters and sisters are in school and share his huge workload of making the lives of their neighbors better. "I help these people to get out," says Hussain, whose 31 paintings on the subject were on display in the lobby of the World Bank's offices in Islamabad earlier this month. The bank is providing US$47.77 million over the next five years to the Pakistani government for the purpose of improving the quality of life in Heera Mandi. Bank officials say that the institution hosted Hussain's painting exhibition to show its commitment to work against the spread of the HIV/AIDS and to prevent it from becoming established in vulnerable populations, including sex workers. Hussain's models are sex workers and dancers from Heera Mandi, who sit for him for hours with sadness and hopelessness written large on their faces, as if pleading to him to show the reality to the world. These people do not just want prevention from HIV/AIDS, but integration and a life of dignity and respect. "Why can't they help us switch to other professions, why do they just tell us to use contraceptives - it seems they want us continue to do what we do," says a sex worker in Heera Mandi. But the government says otherwise. "We are looking at Heera Mandi with the objective of controlling the epidemic of HIV/AIDS. We are laying increased focus on vulnerable populations such as commercial sex workers, injecting drug users, and prisoners," said an official of the National AIDS Control Program. But prevention from disease may not be enough to bring smiles to Hussain's models. Whether it is "Lubna", "Girl in Red" or "Mother and Daughter", all of Hussain's paintings have one thing in common - despair, despondency and depression. The choice of dull colors to paint his subjects has created an ambience that is different from the one of glamour that is socially perceived outside about the lives of people in Heera Mandi. While he has helped many of his neighbors switch to more acceptable professions, he knows he cannot bring about change for the entire community all by himself. "There is not much that is being done by anybody, whether by the government or the NGOs, to improve the lives of these people who are compelled by circumstances to do what they are doing," says Hussain. His task has become more difficult given the increasing number of newcomers to sex work, mainly due to poverty. "Where there was one girl in a room, now there are five," he explains. "Many land here from rural areas because their parents couldn't marry them off for the reason that they didn't have money to give them customary dowry," he explains. "Some would break out of their vicious lives of poverty to make more money as sex workers only to find a stark reality." There have been no surveys to establish the number of people who offer their services, whether as musicians, dancers or sex workers in Heera Mandi. However, a national survey a couple of months ago by the International Human Rights Monitoring (IHRM) group suggested that there are around 800,000 sex workers in the country, with an annual rise of around 100,000 in their population. "As many as 44 percent of women resort to the sex trade due to poverty, 32 percent by deception, 18 percent due to coercing, 4 percent due to surroundings [born to sex workers] and only 2 percent are involved in the sex trade at their own will," said the IHRM report. Against this backdrop, the centuries-old rich music and dance traditions of Heera Mandi have been overshadowed by the sex trade. Heera Mandi also stands as a bare contradiction to the country's laws and Islamic values. After all, the sex trade is illegal under the Suppression of Prostitution Ordinance 1961. This law bans running a brothel, enticing or leading a woman or girl for prostitution, and forcing a woman or a girl to have sexual intercourse. Besides these, more stringent Islamic laws declare adultery punishable with stoning to death. But "this is not about enforcing the laws, but eliminating social apartheid, discrimination on the basis of profession and taboos," argues Hussain.