We met Ali Raza near Minar-e-Pakistan while he was collecting plastic bottles from the trash. At an age when he should have been in school—reading books and playing with friends—circumstances forced him to shoulder household responsibilities prematurely.

Shivering Hands, Burning Fever
Iqbal’s tears still weigh heavy on my heart.
Torn clothes, shivering hands from hunger, a burning body from fever—his tearful eyes silently questioning the state, institutions, and the society.


