No city for the nameless
Every night, hundreds endure sleeplessness on Lahore’s streets. Many are laborers who have migrated to the city in search of jobs. Soaring rents force them to sleep on the roadsides, unable to afford proper shelter. The urban homeless are mostly economic migrants, though many are also pushed out by mental and physical disabilities.
Among them are those who hear none of the city’s noise, as a drug-filled haze engulfs their senses, quashing their dreams and leaving their skeletal bodies craving only the painful needles that numb their reality. They often do not fully realize the devastating impact of these substances on their weary minds and bodies.
Forced to live in unhygienic conditions and disconnected from social life, these individuals are frequently denied access to social and medical services because they lack valid identity documents. Reported numbers suggest that nearly 2,000 people have lost their lives over the past couple of years living on the streets. However, it would be imprudent to assume that the reported figures accurately represent the true scale of the challenge at hand.
Nisar is one such soul lost to the city. Found quivering on a footpath, the malnourished man once had a home. Discovered by Saleeha Noor of the Shauoor Welfare Foundation, Nisar’s case is a stark reminder of how homelessness, lack of proper medical care, and societal support can chip away at a person’s dignity — even in death.
Nisar’s story illustrates the harsh reality faced by those displaced from their homes due to mental health challenges. Initially found lying on a footpath, disheveled, unshaven, malnourished, and in pain under the scorching July sun this year, Nisar died after a short stay in the hospital a month later.
His case raises an important concern: the provision of care to persons without identity documents, especially those with mental health issues that render them unable to advocate for themselves or access services that would recognize their status as named citizens.
Refused admission by several public healthcare centers because his condition did not fall under the medico-legal bracket, and lacking any proof of identity, Nisar — the name he used — could not receive timely care until it was too late. Finally admitted to Sir Ganga Ram Hospital, Nisar (or Mehtab, or whoever he truly was) began to regain health.
Once able to speak a little, he told the care providers that he had a home once. Somewhere in Mughalpura lived his relatives. He had brothers and sisters-in-law. Why he left home, or if he was forced out because of his altered mental status, remains a mystery.
Hospitals in Lahore face an overwhelming daily influx of patients. Shortages of staff and equipment, overworked doctors and nurses, and constant scrutiny have placed public sector hospitals under constant stress. With economic and fiscal challenges multiplying daily, providing healthcare support and quality care to an ever-growing, financially vulnerable population has become a significant challenge.
Nisar’s case highlights another serious concern: the provision of care to persons without identity documents, particularly those with mental health conditions that prevent them from advocating for themselves or accessing services that recognize their identity.
Many such Nisar’s die nameless, unidentified, and forgotten. The city bustles around their limp bodies until someone notices the stench of rotting flesh. Buried equally unceremoniously, these persons are lost forever. Lahore consumes them — a silent tragedy unfolding in the midst of urban life.
https://www.thenews.com.pk/tns/detail/1346834-no-city-for-the-nameless
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