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very night, hundreds endure sleeplessness on Lahore’s streets. Many are labourers who have migrated to the city for jobs. Soaring rents force them to sleep on the roadsides.
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, not fully realising 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 often denied access to social and medical services because they lack valid identity documents. Reported numbers suggest that nearly 2,000 people lost their lives in the past couple of years living on the streets. However, it would be imprudent to assume that the reported figures accurately represent 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. Found by one Saleeha Noor (of 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 situation illustrates the harsh reality faced by those displaced from their homes due to mental health challenges. Initially found lying on a footpath, dishevelled, unshaven, malnourished and in pain, under the scorching July sun this year, Nisar died after a short stay in the hospital a month later.
Nisar’s case raises an important concern: the provision of care to persons without an identity document, especially those with mental health issues rendering them unable to advocate for themselves, or access to services that would recognise their status as named citizens.
Refused admission by several public healthcare centres because his case did not fall in the medico-legal bracket, and lacking any proof of identity, Nisar (the name he used) could not receive care until it was too late. Finally admitted to Sir Ganga Ram Hospital, Nisar — or Mehtab, or whoever he was — began to regain health. However, this improvement was not to last too long. 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.
The hospitals in Lahore face an overwhelming daily influx of patients. Shortages of staff and equipment; overworked doctors and nurses; and constant scrutiny have put public sector hospitals in the city 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 concern: the provision of care to persons without an identity document, especially those with mental health issues rendering them unable to advocate for themselves, or access to services that would recognise their status as named citizens.
Many such Nisars die nameless, unidentified, 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 engulfs them.
Intsab Sahi is a staff member