KARACHI: When Muhammad Imran arrived in neighboring India last month, he thought the journey would culminate in his son recovering from an unfortunate spinal injury. Little did he know that he would be forced to head back to Pakistan. That too, without his wife.
Imran, 43, traveled to India with his wife Nabeela Imran, an Indian national, and children in March clinging to the hope that doctors at New Delhi’s Apollo Hospital would help his 17-year-old son Muhammad Ayan walk again. Ayan was left paralyzed in 2023 after he suffered a gunshot wound in his spine after getting in the crosshairs of a gunfight between police and street criminals in Karachi.
However, ties between India and Pakistan deteriorated after New Delhi blamed Islamabad for being involved in a militant attack on tourists in Indian-administered Kashmir on Apr. 22 that killed 26 people. Islamabad denies involvement.
Both nations downgraded ties, with India suspending visas for almost all Pakistani nationals and Islamabad responding with tit-for-tat measures. The move triggered panic among visiting families — including Imran’s, who had married his maternal cousin Nabeela, a resident of New Delhi, 18 years ago.
Since then, Nabeela had been living in Pakistan on a visa that was intermittently renewed without her ever needing to acquire Pakistan’s nationality. But the suspension of visas meant Imran and his Pakistani children’s 45-day medical visa was no longer valid, and Nabeela was left behind in India.
“She was separated from us while crying and we also came here with great difficulty, crying,” an emotional Ayan told Arab News.
Imran said he arrived in India after spending “every single rupee” with the hope that his son would walk again. However, bilateral tensions between India and Pakistan, and the ensuing atmosphere in India made his family “very scared.”

“I told them, ‘I am married [to her],’ I pleaded with them, cried, and showed a lot of humility,” Imran said about his interaction with Indian authorities. “But they said, ‘No, write an exit and leave.’“
‘PEOPLE SHOULDN’T BE DIVIDED BY BORDERS’
For Ayan, the shock of being separated from his mother compounded the trauma of his paralysis and incomplete treatment.
“I went for treatment with a hope but that hope shattered because of that accident and then the fact that my mother was not coming with us,” he said.
“I was completely separated from a mother’s love. We were far apart; it made me cry.”
The ordeal is also tough for Imran, who is the sole caregiver to Ayan now that Nabeela is in India.
“Should I go to work or take care of my child,” Imran asked. “Because his mother used to handle everything — feeding him, taking care of him, and everything else.
“Now that she’s not here, I am facing a lot of distress,” he added.
Back in India, Nabeela is consumed by the same worry for her son.
“Over there, my child is paralyzed and in distress, and I am the one who takes care of everything for him,” she told Arab News via a video call.
“Now, his father will be going to work— who will take care of him? Who will look after him?“
Nabeela appealed to governments in India and Pakistan to reunite her with her children.
“I am in a lot of distress; I cannot live without my children,” she said. “My child is helpless, what should I do?“
Robbed of his mother’s affection, Ayan had the same plea.
“I appeal to both the Pakistani and Indian governments to reunite me with my mother as soon as possible,” he said.
 “And I also appeal to the Pakistani government to help me with my treatment,” he added. “Please reunite me with my mother.”
Imran recalled how he saw with his own eyes when many families were separated from their loved ones and sent to the border.
“Borders may exist but people shouldn’t be divided by them,” he said.

RAWALPINDI: Trucks thunder along Pakistan’s dusty highways and through bustling city streets, like rolling canvases ablaze with color and poetry, transforming heavy transport into mobile masterpieces and offering a window into the country’s folk culture.
The roots of Pakistani truck art go back to British colonial rule, when owners began adorning their vehicles with intricate floral patterns, calligraphy, and cultural motifs.
What started as modest embellishments has evolved into artistry. Painters, welders, electricians, and metalworkers collaborate to elevate commercial trucks into personalized symbols of pride and regional identity.
There are camel bone inlays in Balochistan, intricate wood carvings in Peshawar, and disco-inspired detail in Rawalpindi.
Muhammad Ashfaq, a 55-year-old from Rawalpindi, has been painting trucks for over four decades.
“Each client comes with their own vision and budget,” said Ashfaq. “We ask which style they prefer: Peshawar, Hazara, Swat, Pindi, Mandi Bahauddin, or Karachi.”
Pindi style is considered the most flamboyant, characterized by vivid colors, elaborate stickers, mirror work, and dense layering of design elements.
“Pindi style is like a bride getting ready for her wedding,” says Farrukh Sana, a truck driver who recently upgraded his vehicle with the vibrant design. “We feel happy when people admire our truck. It’s a symbol of hard work and beauty.”
Styles vary according to cost and components, as well as color and complexity.
A full refurbishment of a truck can cost between 2 to 5 million rupees (about $7,000 to $17,790), depending on the materials used and if major elements like the tires and the chassis are replaced.
But, beyond mere decoration, the trucks also bear poetry, religious messages, and personal slogans, reflecting the aspirations, humor, and emotions of their drivers.
Truck art has transcended cargo vehicles, finding its way onto rickshaws, buses, and even household decor.
It first caught global attention in the 1970s, when foreign tourists started photographing the unusually bright vehicles. Since then, truck art has inspired international exhibitions and influenced contemporary fashion and product design.
The distinctly South Asian tradition endures despite Pakistan’s economic hardships. Artisans like Ashfaq remain devoted to the craft, while drivers like Sana view their trucks as more than a livelihood. They are seen as roving cultural ambassadors.
“Every driver dreams of making his truck look unique,” Sana says with pride. “When we drive it out and people turn their heads, we know we’ve created something special.”