For the people living in these regions, though, there are also stories of raiding and looting and conflicts between the nomadic and settler populations. Here many cultures met — Tibetan, Persian, Turk. Many religious practices left their mark over the old, indigenous shamanistic beliefs of the people — Buddhism, Shiite and then Ismaili Islam. The Hunzakut, as the people of the region call themselves, trace their ancestry and their language back to the Central Asian cultures, possibly the Mongols. This is mixed with local stories of Greek ancestors, referring to Alexander the Great’s attempted invasion of India in the fourth century BCE.
As an aspiring architect from Karachi, Pakistan, I spent many months in Hunza between 1990 and 1996, as a student and later as a professional. I was trying to learn how the traditional systems of building houses were changing with the influx of new materials and technologies.
At the heart of my interest was a fear that these traditional systems were in danger of disappearing completely. Why should we even be concerned? I asked. There is something essential of value here, in structures that seem to be such an integral part of the landscape, almost as if they emerge from the mountains themselves.
In Hunza, I was inspired. I drew and drew, trying to capture the essence of this place that is still difficult for me to name. Perhaps it is because when I draw the landscapes and settlements I see that it brings another dimension of meaning and interpretation to reality, different from words. For me there was a freedom in drawing because there was no self-censorship or holding back. It was done simply to make sense of what I saw and the meditative quality of the experience itself. I think I have been searching for that quality in the places I have been to ever since.
It is a harsh landscape, home to the highest mountain ranges in the world. The cultures and communities that developed in this region were connected by impossibly high mountain passes that could only be accessed during certain times of the year.
In this environment, the Hunzakut have carved a landscape of terraced fields that they have coaxed into producing much-needed sustenance. Water from the high glaciers is channeled through a complex irrigation system into the fields. All this was created with the simplest of technologies: human hands and hand-built tools.
At the heart of my interest was a fear that these traditional systems were in danger of disappearing completely. Why should we even be concerned? I asked. There is something essential of value here, in structures that seem to be such an integral part of the landscape, almost as if they emerge from the mountains themselves.
