n the last week of January, I heard about a critically acclaimed art exhibition at Alhamra. Poignantly titled Toys: Definitions of Childhood, it immediately piqued my interest.

On a Monday evening, as I entered, the gentle hues of clay, orange and off-white captivated me. Several tables displayed toys crafted from bamboo, clay, paper and cloth. The walls were adorned with photographs of toy makers, capturing them in the process of weaving paper and clay into intricate designs. Hanging from the ceiling were colourful birds made of paper and paint, swaying with the air.

The highlight of the exhibition was a collection of traditional folk toys, including the drum cart (rehri), clay horse (ghugu ghoray), rattle (damru) and wind fan (pambheeri). The ambience of the gallery evoked a sense of innocent wonder, underscored by the pathos of these fast-disappearing age-old traditions.

Curated by the critic Aasim Akhtar and documented by Waqas Manzoor, the exhibition was an unforgettable experience. It captured the struggles of the local toy-making community, which is suffering due to the influx of synthetic and plastic toys in local markets – not to mention the rising input costs. It takes an artisan three to four days to craft a single toy and the likelihood of selling it at a fair price remains low.

The art exhibition brought to the forefront the consumer network, highlighting the deep connection between craftspeople and the children who play with these organic toys. In a stroke of brilliance, Waqas Manzoor displayed the stories and photographs of the artisans alongside the toys they created, illustrating how intimately these makers are related to their craft and how they continue to carry forward a fading legacy.

The gallery housed more than just an exhibition – it was an experience. Seeing these toys transported one back to childhood. The depth of nostalgia depends, of course, on one’s socioeconomic background. Those who grew up in middle-class or working-class households will recognise fragments of their own lives in these handcrafted objects. Beyond personal memories, these toys also serve as reflections of a deeply rooted indigenous culture, with generations passing down traditional toy-making methods to their children.

With the ongoing economic crisis, these craftspeople face an existential threat. Struggling to sustain their livelihoods, many are being forced to abandon their trade in search of more viable means of survival.

The crises afflicting Pakistan mean that these toymakers are compelled to shift to more profitable trades due to two key factors – rising costs, which have made their generational livelihood increasingly precarious, and the overwhelming force of globalisation, which has flooded the market with plastic, mass-produced toys that are both more accessible and more popular.

The exhibition evoked curiosity, wonder and sorrow. When viewed side by side, the stories of the toymakers and their creations take on a tangible, emotional weight. A toy ceases to be just a toy – it becomes a story, one that spans generations. It encourages reflection on the struggles of these artisans and the near-extinction of their craft.

This exhibition also illustrated the power of art to transport the viewer into precarious lives, offering a glimpse into the fading traditions of 21st-Century Pakistan. At the same time, it highlighted the beauty and diversity of indigenous crafts. Above all, it underscored the significance of indigenous art, the resilience of craftspeople and the transformative power of storytelling in shedding light on lives that have been marginalised by the dominance of mass-produced culture.

The writer is a lecturer in English literature