“We do not stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing”: George Bernard Shaw

The world outside runs on noise and urgency—clocks ticking, horns blaring, footsteps rushing forward without looking back. But behind a quiet gate, time seems to loosen its grip. It breathes. It listens. Here, mornings arrive without haste, carried on beams of soft sunlight that rest gently on silvered hair and folded hands. Conversations drift slowly, like leaves on still water, unhurried and honest.

Laughter rises not in bursts, but in quiet ripples, born of shared glances and half-remembered stories. In that gentle stillness stands an old age home, where lives are not measured in deadlines, but in memories, smiles, and silent hopes waiting to be noticed.

Every wrinkle is a paragraph, every sigh a sentence left unfinished. The walls do not echo with demands, but with remembrance—with love once given freely, sacrifices made quietly, and dreams that shaped generations yet unseen. Time does not rush past here; it lingers, respectful, allowing each moment its due.

Afternoons unfold in quiet companionship. A shared cup of tea becomes a ceremony of connection, a newspaper read aloud turns into a brighter bridge between generations. Some eyes gaze outward, following birds among the sky, while others turn inward, revisiting moments etched permanently in the heart. The past and present sit side by side here, neither hurried neither forgotten.

There is a tenderness in the way silence settles- never empty, always full. Full of names once spoken daily, of homes remembered by scent and sound, of hands once strong, now resting, yet still capable of offering warmth. Even loneliness, when appears does so gently, wrapped in dignity rather than despair.

As the sun leans towards evening, the light softens further, as if in reverence. Shadows stretch long across the floor, mirroring the length of years lived, while heart remains quietly awake- hoping not for grand gestures, but for presence, for recognition, for love that remembers.

Inside a Home Where Every Life Matters

As I stepped inside, the air felt different- calmer, softer, almost sacred. The walls seemed to hold whispers of laughter, sacrifice and love from years gone by. Elderly residents sat bathed in sunlight, some gazing out of windows, as if watching their past drift by, others sharing quiet conversations that needed no audience. This was not a place of endings, but of stories still being told.

The residents welcomed me with warmth that crossed generations. Their smiles carried both joy and longing, their eyes reflecting wisdom earned through the decades of learning. Some spoke eagerly of their families they once raised and now abandoned by the same families. The others spoke less, seeming lost, gazing in the empty space but their silence was rich with meaning. Each had a story, which was like opening pages of a book, written not with ink but with experience happy or sad.

Comfort Woven into Every Corner

The old age home was simple, comforting, clean and sunlit. Quiet corners creating an atmosphere of peace. Care went beyond medicine and meals, it was present in unhurried conversations and attentive listening, their quiet patience and gentle kindness revealed that true service is not measured by tasks accomplished, but by empathy and respect the care is given.

Here compassion was woven into daily routine, transforming ordinary acts into gestures of humanity. Healing here, did not mean recovery it meant reassurance, belonging, and the comfort of being valued.

The Man by the Window

The first story unfolded beside a window, where sunlight rested patiently on folded hands. Mr. Ram is a man of remarkable confidence and intellect. Once a gifted copywriter he had spent his life mastering words, turning language into both livelihood and identity. Yet life, with its quiet cruelties, brought him here. Alcoholism, which began as escape, has taken its toll—eroding trust, straining relationships, and leaving him largely alone. His family, unable or unwilling to see the man beneath the struggle, has turned away.

He speaks of them without bitterness, as though protecting their memory without blame. There is an acceptance in his tone but not defeat. Some wounds he says are not to reopened just acknowledged.

Rituals of Fear, Gestures of Hope

Mrs. Kamla lives within a world governed by quiet rituals and unspoken fears. She suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder—a condition marked by intrusive thoughts that generate overwhelming anxiety, compelling the mind to seek relief through repetitive actions. For her, cleanliness is not preference but necessity; she washes her hands repeatedly, convinced that everything she touches carries impurity, as though the world itself must be held at a careful distance.

She is a quiet, demure presence, her voice seldom rising above a whisper. Much of her time is spent in gentle anticipation, believing firmly that her children call her every day. This belief is not insistence, but comfort—an emotional anchor that steadies her mind. At unexpected moments, she smiles to herself, a soft, private smile, as if responding to voices only she can hear.

When she speaks, it is in hushed, tender tones. Each time I prepare to leave, she looks up with hopeful eyes and says the same words, carefully and lovingly: “I like bananas. Will you bring some for me next time?” The request is simple, almost childlike, yet it carries a profound longing—to be remembered, to be cared for, to be assured that someone will return.

In Mrs. Kamla’s world, affection survives not in grand gestures, but in repetition. Her rituals speak of fear, but her smiles speak of trust. And in that gentle contradiction lies the quiet tragedy—and quiet grace—of her life.

Held by the Past, Afraid of the Future

Mrs. Savitri, whom I affectionately call aunty, is a woman of gentle grace and enduring warmth. Her presence is comforting, her smile tender, as though kindness has become second nature to her. She delights in speaking of her past, weaving stories rich with affection—of a devoted husband, of children once cradled in love, of a home that echoed with laughter and belonging. Her memories are sunlit, carefully preserved, and spoken of as if revisiting them keeps her heart anchored.

Yet beneath these joyful recollections lies a constant, unspoken fear. She lives in quiet anxiety that her daughter may arrive one day to take her away removing her from this familiar sanctuary and confining her to a life of isolation, watched over only by a caretaker. The thought unsettles her deeply, casting shadows over even her brightest moments.

Her daughter’s intentions are painfully transparent. She counts the days not in concern, but in calculation. Phone calls arrive stripped of warmth, bearing a single, chilling question: “Is she still alive?” There is no inquiry about health, no word of comfort—only the impatience of inheritance. Property, not presence, seems to bind the relationship that remains.

Listening to her, I realised that abandonment is not always loud. Sometimes, it arrives softly—through unanswered affection, through voices that ask only if one still exists.

Echoes That Stayed with Me

Engaging with the dear senior citizens of the home profoundly reshaped my understanding of aging, family, and care in ways I had neither foreseen nor fully comprehended. I learned that old age is not merely a stage of life, but a landscape shaped by memory, resilience, and quiet endurance. Each interaction reminded me that behind every aged face lies a lifetime of experiences—of love given generously, of sacrifices made silently, and of identities that do not diminish with time.

I realised that loneliness in old age is often not born of absence, but of neglect—of voices that no longer call, of presence that has slowly withdrawn. All they need is love and out time and presence.

I walked away with gratitude—for my own relationships, for the privilege of time, and for the opportunity to listen. This experience taught me that caring for the elderly is not an act of charity, but an expression of humanity—one that deepens our empathy and reminds us of who we are, and who we will one day become.

The sixth edition of the forum, held recently at Riyadh Schools in Misk under the theme “Arts Reshaping the World: Social Responsibility of Cultural Institutions,” brought together artists, curators, scholars, and cultural practitioners from across the globe to explore how cultural institutions can drive social responsibility and creative sustainability.

Reem Al-Sultan, CEO of the Misk Art Institute, emphasized the forum’s role in fostering new ideas and cross-cultural conversations.

“Cultural institutions are active participants in shaping identity and collective memory, but they are also agents of change,” she said.

“By convening pioneering voices from across the region and beyond, the Creative Forum 2025 kindles new cultural conversations and highlights innovative approaches to cultural and social responsibility.”

The two-day program featured over 15 panel discussions, talks, and networking events, covering a wide spectrum of topics.

Among the sessions, “Building Art World Legacy Through Archiving,” led by Basmah Al-Shathry, the institute’s lead curator, examined the challenges and opportunities of documenting Saudi art history.

Shathry noted that while archival resources are still developing, initiatives like this forum are crucial for preserving the Kingdom’s cultural heritage and making it accessible for future generations.

Another session, “Margins are the Main Text,” explored the transformative power of art and its role in amplifying underrepresented voices.

Noor Salame, CEO and founder of Kaph Books, spoke about creating a publishing platform rooted in the region with international distribution.

“Our goal is to have our voices heard worldwide, showcasing what is happening in the region’s art scene,” she said. “We were once on the margins, and now our conversations are becoming central. We are archiving, documenting, and sharing our vision with the world.”

The forum also featured a presentation by Abdulrahman Gazzaz, co-founder of architecture studio BrickLab, on documenting the gentrification of Riyadh’s Al-Rawdah neighborhood, highlighting how art and design intersect with social and urban development.

Additionally, workshops and informal discussion sessions allowed participants to engage directly with industry leaders, including photographer Omar Ashour, art adviser Myrna Ayad, and artists Ayman Dayban and Rashid Alsubaie.

Since its launch in 2020, the Misk Creative Forum has hosted nearly 200 speakers from more than 20 countries and welcomed over 14,000 attendees.

The forum has steadily grown into a major platform for cross-cultural dialogue, networking, and creative development, supporting the institute’s mission to empower creativity and foster inclusivity.

Al-Sultan highlighted the importance of showcasing homegrown talent alongside international perspectives, stating that the forum not only amplifies Saudi voices but also encourages meaningful global engagement.

The event demonstrates how cultural institutions can serve as catalysts for both artistic innovation and social impact.

By connecting local creators with global thinkers and practitioners, the Misk Creative Forum strengthens the region’s cultural ecosystem and helps Saudi Arabia share its rich artistic heritage with the world.

Through discussions, workshops, and panels, the forum emphasizes that creativity is not only an avenue for personal expression but also a tool for shaping society, inspiring dialogue, and promoting understanding across borders.

Overall, the Misk Creative Forum 2025 reflects the growing importance of cultural institutions in fostering social responsibility, innovation, and cross-border collaboration.

It highlights how art and creativity can bridge communities, promote inclusivity, and provide a platform for voices that might otherwise go unheard.

As the forum continues to expand, it reinforces Saudi Arabia’s role as a hub for cultural dialogue and demonstrates the transformative power of the arts in shaping a more connected and understanding world

True devotion is measured not only by how we pray, but also by how we uphold the dignity of our surroundings

As the crescent moon of Ramzan 2025 fades, we reach the conclusion of a deeply spiritual journey. This is a time of gratitude, renewal, and profound introspection. We have fasted, prayed, given charity, and sought closeness to Allah. But have we also paused to reflect on the unintended impact of our worship on those around us? Have our actions, meant to bring us nearer to God, inadvertently created hardship for others?

Too often, our religious enthusiasm spills into public life in ways that disrupt daily routines. Our devotion should be a source of harmony, not inconvenience. If our prayers, gatherings, and celebrations cause public distress, are we truly embodying the values of Islam?

The Changing Landscape of Ramzan: Congested Mosques and Blocked Roads

During Ramzan, our mosques transform overnight. Once sparsely filled, they overflow with worshippers, forcing many to pray on the streets, blocking traffic, and creating chaos. Hasty parking of bikes and cars worsens the problem, making already narrow lanes impassable. In our eagerness to fulfill religious obligations, do we pause to consider the inconvenience to pedestrians, emergency vehicles, or those simply trying to pass through?

The moments before Iftar should be filled with gratitude and calm. Yet, in many areas, they bring chaos. People rush to buy food, crowding markets and streets. Roadside Iftar parties block pedestrian paths and disrupt traffic. Worse, we often leave behind a trail of discarded plastic plates, cups, and food waste, turning our surroundings into a mess. Is this the discipline and cleanliness Islam teaches?

Taraweeh prayers are among the cherished practices of Ramzan. But when held in public spaces or amplified over loudspeakers, they disturb those seeking rest. In the last ten nights, Qiyam-ul-Layl extends into the early hours, further disrupting neighbors. The Prophet (peace be upon him) instructed us to lower our voices in prayer if it might disturb others. If even Quranic recitation should be quieted for consideration, should we not rethink how we conduct our night prayers?

Ramzan is a time of heightened generosity, with many distributing ration kits, Zakat, and food. Yet, unorganized charity efforts often create overcrowding, long queues, and public disorder. A well-intended act of kindness should not lead to chaos or distress.

Laylatul Qadr is a night of immense spiritual reward, but for some, it has become an excuse for reckless behavior. Youth engaging in dangerous bike stunts force authorities to close flyovers and deploy extra police personnel. What should be a night of devotion instead places an undue burden on law enforcement. Staying awake in worship should not translate into actions that harm public order.

Islamic Teachings on Consideration and Responsibility: Respecting Public Spaces

The Prophet (peace be upon him) explicitly forbade blocking public pathways for prayer. A sahih hadith graded by Albani highlights the importance of keeping pathways clear. Worship should not come at the cost of inconvenience to others.

The Quran instructs us to balance our voices in prayer (Surah Al-Isra 17:110). If even Quranic recitation should be kept moderate, how much more should we be mindful of loudspeakers at night?

The Prophet (peace be upon him) said, “A Muslim is one from whose hands and tongue other Muslims are safe.” (Sahih Bukhari). Our worship should reflect this principle, ensuring that our presence in public spaces does not become a source of hardship for others.

Islam mandates respect for neighbors. Disturbing their sleep with loud prayers is not an act of devotion but of negligence. We must ask ourselves: are we embodying the spirit of Ramzan if our actions cause distress?

Faith and Civic Responsibility

Islam is not just about personal worship but also about our duties to society. Our faith calls us to be disciplined, just, and considerate. This aligns with laws meant to maintain public order, including:

• Noise Pollution (Regulation and Control) Rules, 2000 – Limits loudspeaker use, especially at night.

• Motor Vehicles Act, 1988 – Prohibits obstructing roads and pathways.

• Section 133 of CrPC – Prevents public nuisance and unauthorized gatherings.

The Quran reminds us:

“O you who have believed, fulfill your contracts.” (Surah Al-Ma’idah 5:1)

This extends to our social contracts—upholding laws that govern noise control, traffic management, and public safety.

Striking a Balance: Worship with Wisdom

Ramzan should deepen our connection with Allah while strengthening our role as responsible members of society. We can fulfill our religious duties without creating disorder. Practical changes include:

• Organized Worship: Mosques should manage crowd control, ensuring that prayers do not spill into streets.

• Eco-Friendly Iftar: Community meals should be planned with waste management in mind, minimizing litter.

• Responsible Taraweeh: Limiting loudspeakers and ensuring prayers do not disrupt neighbors.

• Structured Charity: Distributions should be well-coordinated to avoid unnecessary crowding.

• Discouraging Reckless Behavior: Community leaders must actively address youth engaging in dangerous activities during Laylatul Qadr.

True devotion is measured not only by how we pray, but also by how we uphold the dignity of our surroundings and the well-being of those around us.

As we step beyond Ramzan, let our worship continue—not just through prayer, but through our everyday actions of respect, discipline, and kindness.