There’s something almost soporific about the soundscape that floats up over the tall, bougainvillaea-covered walls of this courtyard home in Lahore’s Gulberg neighbourhood. Indistinct chatter, sweetly insistent birdsong, and the soft clinking of teacups emanate from the patio of Wusaaq, a Pakistani guesthouse beloved of cultural enthusiasts and travellers seeking more than just a place to stay.
The greatest design stories from AD Middle East, delivered to your inbox
The 37 Best Hotels in the World – Our Design Experts Share Their Favourite Stays This Year
You get the impression that gentility and succour have always been the order of the day here. Not so: when Faaria Rehman Salahuddin first walked into the 1950s property (which her husband had purchased with other plans in mind), she saw a dilapidated courtyard home that needed rescuing. “Something about its old soul spoke to me, and I couldn’t walk away,” she explains over chai on a sun-dappled terrace. “My husband was my greatest support – he trusted me completely, and let me do what I knew I needed to do.”
Few would have expected a shift into hospitality from someone with nearly three decades’ experience in high-level banking and institutional leadership. “What was most important for me,” says Rehman Salahuddin, “was to create a tribute to my late mother, who taught me how to make a house a home. Her name was Gulnayar [meaning pomegranate blossom], so that’s why each room is named after a flower.” Seven years since it opened, Wusaaq stands as a living tribute – not only to Rehman Salahuddin’s mother, but also to the lost art of Pakistani hospitality, to the richness of old homes, and to a way of hosting that prioritises grace over gloss.
While Rehman Salahuddin didn’t have a background in design or hospitality, her peripatetic childhood was shaped by storytelling traditions and the art of gracious hosting. “We never lived anywhere longer than five or six years due to the nature of my father’s work,” she explains. “But wherever we were, my mother beautifully and effortlessly made it a home.” That sensibility of welcoming travellers and fostering community now defines Wusaaq. The name, chosen by her husband, comes from a lesser-known poem by his grandfather, the celebrated Allama Iqbal, which describes a home in paradise: a courtyard shaded by fruit trees where friends gather. “When he shared the poem with me, I felt like it was written for this house,” Rehman Salahuddin says. The image, and the idea, became her north star.
When Rehman Salahuddin took over the two-kanal (9,000 square feet) property, she was still working full-time in banking, spending evenings on-site overseeing carpenters, plumbers and masons. The architectural integrity of the midcentury residence was preserved almost entirely, with “no extensions”, she explains. “Just one wall was added to carve out a bathroom in the junior suite, and two smaller ones to make a powder room. That’s it.”
The decision to retain the house’s original footprint is refreshing in a city where old homes are routinely gutted or replaced. Instead, Wusaaq reveals its story through layers of materials: the apple-green-and-pale-yellow porcelain tiles on the upper floors are original; the courtyard, once packed earth, is now paved with bricks in the style of old Punjabi homes, and is designed to be doused with water on summer evenings as the family gathers under fruit trees. “My joy at Wusaaq is the peepal tree in the courtyard – its roots crawl into the walls, and every year new ones bloom crimson red.”
Leafy canopies are central to the Wusaaq experience. Three old mango trees still bear fruit, and have been joined by lemon, fig, guava, jamun and more. “We’ve planted new trees as the old ones age,” says Rehman Salahuddin. “But always fruit-bearing, and in keeping with the ethos of the home.” That commitment to cultural continuity flows indoors, where the five guest rooms, two communal lounges, music room and reading room are lined with personal artefacts: think vintage carpets from Uzbekistan and Syria, contemporary Pakistani art, and custom furniture. Retro light switches and original brass door handles have been reinstated based on the hardware of a chest of drawers found in the house. “The window grills were long gone, but we found one intact, so we recreated the pattern across the entire house.”
Three rooms still have their original lighting fixtures, while others feature hand-painted porcelain pendants and vintage finds sourced from Chandigarh, India – chosen specifically for their links to South Asia’s pre-partition design vernacular. In the bathrooms, layouts have been updated and modernised, and each is clad with locally handmade cold-pressed tiles. Even the room keys at the guesthouse are small works of art – crafted using the pietra dura technique with semi-precious stones forming flower emblems, and room names etched in English and Urdu. They’re one of many small, charming gestures that make a stay here memorable.
Wusaaq has hosted notable visitors, including the artist Sir John Akomfrah, the architect Mariam Kamara, and Sheikha Hoor Al Qasimi, who stayed here during the second edition of Lahore Biennale. “She called it home,” says Rehman Salahuddin. “I felt that was the highest compliment.” Perhaps it’s because the guesthouse remains resolutely non-commercial in feel. Guests won’t find intercoms or minibars; instead, breakfast is prepared by Rehman Salahuddin’s home chef and served in the garden on inherited crockery. The staff is small and treated like family. “We prefer to keep things simple, and have learned how to be hospitable without being intrusive.”
The greatest design stories from AD Middle East, delivered to your inbox
Rehman Salahuddin hopes her work sparks something in others. “There are many homes like this across Pakistan – in Gujranwala, Gujarat, Sialkot. They don’t need to be demolished. They need someone to care for them and appreciate the beauty that’s already there.”
