It is a matter of debate whether Karachi has changed or mutated. Arguments can be given for and against both forms of transformation. The fundamental difference between the two is that while the former (change) does not merely have horrific connotations, only a handful of positives can be extracted from the latter (mutate). Those who say Karachi has changed primarily do not feel alarmed or saddened by the shape it has assumed; but those who feel it has mutated, somehow, seem utterly distressed by the city’s nightmarish amorphous growth.

An example of this amorphousness can be witnessed by paying a visit, even of a transitory nature, to an old city area known as Choona Bhatti. Iqbal Market and Aurangzeb Market are nearby too, though none have the auditory ring of Choona Bhatti. Choona means lime paste and bhatti, furnace. Put two and two together. Still confused? Stay that way. That’s its charm. Choona is scarce and bhatti is invisible here. Yet it is Choona Bhatti for reasons best known to its name-giver(s).

If you are not very well familiar with vintage Karachi, you will not be able to reach this area easily. It is not exactly a mazy path. However, trying to view only a couple of old colonial buildings tightly pressed between post-1970 concrete structures can be an arduous task. To make matters simple, reach the old Theosophical Society building (refurbished after partition) first. Yes, that should not be difficult.

Once you reach the Theosophical Society building on M.A. Jinnah Road (formerly Bunder Road), turn right into a street. Cross that street and then again turn right only to go across into a narrow lane teeming with all kinds of shops, leaving very little room for vehicles to pass through. People that hoof it, like this writer, find it relatively trouble-free to move into the street and walk ahead.

This gali, Iqbal Market if you go by a shopkeeper’s claim, has nothing extraordinary to offer if you do not keep your eyes wide open.

The shops are distracting, and the buildings made of concrete are nothing to write home about. Keep looking. Lo and behold, there is one stone-built structure, squeezed between its concrete counterparts as if they are trying to smother it to death. Mind you, it is a strange picture: two or three contemporary buildings and in between lies an oldie, shrunk and fearful. Very few of its architectural attributes remain. All you can see is windows and the main entrances which have carved decorative elements on it. The rest, as Hamlet says, is silence — metaphorically speaking.

A similar view can be had after two more chunks of concrete. Another colonial piece, fractionally bigger (or smaller, hard to figure out) begs for attention. Packed in between ungainly constructions, it also looks like a frail entity trying to coexist with hefty bullies.

You can tell that the stone which is a major part of its composition is holding up okay. The cause for concern is what lies next-door.

As a result, it would be futile to wax eloquent on its design.

If you stay in this gali and look left across a ganda nala, depending how long you can hold your breath, it might not take you long to spot another pre-independence building amidst a host of contemporary structures. For that you have to come out of Iqbal Market and move left, going past a sea of sewage.

Entering yet another insular street, which curves into another one such opening, right in the corner you will run into a big and terribly managed building. It is primarily a residential piece, so a variety of shops on the ground floor can be misleading. And yes, this is the place that locals call Choona Bhatti. The building? Let’s believe the young man who says he has been living here for as long as he remembers, therefore accept it as, in his words, Wasi Building.

Wasi Building, if watched in isolation, is a visual delight. If you can somehow use your mind’s eye to ignore the crazy additions made to its roof or the extensions on the ground floor which put out of sight its original charm, you will have a fair idea as to what a piece of art it must have been when its makers built it. Today, not only is it troublesome to locate it, but also it is no small feat to appreciate the aesthetics involved in its construction.

Architect Arif Hasan says: “Conservation-wise there are two points of view: one, where there are clusters of buildings save them and leave the rest; two, the buildings are significant because they tell us what these areas once looked like. There is also a third point of view: set up small museums in conserved buildings where old pictures etc, could be put to generate interest. The issue is that owners of these structures want as much profit from saving them as they would get by razing them to the ground. It is a challenge, both for conservationists and the real estate market.”

It is not settled: has Karachi changed or mutated? Let’s stick to ‘transformed’, to be on the safe side.

mohammad.salman@dawn.com