A couple of years back, this writer visited the interior of Sindh to cover an international conference on conservation of heritage.

There were quite a few foreign experts on the subject who participated in the moot. During a visit to Kot Diji Fort (my word, what a sight that is!) I struck up a conversation with one of them. The gentleman’s name slips my mind. He had visited Pakistan on a number of occasions. When our discussion centred on Karachi I claimed that the city had a ‘soul’. He took strong exception to my claim, suggesting that till a little less than two centuries ago it was not even a proper town and had only developed when the British came to the region. I did not argue with him for the simple reason that some westerners have a one-dimensional understanding of the word ‘soul’.

Soul is often taken as the immaterial element of human existence which does not perish. There are different ways to define it and all of them are hard to debate over. There is one more definition which in Karachi’s context sounds quite apt. Soul is the self, the personal pronoun ‘I’, which not only embodies an entity but functions through it. Karachi has always had that ‘I’, it has always made others take note of it, even when it was not a fully developed town. There was a reason the British fought the locals in this part of the subcontinent to set foot in Karachi.

Take for example Frere Road (now Shahrah-i-Liaquat). Forget the time when it was named after Bartle Frere, commissioner in Sindh in the mid 19th century. Visit that portion of the thoroughfare, preferably just after the crack of dawn, which is cut by Paper Market and leads to Bunder Road (now M.A. Jinnah Road), and you will feel that it has existed from the time way before the British’s arrival. It makes its presence felt. The old buildings on Frere Road — call them colonial structures — will endorse the observation.

Some 200 yards before Burnes Road, if you are coming from Merewether Tower, stop where two banks are located on the ground floors of as many gorgeous stone made buildings. We shall discuss that later. Opposite those buildings lies a peculiarly interesting structure. It is pre-independence and a detailed look will reveal that whoever made it did a darn good job. The building is called Razia Zakia Mansion. It is a delightful work of architecture but there is something unshapely about it. In one corner of the structure you can see squarish elevation on top of the roof which does not appear to be a part of the original design plan. It kind of mars the overall charm of the mansion, which by the way is already in need of restoration. If that can be done, it will shine like a star in daytime.

Opposite the mansion, in the other corner, is Adamjee Building constructed in 1931. Those who run its day-to-day affairs should be commended because the structure is in pretty good shape. It is relatively clean, perhaps which is why its elaborate decorative elements and projected balconies can be thoroughly viewed and enjoyed. You can spot the building from afar.

Now let’s get back to the two buildings mentioned earlier. They are beautiful pieces of construction. Only if the banks which occupy their ground storeys can be a little more cautious of their façade and display their names in a way that does not hamper the full view of the structures, they would look doubly delightful.

Another aesthetically unpleasant thing about those two buildings is that they are separated by a present-day concrete structure. It creates such a jarring effect that those who are into history or architecture can get put off by the sight. The middle bit in the whole picture can be likened to turbid water between the banks of a scenic river. This is a classic example of how in Pakistani society aesthetics have gone out of the window.

Architect Arif Hasan says: “We don’t have rules and regulations pertaining to signage. The Sindh Building Control Authority has yet to come up with signage regulations. If you look at Café Grand’s restoration, there the signage issue has been kept in mind.

But they’ve done so out of their choice. We need to make regulations in that direction.”

Let’s revisit the argument with which this piece began. Unlike many big cities in the world, Karachi is not soulless. What needs to be acknowledged is that its soul is hurt, and hurt badly. Is there a way for it to recuperate?

mohammad.salman@dawn.com