The shut and open case
Just Frere Hall for people who remember the days gone by
By Rumana Husain
Should we be celebrating easy access to the majestic Frere Hall in Karachi once again, or is it a bit early to do so?
According to a report that appeared in this paper last month (Future of Frere Hall hangs in balance, dated Feb 14, 2011) things are still unclear: “although the US Consulate in Karachi is being shifted to a new location at Mai Kolachi by the end of this month, the future of the historic Frere Hall hangs in the balance as security officials are still not sure whether they would be able to permanently open Abdullah Haroon Road to the public.”
What is the connection between the relocation of the US Consulate and the reopening of the Frere Hall, a person who is not from Karachi may wonder. Rewind to a fateful morning in June, 2002, (quite vivid in my memory as I was inside the US Consulate at the time to get a visa) when a powerful car bomb exploded outside the Consulate. Immediately across it, and adjacent to the Sindh Club, the Frere Hall also bore the brunt as a result of the bomb in which twelve people were killed and several got injured.
The place was declared off-limits to the hundreds of visitors who used to throng it, and access to the park all around the building was almost impossible ever since. All literary, cultural and recreational activities, including a regular book bazaar that was held here, came to an abrupt halt, except for a few and far-between activities, mainly exhibitions. Public buses had been barred from passing on either side of the Frere Hall: Abdullah Haroon Road and Fatima Jinnah Road. It was a pity, as Frere Hall – a major landmark in this chaotic metropolis that has swollen out of all proportions – had served as an orderly and peaceful hub for many of Karachi’s socio-cultural activities.
I re-visited the two-storey Frere Hall building just a few days back. The presence of several Rangers at the front entrance of the park, who were sitting inside their armoured vehicle, prompted me to go up to them and ask why they were there now when those who were being protected across the road had moved to a new location. They simply shrugged their shoulders and smiled, “For no apparent reason, but just like that!”
The public library on the ground floor of the building, the Liaquat National Library, appears to be stuck in a time-warp. There are no funds available to refurbish and brighten it up, and the damp, mouldy and mildew-ridden air about it is hardly welcoming. The library is neither too spacious nor too cramped, and it has some solid old furniture. It houses thousands of books including rare and hand-written manuscripts, newspapers, dictionaries, etc. But before one enters the library, however, it is amusing and at the same time sad to see a plaque on the entrance wall announcing its name and some other details. Although written in Urdu, the few words written in English are incorrect.
The first room is a Reading Room, which has two large tables where two or three people were browsing through the day’s newspapers. The librarian is a polite and helpful lady who seems ready for new challenges provided she is given the opportunity. She informs us that some of the rare manuscripts that had been infested with termites were treated over a decade ago, but no maintenance has been carried out after that.
The upper floor of the building is called Gallery Sadequain, named after one of Pakistan’s brightest stars, the famous artist Sadequain. A renowned and prolific muralist, he began to paint a mural on the ceiling of the cavernous hall of the building in 1986. But Sadequain passed away on February 10, 1987, leaving the work unfinished. Titled “Arz-o-Samawat” (Earth and the Heavens) this mural is significant not only because it is the last piece of work by Sadequain but also because he dedicated it to the citizens of Karachi to cherish. Sadly, they were unable to do for the past so many years.
Designed by architect Colonel Clair Wilkins and inaugurated in 1865, the buff-coloured stone of the building was quarried from Gizri hills. The architect also made use of limestone and red stone, making it such an attractive piece of architecture. The building was named after Sir Bartlet Frere, who was elevated to the Viceroy’s Council a few years before that. Located in the prestigious Civil Lines Quarter, it had initially served as a Town Hall. The building stood out in its Indo-Gothic character, with lush gardens surrounding it. Sculptures commemorating Queen Victoria, the Empress of India, as well as other sculptures and a fountain added to the beauty of this imposing building.
In her well-researched book ‘The Dual City Karachi during the Raj’ architect Yasmeen Lari writes that “In spite of Frere’s popularity and his being Governor of Bombay (1862), it took some time for funds to be raised for the building. Alexander Baillie lamented that only Rs22,500 could be collected through public subscription; the Government contributed Rs10,000, while Rs147,500 was allocated by the Karachi Municipality, an organisation which owed its formation at the time to Frere. The total construction cost was Rs180,000 – the highest amount spent on a building built in Karachi.”
During my own childhood, I remember frequenting the Frere Hall as it housed the National Museum then. The tall spire of the building with the weathercock perched on top was a familiar sight, which could be seen from afar. Almost every Saturday I went there with my father to enjoy the band playing at the bandstand there, and to watch children skate on a skating rink.
The entire place used to be brimming with children and their parents, as well as with hawkers selling ice-cream, popcorn and balloons. On weekdays one could see men resting under the shade of the large trees there. Many of those trees have been cut down, while political changes and a changing national outlook banished the sculptures and ousted the bandstand too. The fine wooden flooring on the upper floor of the building, which was meant for waltzing in the days of the Raj, has been replaced, and a thermo-pore ceiling has been installed in the hall adjacent to the Sadequain Gallery hall. The park around the building, re-named Bagh-e-Jinnah, continues to be just Frere Hall for many people who remember the days gone by.