There’s a decent-looking, small, but different building with a clock on top, not at all commensurate with the idea of the things you associate with the chaotic modern-day Saddar. It’s the Eduljee Dinshaw Charitable Dispensary. Getting closer to the dispensary is something that too merits a mention. There’s a bevy of public transport buses, bumper-to-bumper, hardly seen moving, causing their drivers to get into a heated argument with traffic police constables.
Crossing the road to reach where the dispensary is situated can be a narrative for another interesting story. The building is flanked by dental clinics of the most interesting (read: garish) variety, highlighted by advertising boards showing off sets of ultra-white teeth covered by blood-red under and upper lips – as if to mock the concept of advertising.
Let’s get to the point and move straight into the Eduljee Dinshaw Dispensary. Its interior is a bit incongruous with its façade. There are tiles all over the place covering three units (the vaccination department, the family planning section and the dispensary). Above one of the tiled counters there’s a board that reads: ‘of which Rs5,500 was contributed by Edlujee Esquire C F Boulton, President of the Municipality, J Stratchen Engineer’.
‘The dispensary functions on the ground floor, whereas the upper floor is occupied by people working for the city government, which is responsible for the structure’s upkeep,’ says Imtiaz, the dispenser. At the back of the building there’s a spiral staircase that leads to the not-so-roomy balconies on the first floor. It’s a cute little sight. The wooden staircase inside the building has now been replaced by one made of iron.
The Parsi community in the subcontinent has always been known for its unstinted generosity, so much so that it’s nearly become synonymous with philanthropy. In the days of yore the generous acts included useful contributions to dispensaries and hospitals. It’s said that there was a time in the last quarter of the 19th century when Eduljee Dinshaw (who had humble beginnings) was the owner of no less than half of Karachi. He worked as a military contractor at the time of the second Anglo-Afghan war. The Eduljee Dinshaw Dispensary was constructed in 1882 with Dinshaw being the chief sponsor of the facility.
The building is made in the Italianate style, having Roman arched openings with heavy rusticated masonry. It has an arcaded façade with stone balusters and semi-circular pilasters. It’s centrally positioned clock tower, though not functioning these days, is also pretty conspicuous. James Stratchen was the architect of the dispensary — but some experts dispute it.
The current state of the building is not shabby either. It’s been looked after reasonably well. It’s just that the structure’s interior doesn’t give much of an indication of what it would have looked (or felt) like at the time of its inception.
Architect Arif Hasan says: ‘James Stratchen designed a great many beautiful buildings for Karachi . We should be grateful to him. The marked feature of the Eduljee Dinshaw Dispensary is its location. It’s very important because it’s constructed at the axis of Somerset Street. When I was a kid I could spot it from afar. In terms of urban planning the dispensary was very wisely made.
‘It’s made in the Italian Renaissance style. This implies that classical orders (Ionian, Doric, Corinthian etc) were kept in mind while designing it. Even in its proportions it’s pretty classical,’ says Arif Hasan.But how could buildings of historical import be reconciled with the smog, the verbal ding-dong of shopkeepers, and the ear-splitting horn-honking that have become an inextricable part of the Saddar region? Arif Hasan says: ‘You need a conservationist architect to rectify things, which I believe haven’t gone beyond repair.
The hawkers need to be rehabilitated, environmental degradation should be checked and all of this must be done with affection and care. Piyar muhabbat se kaam kerney ki zaroorat hai,’ says Mr Hasan.
That’s exactly how it should be. Buildings ought to be treated like animate objects, because they make you aware of your existentialist dilemma – choices in retrospect. That’s precisely why one of Ayn Rand’s characters says in The Fountainhead, ‘A building is alive, like a man.’
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