The magical world of Frere hall


No matter what one might say, we as a nation still do not read enough books. One might argue that we have entire areas of our city dedicated to just books and paper/stationary (Urdu Bazaar, Sir Syed Urdu Bazaar etc.) but the fact remains... People and students do not read enough. 

However, the most interesting bit is whatever good books we had collected (and there were quite a few to be honest) we had all bought from Karachi. There used to be a store in Karachi, called the American Book Shop (I think. My dad would know for sure) which was like this HUGE book heaven for me. 

So imagine how difficult it was for and my siblings to wait for an entire year, to be able to get back to Pakistan to visit this wonderful book haven. I remember both me and my sister would start on my ‘Books to buy’ list the very next day we’d land back from Pakistan. Sadly enough, this shop didn’t survive too long, and well before we moved to Pakistan, it had closed down to be replaced by am not even sure what…

However, like eager little children who always manage to find something to their liking, we happened to chance upon the little used-book bazaar that would assemble around Frere Hall.

Frere hall, built ages ago (well finished in 1865 to be precise) offers a magnificent insight in to the construction done by the British during their rule of the subcontinent. On Sundays, under colourful tents and amidst make-shift tables as counters, countless little book shops would pop up. 

The very atmosphere would be magical; gay coloured  tents, bare bulbs strung here and there like a bare beaded necklace, street vendors pushing little wooden carts selling toasted corn (makai) and gola ganda. And then there were of course the books.  Now, before you get excited, let me tell you that these were not your shiny glossy brand-new books. On the contrary, they were the exact opposite; books that had been loved, read a few times over and had grown old and brown. These were books that had been lovingly cared for, and then wisely let go off, as if their owners knew that the only way they could fullfill their purpose of existence was if they were cherished and then released, to grace someone else's bookcase or bed-side tab.

Amidst the colour of the shamyana's and the delicious aroma of old paper mixed with toasted corn, my siblings and I would go mad with joy at the huge variety of books on sale. From comics of the famous Gaul Asterix, to trashy humour magazines like MAD, not to mention the huge plethora of Fear Street and Christopher Pike novels (I was just a teenager!) My parents of course went for the more refined ones; classical novels, both Urdu and English, beautiful glossy coffee-table books, cook books... the list would be endless.

Sadly, around the time of the blasts and with the American Consulate originally being located right behind it, the hall and the little Sunday book-bazaar were the first two things that got closed off to the public. I have however, learned that, since the consulate has relocated to somewhere else, the hall and its surround park is now open to the public once more. I have a feeling that, when I visit it the next time, not much would have changed at all...


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