Co-founder of Meraki Design Group
Buildings become what they are because of the people living in them, especially in a city like Karachi, where architecture is never just structure but always tied to life.
Karachi is my home. I have lived here my whole life & watched it change, stretch, struggle, and grow. It has its own rhythm, its own chaos, its own charm. Its heritage is not something you can explain easily. It is layered, repaired, added onto, and sometimes just holding itself together in the most unexpected ways.
When I move through the old parts of the city, what stays with me is never just the façade. It is the chai stall tucked into a corner, the shop that has been open for generations in the same narrow space, and the people sitting on the edge of a step, catching up on life. Over time, people soften buildings. They give them meaning no architect could ever plan.
Today, as an architect, the pressure feels very different. Land prices keep rising, whereas plots keep getting smaller. And almost every project is pushed to cover as much area as possible. Somewhere in all of that, the human scale has quietly slipped away. Spaces got smaller & open areas disappeared. At the same time, there’s this idea of what “modern” is supposed to look like. Clients often come in with references from everywhere, that feel luxurious and current to them but they do not belong here. Even materials are chosen based on what’s trending rather than asking whether they suit Karachi’s dust, heat or weather. Sometimes it feels like we’re not just importing materials anymore, but identities too.
Slowly, buildings began to look alike with the use of glass, steel, stone, neutral colors, and sharp-edged designs. They look clean and beautiful, but distant. However, the old buildings feel different, as they carry emotions & feel more alive because they have been shaped by & for people. Preserving the spirit of architecture isn’t about changing buildings back to how they once looked. It’s about understanding that buildings change with people, just like cities do. Change itself is not the problem – forgetting is.
Our old buildings knew this climate without needing any manuals. They knew how to handle the heat, dust, rain, and wind. They came from long experiences. Limestones, deep overhangs, shaded walkways – these weren’t trends but rather learned responses. They kept people comfortable and the comfort wasn’t just physical, it was social too. They allowed people to meet without forcing them. They could sit on a step and talk. Lean against a low wall and watch the street. Look into a courtyard and still feel part of something. There was room to be alone and room to be together – often in the same space. Many modern buildings don’t offer that, they feel isolated, sealed, & controlled.
As an architect, there is always this dilemma of managing budgets & demands with the quiet responsibility of shaping places where life will unfold. I am positive that other architects also feel the same way. However, I don’t believe new buildings should pretend to be old, they should rather learn from them. In many old neighborhoods, the buildings, streets, and people are not separate ideas – they flow into one another. That’s what I fear we are slowly losing – that simple, everyday relationship between people and the spaces they live in.
Preserving the spirit of architecture isn’t about freezing the city in time. It’s about letting it grow without losing its memory. It’s about designing with care instead of speed. With feeling instead of formula. With people in mind before profit. I know, it’s easier said than done. However, for this to actually happen, the clients, developers, building authorities must also feel the same way about the spaces being designed.
But maybe, in the end, it really is as simple as this: listening to what a place already knows before deciding what it should become.
