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ot all abandoned houses feel lonely. Some speak to the soul in a silent language. Their quiet corners do not unsettle, they comfort. One such house is located in the heart of Hyderabad, opposite the historic Homestead Hall, near Pakka Qila. It is the sort of place that draws one in, not with its grandeur, but with the stories buried within its walls.
This is Makhi House, also known as Makhi Mahal, a near-century-old structure that still captivates every eye that falls on it. Rich in architecture, layered in history and echoing with memories of a family long gone, the house resembles a palace more than a home.
As I stepped inside Makhi House, a large hall stood before me. The air inside was noticeably cooler, untouched by the heat of Hyderabad that usually begins to bite by March. But it was not just the temperature. It was the stillness, the kind that wraps around you like a whisper from the past. Your footsteps echo. Your voice bounces off the walls. Even without people around, it feels as if the house is alive and breathing.
Built in 1920 by Jethanand Makhi, the head of Hyderabad’s municipal administration at the time, the house was designed not merely for living, but also for legacy. He named it Makhi Mahal. Even today, it lives up to that title.
A short distance from the house once stood Makhi Bagh, a lush garden now replaced by thick urban settlements. Seven years after the house’s construction, Jethanand passed away in 1927. But the house remained alive with his family’s presence.
Makhi House withstood the turbulence of Partition in 1947. Unlike many, the Makhi family did not leave immediately. They continued living in the home they had built until 1957, when growing threats made it unsafe for them to stay. Jethanand’s widow and two sons were warned that staying could put their lives at risk. They had no choice but to leave for India, bidding farewell to a house they had once called home.
After their departure, the house served various purposes. At one point, it was used by the Indian Consulate. Later, it became a base for the Frontier Constabulary. The lower floor was even converted into a school.
Come 1988 and ethnic riots in Hyderabad, Makhi House was set ablaze. Its wooden doors, intricate windows and antique furniture were all consumed by the fire. Remarkably, the house still survived.
In 2009, the Sindh Department of Antiquities took the house in its care. Four years later, in 2013, the Makhi family returned to Hyderabad and visited their ancestral home. They gave their blessing for it to be converted into a museum. Hence began a new chapter for the Makhi Mahal.
Today, the house is being carefully restored. Despite the damage it has endured, its essence remains intact. It is now a preserved piece of public heritage, open to future generations.
Makhi House is a two-storey building with 12 rooms and two large halls. One of its most striking features is a central dome, visible from afar, something rare in private residences. The walls were originally adorned with detailed artwork, much of which was destroyed in the fire. Whatever patterns could be saved were used as reference to recreate the lost designs, preserving the house’s original look.
Built using blocks instead of bricks, the structure features skilled woodwork in teak and sheesham. Colorful stained-glass windows and built-in cupboards reflect the fine architectural taste of the era. Even the furniture, where salvageable, has been retained and displayed in its original form. Some changes, like the modern lighting, feel out of place and break the house’s vintage ambience. Restoring even these smaller details to match the foundation period would complete the experience.
In one of its most historic moments, Jawaharlal Nehru, later India’s first prime minister, visited Makhi House in 1931. If these walls could speak, they would tell stories of those days of joy, sorrow and change. Now, only fragments of those memories remain: family photographs, a dining table once surrounded by laughter and the quiet echo of lives once lived. What is left are the forgotten workers, the craftsmen and the labourers whose names no one remembers, but whose hands gave life to this palace.
As I stood there, a thought struck me; we often remember the owners of such homes, but rarely the builders. Who were the men who laid these walls, carved the wood and carried the stones? Their names have faded, but their work still stands.
Today, Makhi House is not just a building. It is a piece of Hyderabad’s soul, one that must be preserved. In a city where such historic homes are becoming rare, this one remains a symbol of resilience, art and identity. Its protection is not just the government’s duty, but a shared responsibility.
As I left the house, the sun dipped below the city’s horizon. The words of John Doe from an old film echoed in my mind: “We’re the ones who grow the food, dig the mines, fly the planes and build the homes. We’re all John Does.”
Maybe the builders of Makhi House were John Does too; men whose sweat and skill turned stone into beauty and whose legacy now stands not as a ruin, but as a museum of memory.
The contributor is an assistant director in the ElectionCommission of Pakistan