I ran into Perween Rahman at the Karachi Literature Festival (KLF) in 2013. She met me so warmly that afternoon that it’s forever etched in my memory. We spoke briefly about the feature-length documentary I wanted to make with her about Karachi’s sewage system. She was glowing, and since several people around her were vying for her attention, I told her I’d visit her office in Orangi to discuss the documentary in detail.

It was the last time I saw her. On the evening of March 13, 2013, she was shot dead on her way home from work.

Perween was a much-loved architect and urban planner in Karachi. She was the director of the Orangi Pilot Project (OPP), a non-governmental organisation based in Orangi Town, a low-income neighbourhood of 2.4 million people in the Northwestern part of the city.

Read: Perween Rahman, an architect of change

The OPP had led community-based improvement of sanitation in the area since the 1980s. These efforts were based on extensive mapping of the town’s drainage channels under the leadership of Perween.

Perween Rahman was a much-loved architect, social activist and urban planner. Mahera Omar recalls how, while wanting to make a documentary about Karachi’s sewage system, she ended up making a documentary about Perween who was shot dead in Karachi on March 13, 2013

The mapping team went on to document the entire sewage system of Karachi in the 1990s. They discovered that untreated sewage was flowing into the natural storm water drains all the way into the Arabian Sea. This led to an explosive situation with the city’s municipal authorities whose claims of functioning sewage treatment plants were now laid to waste. The OPP sewage disposal plan for Karachi was later accepted by the authorities.

The inner workings of Karachi’s haphazard sewage disposal and its effect on the urban environment have always held a strange fascination for me. This is what I wanted to make a documentary about. I wanted to film it like an adventure though, as a discovery of the city. And I wanted to film it with Perween. I had pitched the idea to her and she got it. She said she would help with the fundraising efforts. Little did I know I would end up making a documentary about her life and work instead.

After Perween’s tragic passing, I attended a memorial talk held at the Arts Council, Karachi in her honour. Sitting in the auditorium hearing her friends, family and colleagues talk, I was moved by the stories of their interaction with her. She had clearly touched the hearts of so many, and that’s something I wanted to share with the world. After the talk, I met Perween’s sister, Aquila Ismail, and told her I wanted to make a documentary about Perween.

Over the next two-and-a-half years that it took to put the film together, I found myself wishing more and more that Perween was still around. I had only met her a few times and did not know her personally. But as I spoke to her family and friends, and collected archival footage, I felt a connection with her. She had a way of warming up to people, leaving a lasting impression even if she met them briefly. For me, those who had a chance to know and work with her are truly blessed.

Perween was very generous with her time. Back in 2009, I interviewed her for my documentary City by the Sea: The Future of Karachi’s Coastline. Arif Hasan, architect, urban planner and Perween’s mentor, suggested I speak to her about coastal pollution and land reclamation.

I arrived at her office expecting just a few minutes from her very busy schedule but we ended up talking for an hour as she patiently explained the importance of wetlands, the hazardous effects of land reclamation around Mai Kolachi, the fish there being deprived of their natural passage to the sea and the intricacies of water supply to the city.

She spoke of the sea breeze, the colours of the Clifton beach and one of her favourite Karachi haunts where she often spent weekends with her family. She chuckled when she said how the sea breeze is therapy and how she often took friends who were feeling low to the beach to lift their spirits. And as I was about to turn off the camera, she pointed to some cute little green bee-eaters just outside her office window. “They are visitors from interior Sindh,” she said with a smile.

The inner workings of Karachi’s haphazard sewage disposal and its effect on the urban environment has always held a strange fascination for me. This is what I wanted to make a documentary about. And I wanted to film it with Perween. Little did I know I would end up making a documentary about her life and work instead.

Soon after Perween’s death, most of the OPP staff shifted to an office in the heart of the city. With justice for Perween being sought in the courts, her friends and family are not safe either. “No one is safe in this city. Those who think otherwise are living in a fool’s paradise,” said Perween’s best friend and colleague Anwar Rashid as I filmed him navigating the chaotic roads of Karachi.

A mobile van escorted his vehicle with four policemen pointing their guns at the traffic, nudging motorcyclists and donkey carts out of the way. With such security concerns facing the OPP staff, I wondered how to film the very communities that Perween loved so much.

As I began filming in Orangi, a few things were made clear by those close to Perween. I wasn’t supposed to go to Orangi regularly. I had to keep a random schedule, alternate cars, not linger in any particular area for long and to always be accompanied by the OPP staff. Most importantly, I was told not to go anywhere near a water hydrant and that they would give me the pictures instead. “Alright then,” I said while trying to figure out how to film a hydrant.

Related: This documentary reveals Perween Rahman's brave resistance

When Perween joined the OPP in the ’80s, the first thing she did was to map the neighbourhood lanes. “She was not familiar with much of the city,” Anwar Rashid shares on camera. “Areas such as New Karachi, Surjani Town, Numaish, Mazdooron Ki Basti (Workers’ Colony) and Manzoor Colony were all yet to be discovered by her. She kept a pen and notebook handy at all times to keep track of where she was going and to get back as well.” He chuckles as he recalls how she was known by the locals as “chhatri wali baji [the lady with the umbrella].”

It was during all the months of filming that I realised what tough conditions Perween worked in, and I marveled at her dedication. My colleague Talha Ahmed and I almost got beaten up at an illegal water hydrant in Karachi when we lingered on way too long. We had someone pull a gun on us on the outskirts of the city, well-known as a hotspot of the Taliban at the time. We had the police following us on the way to a deserted road leading to Hub Dam and threatening to lock us up. We couldn’t film the mapping team in the field as they stopped all work during the Rangers’ operation. Often on the way to shoots, someone from the office would call us and tell us not to come. These were unsafe times.

Neither Anwar Rashid nor Arif Hasan thought Perween would last long in Orangi. After all, she had a privileged upbringing and was not exposed to the harsh realities of low-income settlements. Initially, she had a tough time being accepted by the local community who were reluctant to work with her. “Who is she and how can she possibly help us?” they said. But in time, as I found out from her colleagues, her gentle nature and sincere efforts to forge relationships with the residents eventually won their hearts over.

With each interaction with the locals, and hearing stories from the women about how Perween would sit with them on the floor, they told me how they expected a typical madam to walk in, but she blended in, listened to them and valued their opinions. She championed the underdog. And it became clear that she was able to do the work she did because of who she was and how she interacted with the community. She could not bear injustices towards the poor. Perhaps her dedication towards them stemmed from her childhood in Dhaka, Bangladesh when her family was suddenly evicted and faced great hardship during the war.

One day, after filming the mapping team at the OPP it was time for me to be dropped home in one of the office cars. But none was available, except one car wrapped under dusty covers in a shady corner of the compound. The covers pulled off, I was told that it was the vehicle I would be dropped home in. Thinking nothing of it, I got into the car and soon the driver and I were well on our way. I wondered whose car it was, since it didn’t seem to be in regular use.

I was filming the passing traffic on the Orangi lanes when the driver looked at me and said, “This is where she used to sit.” He was also the one who took her to the hospital that fateful evening. I didn’t say a word, not wanting to bring up painful memories. It was a sobering experience. I was in that car just briefly, but it was Perween’s car, the one in which she went to work every day.

People often wondered how she managed to go to Orangi continuously, to which she’d say, “It’s easy. There’s this one road ...” When told by her sister Aquila to be careful especially in times when polio workers were being targeted, Perween brushed aside all concerns, saying, “Nobody knows me.”

“But everybody knew her. She was targeted,” says Aquila.

There was not a dry eye in the house at the film’s first public screening for 400 community members at the Orangi Pilot Project. These were people who loved Perween and whose lives she touched. But the film often invokes a similar reaction in complete strangers as well. Perween had a way of connecting with people and I’m glad this comes across on screen.

For me, the greatest compliment was when one of her brothers said the film accurately depicts Perween’s personality.

Talha and I worked hard at the edit to make sure Perween’s values and strong work ethics shine through in her own words. At the Nepal Human Rights International Film Festival in Kathmandu, someone remarked how lucky I am to have known Perween personally. I am not so lucky. It is the precious archival footage of her which makes the audience feel like I got to know her personally.

Often during the months of editing, Talha and I debated how to put in all aspects of Perween’s work. Our first cut was more than two hours long. Figures and charts, we figured, belong in a PowerPoint presentation. At the end of the day, it was the nuggets of life lessons she shared in some of her older interviews that really stuck with us. The OPP had cultivated a certain philosophy under Perween’s leadership. “To be a good judge of one’s own work is essential to the success of projects. It’s only when you can identify your mistakes and learn from them can you move forward in life.”

Perween Rahman left behind a lasting legacy and her tragic death is a great loss for Karachi.

The documentary Parween Rahman: The Rebel Optimist has received accolades all around the world. Recently, it won the Special Jury Mention award in the international non-fiction competition section at the 6th Nepal Human Rights International Film Festival.

Mahera Omar is a documentary filmmaker and director of Pakistan Animal Welfare Society (PAWS). She makes insta stories @afewmofilms

Editor’s note: A version of this article was originally published in the Film SouthAsia 2017 catalogue

Published in Dawn, ICON, March 18th, 2018