In the 1970s, Ejaz Ahed, current President of the Institute of Architects Pakistan (IAP), left the Chicago-based architectural firm, Skidmore Owings and Merrill, to return to Pakistan. He was told to stay, to continue working in America. But he refused, merely saying this “If you want to work with me, come to Pakistan.”

Some time after his return, Ahed joined the firm Ahed Associates, started by his father, M. A. Ahed, himself an architect and a man of whom he speaks in tones that alternate between awe and affection. Skidmore Owings and Merrill recently did come to Pakistan and collaborated —- for seven years -- with his firm on the NWFP Agricultural University Campus, in Peshawar. Clearly, Ejaz Ahed knows what he wants -- and often gets it.

Sitting in his office, on a rainy afternoon, Ahed expounds upon the profession of architecture, his personal experiences, and the future of the practice in Pakistan.

“Architecture is a very self-satisfying field -- it's like creating, isn't it? You create something. And, really, there's no bigger joy than to have something come from the mind, translate into pictures, and then become reality. It's almost a godlike quality. The thrill never goes away.”

It is his firm belief that, in architecture, form ought to follow functionality. Elaborating, he says, “I had a very German training as an architect, from people right after the war. The whole philosophy of thinking in such a period is different building shelter becomes the first priority; decorating it is a second priority.

“As architects, we plan for people — but sometimes we forget and plan for ourselves. That's one of our biggest failures we treat architecture as an art form. Architecture is art - but it is a functional art; it has to work for people.”

 “I think that architects' solutions, whether they are homes or offices, can alter the character of people if I live in a hot, stuffy house, I'll become very irritable; if I can't find where to walk on the street, I'll become very frustrated. As architects, however, we sometimes forget these things; we begin to design for our own selves.”

His words are reminiscent of Palladio, that 16th century architectural giant, who noted the practicalities of the profession “Often the architect has to follow the wishes of those who are spending rather than what one really ought to do.”

That line of thinking can have its downside. How, then, do architects deal with domineering corporate clients and obstinate housewives who have their hearts set on that particular cover of Good Housekeeping?

Ahed laughs delightedly. “As far as corporate clients are concerned, there's a lot at stake. However, we tell them you won't be around when the building is actually put to use, so leave it to the professionals. We can certainly convince them faster than we can persuade a Begum Sahiba with her 500 magazines flopped out on a coffee table.''

He breaks off as tea is served. “Would you like some milk in your tea?” He gestures towards the milk jug, a sleek, slightly outlandish-looking cylinder of stainless steel with a hole near the top from which the milk flows forth — very modern-looking, very 'skin and bones', as Ludwig Mies Van der Rohe, from whom Ahed derives inspiration, would say. He points towards it and smiles with brisk satisfaction.

“Now, that's called design, that's called good design. There's no spout, but you'll never get a spill. It's just — it's just amazing,” he states.

Ask Ejaz Ahed which of his projects is his personal favourite and he will reply, smiling “Always my next one.” This is not an attempt at feigned elusiveness — not in this instance, at least. His next project is the 1.5 million square foot Islamabad City Hall, an ambitious, attention-commanding geometrical structure that was selected via a national design competition.

“It's the first time in Pakistan that a project has been designed in three-dimensional form and then the two-dimensional plans have followed.”

Ahad points towards a computer-generated picture of the City Hall framed on the office wall. “Do you know this is set for a certain day in June how the sun will be, how the shadows will be — real time, real shape.

“We use a lot of new technology -— not very many architects here do. We have video walk-throughs also you can see the building, its colour, its scale relating to human scale before it's actually been built, before construction has even begun. We call it reality before reality.”

He indicates with his hand another picture in this, the City Hall stands luminous against the night sky.

“This picture that you see at night, this is lit using no energy — except energy produced by the sun. The building makes use of both passive and active systems. Passive systems in architecture are those that require no technology — thicker walls for climate control, for instance.

“Active solutions may include lighting; in this building, for instance, the lighting is automated in the sense that if there are no people in the area, lights will shut off. Air-conditioning will move where the heat is; if the sun is on one particular side, cooling will be stronger in that area of the room.”

“All these ideas exist; you just have to be conscious of them. Also, since the architectural profession does not pay that well over here, people don't spend enough time — they spend just enough time building a shell. We believe we need to go beyond building a shell and create an environment that people will be proud to take care of.”

“Once there is pride,” he muses, “whether it's a building or a city, once there is pride, you look after it. That is the solution.”