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magine a life as predictable as the Lahore traffic on a Monday morning. You’re born here, a bundle of potential, ready to take on the world. But before you can even say amma or baba the societal clock starts ticking.
“Bachay ka admission karwana hai,” declares an uncle/ aunt with unsolicited authority. And just like that, you’re on the conveyor belt of the great Pakistani ‘linear life’ — a straight line to nowhere. Birth. School. College/ uni. Job. Marriage. Kids. Rinse and Repeat. In Pakistan, many — let’s say, around 70 percent of us, based on my observation in the field I work in — dance to this monotonous beat. That, mind you, is the blueprint. Deviations are met with raised eyebrows, hushed whispers, and the dreaded “loag kya kahen gay!”
First stop: Studies. Your entire childhood is defined by exams, report cards, securing a university spot and the omnipresent comparisons with “Shumaila kay bachay.” Did you draw a doodle in art class? “Yeh time waste kar raha hai,” your mother tells you, shaking her head. Exploration, creativity or even just a breather? Khabardaar!
Next comes graduation. This phase, too, isn’t about figuring out your passions. It’s about degrees that guarantee “izzat,” namely business, finance, engineering, medicine, or the elusive CSS. Somewhere, a cousin becomes a chartered accountant, and the entire khandaan uses them as a yardstick to measure your worth.
Then comes the job hunt. You’ve earned your degree, and now it’s time to join the rat race. Trust me it’s called a race for a reason. The pressure to land a stable, respectable job is immense. Everyone’s keeping score, and stepping off the conventional path is seen as risky at best, foolhardy at worst.
Entrepreneurial dreams? Forget about it — unless you enjoy endless debates with the family over chai about the precariousness of startups.
Before you’ve barely stepped into adulthood, shaadi takes over the narrative. “Ab iski umar hogayi hai,” whispers every auntie within 50 miles. God forbid you’re a woman and hit 27, or a man in his early 30s — cue the collective anxiety of rishta aunties, even some uncles, plotting interventions. One moment you’re updating your CV; the next, you’re scrolling through profiles on the likes of shadi.com.
Once you are married, it’s not long before the “good news” chorus starts.
Your life’s milestones are practically plotted out the day you’re born. Here’s where it really gets wild. Because as soon as you’re done with the basics of producing heirs, the script just… ends. No plot twists, no character arcs. Your role is sealed: office-goer, homemaker, bill-payer, parent. Before you know it, you’re in your 60s, still referring to the same five TV dramas you watched in your younger days, and repeating, “Hamaray zamanay mein toh...”
In many ways, you’re still the person you were decades ago; only a tad more set in your ways. Opportunities for self-growth, taking risks and exploring new horizons are often sidelined. There’s comfort in familiarity, sure, but also stagnation. This linear approach permeates every aspect of life.
Personal growth? Finding your true calling? Most people stick to what they’ve always known; their lives are in a sort of a loop of sameness. It’s no wonder our collective societal vibe often feels static.
Take my uncle, for example. A brilliant engineer, he spent his life churning out bridges and overpasses. But his true calling is painting. He’d spend hours sketching, his canvases hidden away in a dusty attic. Why? “Loag kya kahen gay?”
A friend of mind, who is a budding writer, was forced to pursue a career in law by her parents. “Writers don’t earn much,” they’d tell her. Now, she spends her evenings drafting legal documents.
This isn’t to say that everyone follows this path. There are rebels, of course. Artists, entrepreneurs, influencers, free spirits who dare to break the mould. But they often face immense societal pressure and their choices are met with disapproval and scepticism.
The good part is that this rigid structure may be starting to crumble. Gen Z and borderline millennials are challenging the status quo, demanding more from life than just a paycheck and a family.
But the journey towards a more nuanced, less linear existence is far from over. We need to embrace individuality, encourage exploration and create a society where pursuing your passions isn’t seen as rebellion but as a celebration of the human spirit. After all, life’s too short to live in a straight line. How about if we add a little curve to it?
Pakistanis don’t have to stagnate. The first step would be to break free from the assembly line and let life become a little less linear and a lot more ‘life-like’.
Zubair Mallick is a PR professional. He can be reached atzubairmallicklotuspk.com