In the quiet, often forgotten villages of rural Sindh, far from the gleam of Pakistan’s cities, young minds shine with extraordinary promise.
These children wake each morning with dreams as wide as the horizon and hearts full of hope.
But their path to a better future is blocked by broken schools, missing teachers and an education system that has lost its way.
Government schools stand—but barely.
Many resemble abandoned buildings, their cracked walls, rusted gates and empty classrooms silently testifying to years of neglect.
Education, instead of being a ladder out of poverty, has become a daily struggle.
And yet, within these dilapidated spaces are children who continue to ask questions, imagine new worlds and cling to hope.
With little to no learning support at home, many families face painful decisions.
Each year, countless children leave their villages for cities like Hyderabad and Karachi, chasing better education.
But they carry more than just school bags—they carry dreams, burdens and unimaginable sacrifice.
Some work after school—selling snacks, stitching clothes or assisting in shops—just to afford books, uniforms or a bus fare.
These children surrender their childhoods just to stay in school.
Even in cities, they remain outsiders—brilliant yet often invisible.
Their potential is vast, but the obstacles before them are even larger.
As a teacher, what pains me most is the way people speak of government schools.
Too often, I hear, “If you don’t study, we’ll put you in a government school,” as though it’s a punishment.
When public education becomes a threat, we must pause and ask: what have we done to our values?
And there lies a painful truth—those most eager to learn are often held back by poverty, while some students, blessed with every comfort—private schools, advanced tools, caring mentors—treat learning carelessly.
They disrupt classes, waste time and take their privilege for granted.
This contrast isn’t just sad—it’s heartbreaking.
This is more than an education crisis—it is a matter of justice and national integrity.
How can we progress as a nation when our most determined minds are shackled by poverty and neglect?
The true future of Pakistan doesn’t rest in elite campuses or polished buildings.
It lives in those modest, dusty classrooms of our villages—rooms filled with children who still dare to dream.
We must no longer see government schools as places of last resort, but as centres of potential and transformation.
These children aren’t asking for luxuries—they are simply asking for a chance.
And as a society, it is our collective duty to give it to them.
—The writer is contributing columnist.
