Statehood in Pakistan: rethinking social contract?

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In the glorious land of Pakistan, where roads lead to unexpected places, schools serve as decorative monuments - and occasionally as animal shelters - and hospitals stand as stark reminders of life's fragility, the state has reached heights of irony few could have anticipated. One marvels at how this great republic delivers precisely what was never asked for, with remarkable consistency.

Let's start with Pakistan's 'unique' service delivery model. Citizens wait with bated breath for the arrival of essentials, whether it's elusive tap water or the uninterrupted power promised many elections ago. The state has perfected the art of suspense - will it come today, next year, or even in this lifetime? In the meantime, the populace has become a model of patience, evolving to endure the unknown. Who needs certainty when you can cultivate such endurance?

Then there's education and healthcare, forming an equally impressive duo. The education system has mastered the delicate balance of distributing degrees while withholding real learning. Students progress from grade to grade, absorbing little more than the art of waiting. Graduates, in turn, earn degrees in resilience, if nothing else. Healthcare, on the other hand, offers an immersive survival experience. Hospitals turn stock shortages and endless waits into valuable lessons on patience, making self-reliance not merely a virtue, but a necessity.

Justice in Pakistan is equally deserving of its own applause. Here, cases span generations, binding families in a continuum of unresolved litigation. In a system where 'justice delayed' truly means justice indefinitely deferred, courts become places for familial bonding, as generations gather around shared grievances. Other countries may pride themselves on swift justice, but where's the communal spirit in that?

The most spectacular display of statehood, however, lies in Pakistan's VIP culture. When 'Very Important People' take to the streets, the entire nation pays homage - often by standing still, locked in traffic as a mark of respect. Ordinary citizens get the privilege of waiting hours just to cross a street. From roadblocks for official motorcades to lockdowns for cricket matches, the entire nation becomes a labyrinth where the journey is postponed indefinitely. Navigating these obstacles adds a certain richness to daily life - a national game of hide and seek, where the goal is to find an open route, if one exists.

The irony, of course, is that the very taxpayers funding this spectacle are those stranded in endless queues, watching VIP cavalcades pass by. Public spaces, too, are frequently restricted for 'security reasons', and if getting to work or the market becomes impossible, citizens are urged to see it as a minor contribution to national stability.

Amid all this, the state's leadership has shown remarkable dedication to ignoring the growing disconnect between itself and the people. Somewhere along the way, the famed social contract - the foundational promise between the state and its people - was either misplaced or filed under 'pending'. But a contract requires both sides to uphold their end of the bargain. While citizens continue to pay taxes (or at least buy highly-taxed essentials), the state's return on this investment remains a mystery. We're still waiting for the reciprocity in this relationship.

So why rethink the social contract? Because, quite clearly, it's functioning beautifully - for one side. If governance were a cricket match, the scoreboard would show the state at a resounding 100, while the people remain all out. Perhaps it's time to revise the rules or appoint a new referee. After all, the social contract in Pakistan is not just overdue for renewal - it's practically expired.

In conclusion, while the state (government) remains firmly seated in a self-congratulatory bubble, the people might pause to admire its efficiency in one regard: managing expectations so effectively that there are few left. While other nations push forward for reform, Pakistan remains lodged in the realm of potential, proving that sometimes, less truly is more. Perhaps, it's time we all ask for a bit more.