The children we leave behind

Listen to article

Eid prayers had just ended in Martin Quarters, Karachi, when the piercing whistle of a children's joyride train sliced through the festive chatter. The train itself was no grand affair — just a simple contraption on wheels built to hold about 20 children — but it rattled proudly down the uneven road. For a moment, that metallic whistle drowned out the ever-present hum of struggle that clings to these narrow streets like a second skin.

Children, some no taller than a roadside curb, sprinted toward the train, faces alight with excitement. Elders followed behind, smiles faltering as they patted their pockets for a few spare rupees. Many came up empty. Their hands fell in shame, gently holding back wide-eyed sons and daughters. A mere handful of rupees stood between these children and a cherished moment of laughter.

When the driver started collecting fares, those without money were quietly ushered off. In that wretched procession, I saw an unsettling reflection of our education system: the ones who can pay move forward, and the rest watch from the sidelines. According to UNICEF, nearly 22.8 million children in Pakistan, aged 5 to 16, are out of school — a heartbreaking statistic that makes our country one of the starkest examples of educational neglect worldwide.

Meanwhile, global thought leaders like Bill Gates warn that AI could soon replace teachers and doctors, yet we remain mired in political discord, leaving millions of children without even the most rudimentary education - never mind advanced digital skills.

What's more, the rising digital divide threatens to push marginalised children even further behind. As the world pivots toward virtual classrooms, coding bootcamps and AI-driven learning tools, many of Pakistan's poorest lack even a simple internet connection. Recent internet shutdowns in the country have compounded this crisis, disrupting ed-tech platforms that were beginning to offer remote learning options. For kids already on the wrong side of the socio-economic gap, such blackouts don't just halt lessons — they all but slam the door on the future.

Our national discourse is fixated on vendettas, power struggles and personal feuds. A once-revered political figure sits in Adiala Jail — an object of relentless debate for some, but mere background noise to families who can't scrounge together the few rupees for a child's ride. They aren't card-carrying loyalists of any political icon; in their eyes, political sagas are secondary to the everyday realities of overcrowded classrooms, unpaid bills and a gnawing fear of the future. Their aspirations remain heartbreakingly simple: a fair shot at shaping their own destinies.

Some argue for a "hard state", but our true challenge may be to soften hearts hardened by neglect. We inherited a land born of hope - families once left everything behind for the promise of a brighter future. Today, another generation stands at a metaphorical platform, unsure if they'll ever board the train to a better tomorrow. The danger is that these children — stranded, forgotten — will never forgive a nation that denied them even the simplest rides in life.

As the makeshift train disappeared around the corner, it left behind a chorus of happy shrieks and hushed tears. That bittersweet echo reminded me how easily we dismiss the heartbreak of those deemed too poor to join in life's fleeting joys. It's not enough to proclaim lofty visions or get lost in endless political bickering; we must act, investing in schools, teachers and digital literacy, so no child is left on the sidelines as opportunity rattles past.

If we fail, we forfeit the right to call ourselves a nation founded on the promise of a better life. We become known more for the children we left behind than for the dreams we once embraced. Let us pause before that train vanishes completely, and ensure there's space for every child — if not on a passing carnival ride, then at least on the shared journey toward dignity, education and hope.