Let us recall a time many of us still remember, a time when imagination came naturally. Our days were filled with building pots from mud and clay, folding paper into airplanes, taking apart old toys just to see how they worked, and trying, often clumsily, to put them back together in a new way. As children, we experimented without fear. Failure never discouraged us. Every broken toy was a lesson, and every small creation felt like an achievement.
Yet somewhere along the way, that instinct to build quietly faded. This shift does not remain confined to personal choices alone. It gradually begins to shape collective priorities, policies, and ambitions. What was once a childhood tendency to experiment transforms, at scale, into a national preference for importing solutions rather than developing them.
It is within this broader context that Pakistan’s industrial reality must be viewed by examining key sectors such as transport, education, and production, where the preference for adoption over innovation becomes clearly visible. Pakistan is a labour abundant country with a large workforce spread across sectors. Yet due to a lack of skills, training, and technical exposure, this labour remains underutilized and, in many cases, unemployed. The challenge, therefore, is not the absence of people, but the absence of investment in building their capacity, much like the difference between merely assembling parts and truly designing a machine.
This pattern is especially evident in the transport sector. Pakistan has been repairing trains for more than seventy years, yet we continue to purchase new trains and bogies from China. Metro buses now operate in major cities across the country, but we have not manufactured them ourselves. Cars run on our roads in large numbers, yet how many of them are truly designed and built in Pakistan? While vehicles are assembled locally, the ability to design and develop an indigenous car still remains a challenge.
This reality becomes even more striking when contrasted with a simple but powerful truth. In a school on the outskirts of Pakistan’s capital, a group of students are attempting to build a low cost go kart made entirely of wood. To make this possible, effort were made to source the required materials from local markets. Throughout this process, certain pieces of advice were repeated again and again.
“Why waste time searching? Why not just buy a toy car?”
At first glance, this may seem like a harmless suggestion. But it reveals a deeper and more familiar pattern. Subtle as it may seem, it shapes not only individual choices but, over time, could influence the economic direction of an entire country.
The easier option would have been to simply buy a toy car and save time. But that choice would have produced nothing. Instead, time and effort were invested in understanding materials, testing ideas, and solving problems along the way. The returns were not immediate, but the learning was real.
This imbalance becomes even more pronounced when people experience an increase in their spending power. The instinct is often to reward oneself through consumption rather than to think long term. While such choices feel natural at the individual level, at scale they limit a society’s ability to build productive capacity.
The same mindset appears in entrepreneurial choices. If given an opportunity to start a business, what would most people prefer? Generally, individuals choose ventures that are perceived as low risk with higher chances of profit. As a result, the most common options are food outlets, cafés, retail shops, franchises, and trading ventures. These businesses require less technical knowledge, and because many similar ventures appear to succeed, they offer a sense of validation.
The roots of this mindset can be traced back to education. From an early stage, students are taught to memorize rather than experiment. Failure is treated as a bad omen, and success is defined by securing employment rather than solving problems. A child who learns that every solution must be purchased becomes an adult who rarely considers production as an option.
In contrast, the wooden go kart teaches a different lesson. Problems do not always require money first. Sometimes, they require curiosity, patience, and the courage to try.
All of this ultimately connects to nation building. For those who believe such attitudes do not shape a nation’s future, history offers clear examples. Japan rebuilt itself by prioritizing quality and engineering. China invested relentlessly in production capacity. South Korea bet on manufacturing and exports. Transformations do not begin with money alone. They begin with a collective decision to build rather than buy.
Finally, the way forward demands patience. Building industries takes time. Designing products requires repeated attempts. Results may not be immediate, but they are lasting. Shortcuts offer comfort, but patience builds capability.
The wooden go kart may not be flawless. It may wobble or fail on the first attempt. Its true value lies in the process. Every mistake becomes feedback, and every failed attempt brings the next vision closer.
Pakistan does not need instant perfection. It needs sustained effort. If the new generation can learn that failure is not the end but a step forward, they will grow into adults willing to innovate, experiment, and create. And if a society can embrace the idea that progress is built over time, it can begin to shape a future that is less dependent and far more resilient.
Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not necessarily reflect The Times Union’ point of view
