Despair & Dignity on Wheels: Price of Survival in Pakistan
Asem Mustafa Awan
Islamabad: There are images that haunt the soul long after the eyes have turned away. One such image is of an old man in Multan, white-bearded, frail, and seated in a hand-driven wheelchair. Perched on his lap is a rooster—more than just poultry.
It is a companion raised with care, hand-fed, a creature of comfort in a life of hardship. But today, it’s for sale—not out of choice, but desperation. The few hundred rupees it might bring could mean a bag of flour or a partial payment toward a crushing utility bill. For this man, like millions of others in Pakistan, dignity has become a burden too heavy to carry in a country that has failed its people.
This photo is not just about an elderly disabled vendor—it is a mirror to the silent suffering of over 80% of Pakistan’s population who now live on the edge of poverty. In a nation where the average electricity bill jumps from Rs 3,000 to 8,000 with a single unit’s increase beyond 200, survival is no longer about living—it is about negotiating with misery. Gas, water, and electricity—once called “utilities”—are now luxuries. The poor pay more, not just in money, but in hope, health, and human worth.
Tragically, these stories rarely stay in the news cycle. They are too familiar, too common, too repetitive to spark outrage anymore. And yet, behind every photo like this one lies a world of sacrifice. The rooster, hand-fed and loved, is the last asset, the last friend, sold to make ends meet.
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Pakistan’s poverty is not just about lack of income; it is about the collapse of empathy. It is about a system that forces people to make impossible choices—to sell a loved animal, to skip meals, to keep children out of school, to choose between light and bread. The country now tops the world in water-borne diseases and diabetes. Over 80 percent of its people lack access to clean drinking water, while 20 million children remain out of school—excluded from the very education that could have been their escape route.
What has become normalized here would be a national emergency anywhere else. Mothers have drowned themselves and their children in rivers. Fathers have poisoned their entire families and then taken their own lives. These are not crimes; they are cries—cries for mercy, for reform, for a system that cares. But those in charge remain cloaked in comfort, their lives untouched by the pain of those they claim to represent. They live in homes powered by generators, protected by protocol, and walled off from the people who pay for their perks.
When will the conscience of this nation wake up? What will it take to shake those in power from their slumber of privilege?
This country has become a land where poverty kills not just bodies, but dreams. Where a child’s laughter is a luxury, and education a distant illusion. Where old men pedal wheelchairs to survive, and birds raised with love are traded to keep the lights on for one more day.
Let us not allow this image to fade into another forgotten file. Let it rattle the walls of every assembly hall. Let it remind every policymaker that behind every rupee misused, every scheme delayed, and every reform avoided, there is a face like this—real, broken, and enduring. If this image doesn’t move you, perhaps nothing will.
Photo credit: APP
The article is the writer’s opinion, it may or may not adhere to the organization’s editorial policy.
Asem Mustafa Awan has extensive reporting experience with leading national and international media organizations. He has also contributed to reference books such as the Alpine Journal and the American Alpine Journal, among other international publications.
