“Beta, science lo. Warna kal ko regret karoge.”
“Arts? Are you serious? Is that even a degree?”
“Do you want to end up teaching in a school for 20,000 rupees?”
It’s a question almost every student of the humanities in Pakistan hears at least once—usually served with a side of judgment and disbelief. From concerned parents to distant relatives, from school teachers to nosy neighbors, the message is the same: arts isn't a “real” field. It’s seen as the backup plan, the last resort, the space you end up in if you couldn’t crack science or commerce. But what makes this question so deeply ingrained in our society?
In Pakistan, education isn’t just about learning—it’s about status. We’ve created a rigid hierarchy where science sits at the top, followed by business, and then, far below, the arts. If you’re studying literature, philosophy, psychology, fine arts, history, or even media studies, chances are you’ve been made to feel like you’ve chosen the "easy way out." But the truth is, these fields are anything but easy. It takes analytical thinking to study philosophy. It takes emotional intelligence to study psychology. It takes creativity and resilience to pursue the arts in a society that constantly dismisses them.
The problem isn’t the subjects themselves—it’s the perception that surrounds them. We’ve grown up hearing that success means becoming a doctor, an engineer, or a CSS officer. Anything outside that narrow definition is treated as a risk, or worse, a failure. That’s why you’ll often hear the phrase, “Beta, kuch karna hai toh CSS karlo.” It’s the default career goal handed to every arts student, as if their degree is only valid if it leads to government service. But what if someone wants to be a filmmaker, or a historian, or a graphic designer? What if someone wants to use their degree to ask better questions instead of just giving the right answers?
What’s more ironic is that the world outside Pakistan is moving in the opposite direction. In a global economy increasingly driven by creativity, empathy, storytelling, and critical thinking, arts graduates are more relevant than ever. From advertising to journalism, from design to tech-driven UX research, the opportunities are endless for those who can communicate ideas, understand people, and challenge norms. The freelance boom has further proven this point: some of Pakistan’s top-earning freelancers are writers, designers, animators, and digital marketers—all rooted in the arts.
Yet, despite all this, the local mindset remains rigid. Parents still worry about “rishtas” if their daughter studies media. Boys are still told they’re “wasting their potential” if they pick sociology over software engineering. Schools still treat arts sections as a dumping ground for underperforming students. The shame isn’t just institutional—it’s cultural.
It’s time we recognize that studying the arts isn’t a downgrade. It’s not a soft option. It’s a deliberate choice, often made by people who want to think critically, speak freely, and contribute creatively to society. The question shouldn’t be “Arts parha ke kya karoge?” but rather, “Why do we keep discouraging the very people who make us think, feel, and grow?”
So the next time someone asks you that question, smile politely and say, “I’ll do what most can’t—I'll imagine, create, and question. What about you?”