Walk into any bookshop in Pakistan or scroll through local publishing pages and something stands out. You will find novels on politics, family drama, love stories, even sweeping historical epics. What you will not find is much science fiction. The genre barely exists here. That absence is not because Pakistanis lack imagination. It is because imagination has been boxed in, redirected or dismissed. And that gap matters more than most people realize.
Science fiction is not only about flying cars, aliens or time travel. At its core it is about asking “what if?” What if technology changes our lives in ways we cannot predict? What if the environment collapses? What if society chooses a different path? Countries that take science fiction seriously often end up better prepared for the future. US writers imagined the internet, artificial intelligence, even space travel, long before they became reality. In Pakistan, that kind of speculative imagination has never entered the mainstream.
The silence comes from several places. The first is education. Our schools treat science as memorization rather than wonder. Students are drilled in formulas but rarely encouraged to ask questions such as “what if the laws of physics were bent?” or “what would life look like on another planet?” Without curiosity, science becomes a dead subject instead of fertile ground for storytelling. The second reason is publishing. Local publishers chase safe bets: romance, history, Islamic literature, political biographies. Science fiction is treated as risky, too foreign, too strange. Writers who might have the imagination find little encouragement.
The third is cultural habit. Pakistan’s storytelling tradition is built around realism and morality. We prefer to read about society as it is or as it should be. Science fiction by definition drags us into the unfamiliar. It asks us to picture new worlds. That discomfort clashes with a culture that values continuity. The absence of science fiction costs us more than we think. Imagine if Pakistani writers had explored climate disaster stories fifty years ago. Today’s conversations about floods, heat waves and water scarcity might not feel like sudden shocks but warnings we saw coming. Silicon Valley thrives on the imagination of sci-fi writers. Pakistan’s tech sector grows without that creative spark. Too often our startups copy existing models instead of exploring radical ideas. Science fiction could shift that mindset by teaching us to imagine bigger.
There is also a cultural cost. Science fiction is a mirror. It reflects who we are by exaggerating, twisting or projecting us into strange futures. A Pakistani science fiction writer could ask what Karachi might look like in 2100 if sea levels rise, or how a divided society would respond if artificial intelligence could predict crime before it happened. These are not just stories. They are thought experiments and social commentary.
Other regions are already finding their voices in science fiction. Indian writers are experimenting with climate fiction, futuristic cities and AI politics. In Africa, authors like Nnedi Okorafor are shaping Afrofuturism, a movement that imagines futures rooted in African history and culture. Pakistan has no equivalent. And that absence means when global conversations about the future unfold, we are silent. Our imagination is outsourced.
Science fiction is not a luxury. It is rehearsal. It is practice for the futures we may face. For Pakistan it could be more than entertainment. It could be a tool for survival. The absence of science fiction in Pakistan is not only about books missing from shelves. It is about imagination missing from our culture. And without imagination, nations stagnate. We need our own dreamers, futurists and storytellers who dare to ask “what if?” Because if we do not imagine our future, someone else will do it for us. That, in the long run, would be the greatest loss of all.
Yet the story does not have to end here. Small sparks already exist. Some short stories appear online. A few independent writers are experimenting with speculative ideas. But they remain underground. For a true culture to grow, something must shift. Universities could lead the way by encouraging students to blend science and storytelling. Picture a course where engineering students write short sci-fi about the inventions they are designing. Or literature departments that pair Shakespeare with Octavia Butler and Ursula Le Guin.
Digital spaces could help too. Pakistan’s meme culture is already vibrant. Imagine if some of that creativity went into web comics or short animated sci-fi stories. Young people are online anyway. Why not give them futures to imagine instead of only pasts to debate? And of course publishing needs courage. A bold publisher could launch a “Pakistani Futures” series. Anthologies could invite writers to imagine anything from Mars colonies populated by Pakistani expats to dystopian versions of Lahore run by algorithms.
Without science fiction, a society remains stuck in the present. We keep circling the same debates about politics, corruption and survival while ignoring the bigger question of where we are heading. That is dangerous. The future is not going to wait. Climate change, artificial intelligence and biotechnology are coming whether we prepare or not.
Science fiction is not a luxury. It is rehearsal. It is practice for the futures we may face. For Pakistan it could be more than entertainment. It could be a tool for survival. The absence of science fiction in Pakistan is not only about books missing from shelves. It is about imagination missing from our culture. And without imagination, nations stagnate. We need our own dreamers, futurists and storytellers who dare to ask “what if?” Because if we do not imagine our future, someone else will do it for us. That, in the long run, would be the greatest loss of all.
