A dual-language road sign at the Wagah border— English on top, Urdu on the bottom— speaks louder than words. It demonstrates that English in Pakistan isn’t a foreign artifact but an operational language integrated into everyday life. It features on government application forms, university brochures, newspaper mastheads, and storefronts. But the ability stays highly concentrated among urban elite groups. That contradiction— English as gatekeeper but also as commons— illuminates why the evolution of the language is important.
Here’s the thing: English no longer exclusively belongs to the USA or Britain. Linguists long described a worldwide picture in which English interweaves social and temporal enclaves. Pakistan sits at the spot where English has official standing and is busy developing its own norms. What might be termed Pakistani English is a rich, organic variety; it takes in words, adjusts grammar, and accepts the local cadence and context. It’s not “broken” English; it’s English shaped by the tapestry of Pakistani existence.
Step into the Lahore version of the teashop or turn on the morning talk show broadcast, and you hear it loud and clear. People do it all the time: they interchange Urdu and English in the middle of the sentence. A parent may order a kid to “complete your homework now, beta; waste no time — no time-pass.” An executive may want “to postpone the meeting.” Reporters have made words for local conditions: “goondaism” for the violence of gangs, and “biradarism” for nepotism in the interests of clans. Common nouns — “atta,” “ziarat,” “gol gappa” — blend into English sentences as seamlessly as they refer to objects for which the English language has no exact words. Those words aren’t mistakes; they are instruments of exactness, freighted with cultural meaning.
It occurs in three broad registers. At the pinnacle is the acrolect— the formal, nearly-standard English of elite circles and the media of the nation. In the middle is the mesolect, where professionals, teachers, and bureaucrats differentially change their codes of language in accord with the circumstances. Informal talk best resides in the basilect where English intermixes with Urdu as an unconscious idiom. Each of the three registers allows English both to traverse place as well as cross class: an Islamabad lawyer and a shopkeeper in Peshawar may differentially use English but converse on the same page.
The institutional role of English is not in doubt. Universities carry on their teaching in English; the civil service functions in English; and the courts hear cases in English. In addition, scientific and technical activities take their course in English. To the young Pakistanis, command over English provides access to the rest of the world as well as domestically, especially in the fields of information technology, business process outsourcing, science, and foreign affairs. Its pragmatic worth illuminates why parents value English education so much and why private educational centers market “English medium” as the way forward.
But in Pakistan, English functions as a mirror of inequity. With access to quality English education confined to elite private educational institutions, the language ends up solidifying social privilege. In employment interviews, professional evaluations, and mainstream media outlets, the priority given to English speakers presents insurmountable barriers for those who do not enjoy access to quality English education.
So when you see the headline or commentary in the newspaper, remind yourself of what the sign on the border says. In Pakistan, English is not just an externally enforced set of norms but an unfolding tapestry of local identity imperatives. From London to Lahore, English doesn’t belong just to those who use it; it belongs to all who take it as the medium of ideas, problem-solving, storytelling. Its future will hinge on how inclusively it gets learned, how candidly it addresses inequity, how imaginatively it gets remade for life in Pakistan.
Its detractors claim an overemphasis on English could disenfranchise both local languages as well as the mother tongue, Urdu, holding the view that for most children, access to their native language in-depth will enrich their educational journey.
These tensions have given rise to sensible middle paths. A trilingual approach— robust early instruction in the mother tongue, a solid foundation in Urdu, and a systematic introduction to English— can provide both equity and global access. In practice, many teachers and students already operate in hybrid modes: they acquire technical vocabulary in English, discuss concepts in Urdu, and compose reports in English. This pragmatic blending mirrors reality more than ideology.
There’s also a less obvious argument to keep in mind. With more non-native English speakers worldwide today than native ones, the gravitational centre of the language is slowly shifting. World communication depends more on comprehensible, useful English instead of strict observance of British or American variants. Pakistani English figures in just that. Its distinctive neocoinings, code-switching patterns, and pragmatic applications add to an ever-wider global repertoire.
When the Pakistani negotiator speaks English, the scientist speaks English, the novelist speaks English, they add their local know-how into an international language — and enrich it thereby. It should be an enabler of freedom for our Pakistani readers. English should be regarded as an asset, not just a trophy.
Put to use effectively, it brings learners closer to international scholarship, binds businesses to foreign trade, and binds civilians in worldwide discussion. But when used ineptly—as an exclusionary credential—it isolates. So the question changes from use vs. nonuse to how we might use it as a bridge for the many, not as a barricade for the few.
So when you see the headline or commentary in the newspaper, remind yourself of what the sign on the border says. In Pakistan, English is not just an externally enforced set of norms but an unfolding tapestry of local identity imperatives. From London to Lahore, English doesn’t belong just to those who use it; it belongs to all who take it as the medium of ideas, problem-solving, storytelling. Its future will hinge on how inclusively it gets learned, how candidly it addresses inequity, how imaginatively it gets remade for life in Pakistan.
