By: Shehroz Kaleem
In Pakistan, development is often measured by the grandeur of new projects. Motorways stretch across provinces; hospitals rise in big cities and IT parks promise digital futures. These ventures are celebrated with ribbon cuttings and televised ceremonies, symbols of progress meant to inspire national pride. Yet beneath this spectacle lies a quieter, more troubling reality. Our infrastructure, once built, is left to decay. The silence beneath cracking concrete is not just physical. It is institutional, cultural, and moral.
Infrastructure does not maintain itself. Roads fracture under the weight of neglect, water systems corrode in silence and medical equipment falters without care. In Chakwal, my hometown, the cardiac unit in DHQ Hospital stands as a monument to this neglect. A cardiologist is available at times, sometime not, but the unit lacks essential resources and the professionalism required to deliver consistent care. This is not a mere staffing oversight. It reflects a deeper flaw in our governance. We build, but we do not preserve. We inaugurate, but we do not sustain.
The problem is compounded by scarcity. In many districts, hospitals are few and far between. Health facilities are either absent or overwhelmed. The burden on existing infrastructure is immense and without maintenance, it becomes unbearable. Citizens travel long distances for basic care, only to find malfunctioning equipment or understaffed overwhelmingly crowded wards. The promise of healthcare remains unfulfilled, not because we lack ambition, but because we lack continuity.
According to the Pakistan Infrastructure Report by the State Bank of Pakistan, our country loses between four to six percent of its GDP annually due to infrastructural deficiencies. This amounts to nearly six billion dollars in economic leakage. Logistical bottlenecks alone inflate the cost of production by thirty percent, making our exports less competitive than those of our regional neighbours. These figures are not abstract. They represent lost opportunities, diminished public services and a compromised national dignity.
Despite these costs, maintenance remains an afterthought. Our procurement frameworks, governed by the Public Procurement Regulatory Authority, are designed to favour new construction. Maintenance contracts are often bundled without strategic foresight, lacking transparency and rigour. The result is a landscape dotted with decaying assets. Hospitals with broken equipment, highways riddled with potholes and water systems on the brink of collapse.
This neglect is not unique to Pakistan. Germany, often praised for its infrastructural discipline, has faced similar challenges. A 2023 study published in Energy, Sustainability and Society found that over twenty percent of German mobility infrastructure projects rejected audit recommendations without implementing corrective measures. Even advanced economies must confront the politics of upkeep.
Japan offers a more hopeful example. The Kaizen philosophy, born out of post war scarcity, emphasises continuous improvement through small, deliberate changes. In Japan, maintenance is not a bureaucratic obligation. It is a cultural imperative. Infrastructure is refined, not abandoned. Systems are cared for, not forgotten.
Pakistan must learn to value what it already possesses. The obsession with novelty has blinded us to the potential of existing assets. A well maintained road is more valuable than a new one that crumbles within a year. A hospital with functioning equipment and trained staff is more impactful than a gleaming shell devoid of care. Maintenance is not a cost. It is an investment in resilience, dignity and national pride.
I propose a reimagining of our procurement ethos. Let us institute a Maintenance First Procurement Framework, embedding lifecycle planning into every tender. Let us reward agencies that prioritise upkeep and hold accountable those that neglect it. Let us create a scoring system that values durability over novelty and sustainability over spectacle.
This is not merely a technical reform. It is a moral one. The duty of the state is not to impress its citizens with newness but to serve them with reliability. Maintenance is the quiet patriotism of governance. It is a commitment to care, continuity and competence.
Pakistan deserves better than crumbling motorways and decaying healthcare facilities. It deserves infrastructure that endures, serves and uplifts. Let us abandon the myth of new projects and embrace the quiet revolution of maintenance.
Let us build, yes. But let us also preserve.
The writer is a freelance columnist
