We are a nation of beautiful contradictions. We are the people who will haggle with a sabzi-wala (vegetable vendor) to save 20 rupees, and then drop 200,000 rupees on a single designer outfit for a third-cousin’s wedding. We anxiously track the price of petrol and roti, yet we participate in a collective performance of prosperity that is costing us our future.
I have spent my life in Pakistan, observing, participating in, and sometimes marveling at our unique relationship with money. We are brilliant savers (think committees and ROSCAs) and, simultaneously, spectacular spenders. But there is a crucial difference between spending and wasting. Spending is a transaction; wasting is a transaction devoid of real value, often driven by fear, ego, or a crippling sense of social obligation.
This isn’t a lecture from a financial guru. This is a personal insight, a look in the mirror at the financial black holes that keep so many of us on a treadmill, running hard but staying in the same place.
Here are, from my perspective, the 15 biggest wastes of money in Pakistan.
Part 1: The Altar of “Log Kya Kahenge” (What Will People Say?)
This category is responsible for more debt and financial stress than any other. It’s the money we don’t spend for ourselves, but for the perceived judgment of others.
1. The Extravagant Wedding Complex
This is the undisputed king of all financial waste. It’s not just a wedding; it’s a week-long, multi-event festival of consumption. We’ve normalized spending 5-10 years’ worth of savings on 5-10 days of functions. A separate, lavish event for the mayun, dholki, mehndi, baraat, and valima. Each event requires a new designer outfit, a new venue, new catering, and a new round of crippling expense. We indebt ourselves to feed 1,000 people we barely know, all to create a social media narrative. The “simple wedding” is spoken of like a mythical creature, rarely seen in the wild.
2. The Dowry (Jahez) & Gifting Pressure
A insidious, unspoken, and often illegal tradition. While jahez is the most obvious part—families saving for a lifetime to “furnish” their daughter’s new home—it’s the surrounding gifting culture that drains everyone. The salami at weddings, where the amount is mentally noted for reciprocity.1 The lavish gifts for newborns, new homes, and promotions. It’s less about celebration and more about a social ledger of debt.
3. Designer Lawn Mania
Come March, a strange fever grips the nation. Women who are otherwise perfectly rational will stand in chaotic queues, fight over a swatch of printed cotton, and pay 15,000 to 25,000 rupees for a jora (outfit) that is, functionally, identical to one costing 4,000. It’s not about the cloth; it’s about the label on the shopping bag and the “FOMO” (Fear Of Missing Out) of not having the season’s “it” print.
4. The Annual Smartphone Treadmill
Walk into any university or office, and you’ll see flagship phones that cost more than the laptops they are paired with. In a country with staggering import duties (PTA taxes), we have normalized paying 400,000+ rupees for a new iPhone or Samsung every single year. The “upgrade” is almost always marginal—a slightly better camera, a new notch—but the status of holding the “latest model” is a powerful drug. We finance status we can’t afford.
5. Over-the-Top Children’s Birthday Parties
This is a relatively new but rapidly growing “waste.” What used to be a cake and some balloons at home has morphed into a full-scale event. We now hire event planners, order 30,000-rupee themed cakes, arrange jumping castles, and distribute elaborate goodie bags… all for a three-year-old who won’t remember any of it. It’s not for the child; it’s a performance for the parents’ social circle and Instagram feeds.
Part 2: The Thousand-Rupee Cuts (Daily Habits That Bleed You Dry)
This category is about the slow, steady leaks. These aren’t one-time hits, but small, daily decisions that add up to a fortune over time.
6. The Constant “Eating Out” Culture
“Bahar se mangwa letay hain.” (“Let’s order from outside.”) This phrase is the anthem of the Pakistani middle class. The convenience of Foodpanda and a thousand local eateries has made cooking at home feel like a chore, not a default. A single, mediocre takeaway meal for a family of four can easily cost 3,000-5,000 rupees. Do this three times a week, and you’re spending 40,000-60,000 a month—often more than a car payment—on convenience.
7. The Gourmet Coffee & Chai Café
I love a good cup of tea, but I’m not talking about the 50-rupee doodh patti from the local khokha. I’m talking about the 700-rupee caramel latte or the 450-rupee “special” chai from a trendy café. We aren’t paying for the drink; we’re paying for the ambiance, the comfortable sofa, and the free Wi-Fi. It’s a luxury masquerading as a daily necessity.
8. The “Hi-Octane” Habit
Visit any petrol pump and you’ll hear it: “Bhai, 2,000 ka Hi-Octane daal do.” The widespread belief that expensive, high-octane fuel will magically boost the performance of a 1000cc Suzuki Alto or a 10-year-old Toyota Corolla is one of Pakistan’s great myths. Unless your car’s manual specifically requires it (which 95% of cars on our roads do not), you are literally just burning money for zero benefit.
9. Bottled Water (The “Mineral Pani” Fallacy)
The default in every home and restaurant is the plastic bottle. We have an inherent (and sometimes justified) distrust of tap water, but we overcorrect. Instead of investing 15,000-20,000 rupees once in a high-quality, multi-stage filtration system, we spend 100-150 rupees per day on large bottles of “mineral water.” That’s 4,500 a month, or 54,000 a year, for something a one-time purchase could have solved.
10. Brand-Name vs. Local/Generic Goods
We are obsessed with “imported” and “brand-name” goods. We’ll pay twice the price for an imported detergent, shampoo, or packaged biscuit when a perfectly good (and often identical, locally manufactured) alternative sits next to it on the shelf. This extends crucially to medicine, where people insist on the original brand-name drug over the chemically-identical generic version from a reputable local company, often paying a 50-100% premium for the name on the box.
Part 3: The Future We Pay For (And The One We Ignore)
This is the most dangerous category. These wastes aren’t just about lost money; they are about lost time, lost security, and gambling with our future.
11. Speculative “Files” (Ghost Housing Schemes)
The quintessential Pakistani “investment” trap. Instead of buying actual, physical land, we buy a “file”—a piece of paper representing a promise of a plot in a housing scheme that is often 50km from civilization, has no development, no utilities, and no guarantee of ever existing. People pour their life savings into these “files,” which are traded like playing cards, hoping to flip them for a profit. It’s not investing; it’s gambling, and many are left holding a worthless piece of paper.
12. Letting Cash Die (The Sin of Ignoring Inflation)
This is the biggest invisible waste. In a country with chronic 20-30% inflation, any money that is not growing is shrinking. Fast. The cultural fear of sood (interest) and a general lack of financial literacy mean that millions of Pakistanis let their hard-earned savings sit in a 5% savings account—or worse, under a mattress. They are effectively losing 20% of their wealth every single year to inflation. This inaction is a more profound waste than any fancy car.
13. Imported “Status Symbol” Cars
This is different from the Hi-Octane habit. This is the obsession with paying a massive premium for an “imported” Japanese car (like a Vitz, Aqua, or Land Cruiser) when locally assembled cars are available. Due to import duties, a five-year-old, used imported car often costs more than a brand-new local one. We pay for the perceived “JDM” (Japanese Domestic Market) quality and, more importantly, the status, while ignoring the high cost of its specialized parts and a lack of official support.
14. Unused Gym Memberships
The “Kal se pakka” (“Definitely from tomorrow”) syndrome. In January, or right after Eid, thousands of us sign up for expensive, year-long gym memberships. We pay 50,000 to 100,000 rupees upfront, full of motivation. We go religiously for two weeks. Then life gets in the way. The gym, having already secured your money, doesn’t care if you show up. You’ve just paid 100k for a handful of workouts.
15. Bank Fees on “Dormant” or Unnecessary Accounts
We open accounts for a single paycheck and then forget about them. We sign up for “premium” bank accounts with perks we never use, all of which come with high monthly service fees. We pay 2,500 rupees for a debit card when a 500-rupee one would do. The banks slowly and silently siphon money from these accounts in the form of “dormant account charges,” “service fees,” and “SMS alert fees,” small cuts that bleed us dry over years.
A Final, Personal Thought
Looking at this list, the common thread isn’t just money. It’s a fundamental misunderstanding of wealth. We are collectively focused on looking wealthy rather than being wealthy.
The antidote isn’t to become a miser, to stop celebrating, or to never eat out. Life is to be lived. The antidote is consciousness.
Imagine, for a moment, what would happen if we redirected even 30% of this wasted money. If the money from one extravagant wedding funded a small business. If the money from a year of designer lawn funded a child’s university education. If the money from a decade of “Hi-Octane” and lattes became a real, diversified investment portfolio.
The biggest waste of money in Pakistan, in the end, is the future we forfeit to win the approval of people who are just as trapped as we are. True financial freedom begins the moment we decide that our own security is more valuable than the fleeting approval of log.
