The Journey from Trash to Triumph

By Nasir Aijaz
The AsiaN Representative

ISLAMABAD: Shahid, a 9-year-old boy of Lyari, the old city area of Karachi, the capital of southern Sindh province of Pakistan, was so small that he had to stand on a brick just to peep into a trash bin. His father had died an addict; his mother washed dishes in people’s homes.

In their house, there was only one dream: that his 17-year-old sister, Sidra, would become a doctor. Sidra had secured a top position in her 12th-grade exams. Her mind was like a computer, but there was no money for her fees.

Every morning at 5:00 AM, Shahid would head out with a sack. Garbage dumps, alleys, shops – he collected plastic, iron, and scrap paper. By evening, he would sell it to the scrap dealer for 80 to 100 rupees.

Sidra got admission into medical college. The annual fee was 200,000 rupees. Her mother burst into tears: “Daughter, forgive me. We are poor.”

Shahid placed his head in his mother’s lap: “Ammi, don’t cry. Sister will become a doctor. I am here!”

From the next day, Shahid started working double shifts. From 4:00 AM to 8:00 AM, he picked trash, then went to school. Then, from 4:00 PM to 10:00 PM, he was back on the streets. At night, he would sit under the streetlights to do his own studies.

Sidra would weep: “Brother, you should study. I will work instead.”

Shahid would laugh and say: “Sister, it’s better for one doctor to be made than for two minds to go to waste. You just focus on your studies.”

It was a freezing winter night. Shahid had a fever, yet he still headed out with his sack. The scrap dealer said, “You’ll die, you crazy boy!”

Shahid replied, “Uncle, my fever will only break when my sister has a stethoscope in her hand.”

The neighbors would taunt them: “A rag-picker making his sister a doctor? Stop dreaming!”

Shahid said nothing. Every evening, he simply counted the money for Sidra’s fees and offered a prayer of thanks.

Eight years passed. Shahid was now 17. He had secured a position in his own Matric exams, but didn’t go to college. “It’s my sister’s final year,” he told himself.

The results came out. Sidra topped her MBBS. Her name was all over Karachi. The newspapers carried the headline: “Rag-picker’s Sister Becomes a Doctor.”

She got her first job at Civil Hospital Karachi. When Sidra got her first salary, she placed the envelope in Shahid’s hand and sobbed uncontrollably.

“This is the fruit of your labor in the trash, brother! The stethoscope I hold is tied to the strings of your sack.”

Today, Dr. Sidra runs the “Shahid Clinic” in Lyari, where the poor are treated for free.

And Shahid? He hasn’t left the scrap business, but now he owns his own shop. He has 20 children working for him, but with one condition: “You will study at my shop for two hours every day. I will pay your fees.”

On the wall hangs a frame. On one side is Sidra’s degree; on the other is Shahid’s old, torn sack.

Below it, the caption reads:

“The Journey from Trash to Triumph — if there is love, the destination is always reached.”

Shahid says: “People say I made my sister a doctor, but the truth is, my sister’s dream made me a human being.”