The status city often serves the privileged, while the huddling masses eke out a minimal existence
Our brains are being reprogrammed to look for the easiest solutions to our most vexing social and political questions.
Our experience of designing Brac regional offices across rural Bangladesh.
After completing his Bachelor of Architecture degree at the University of Oregon, Eugene, in June 1952, the 29-year-old Muzharul Islam (1923-2012) returned home to find a postcolonial Pakistan embroiled in acrimonious politics of national identity.
The legend of Louis Kahn remains strong.
Do we need the 24/7 hustle and bustle of Dhaka – the cacophonous dramas of this sleepless city – reproduced in its parks too?
We must rethink how cities are planned, designed, and administered to combat the adverse effects of both the heat island problem and climate change.
Governments are trying to control what could or could not be taught about their past.
As part of a class assignment last semester a group of architecture students asked me a question: what makes a city inspiring?
If you are passing by Farmgate, you are most likely to notice a boxy brick building at the intersection of Airport Road and Khamar Bari Road.
At a public place in the afterlife, Louis Kahn ran into Le Corbusier. The Franco-Swiss architect was pleased to see the esoteric architect/guru from Philadelphia.
I have long wondered why cities in Bangladesh don’t have vibrant, dedicated public places or squares, in the sense of Taksim Square in Istanbul, Trafalgar Square in London,
Population density in cities like Dhaka and Chattogram is daunting.
Hope is high that when Metro Rail Transit (MRT) finally arrives in Dhaka, the capital city’s legendary traffic congestion will ease off. Near Bijoy Sarani or in Mirpur or other places, where the construction of MRT is underway, attractive signposts proclaim: “The dream of MRT will soon become a reality in Dhaka,” “MRT will be the most time-saving way of getting around,” “MRT will be the most cost-effective and environmentally sustainable mode of transportation,” and “With MRT school children will be able to reach their schools on time.” All of these statements are true. But these truths may not solve the actual problem.
The other day I was going from Chattogram to my ancestral village in the Chandanish upazila, located about 40km southeast from the city centre. As soon as I crossed the Karnafuli River a common scene along the road began to haunt me. Felled trees were stacked up on both sides of the road, to be processed locally or transported to lumber mills on the outskirts of cities. The continuity of the spectacle revealed the enormity of scale in tree cutting. It felt as if a full-scale war on nature—a kind of “ecocide”—was going on.
The clandestine demolition of Jahaj Bari in Old Dhaka on the night of Eid-ul-Fitr reveals the precarious state of historic preservation in Bangladesh.
I have been following the “smart city” conversation in Bangladesh for quite some time now. Last year I sat on a panel to discuss the topic during what was called the “smart-city week” in Dhaka. As Bangladesh urbanises rapidly, as mid-sized cities increasingly become its new urban frontier, the mayors of small towns across the country seem drawn to the idea of smart city. They frequently talk about how they are eager to transform their towns into smart cities. I myself spoke with a few mayors who sounded anxious to bring “smartness” to their towns.
The project of globalisation remains as contested as ever. In Globalization and Its Discontents (2001), Joseph Stiglitz criticised international monetary organisations like the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) for advancing ideologically driven, market-based development mantras around the globe, often at the expense of poorer nations.