Adnan Zillur Morshed

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.

Fire has been essential for human development. Without the domestication of fire, humans couldn't migrate to inhospitable regions of the world.

After the tragic Chawkbazar inferno in Old Dhaka, I have been thinking about what it would take to bring some urban sanity to a complex megacity like Dhaka.

The Armenian Church of the Holy Resurrection (1781) on Church Road in Old Dhaka highlights a rich tapestry of the Armenian footprint on the commerce, politics, and education of East Bengal.

Understanding the political setting of the Language Movement and 21st February requires an examination of how religion played very different roles before and after the 1947 Partition in East Bengal.

Imagine yourself as an international tourist who just arrived in Dhaka to explore a quintessential city of the Global South. You checked into your hotel somewhere in Banani.

Unlike Mughal Emperor Akbar's planned capital at Fatehpur Sikri in Agra or Shah Jahan's capital in Delhi—both constructed with a unitary concept over a relatively short time span—Mughal-era provincial capitals like Dhaka (or Lahore) grew piecemeal, during an extended period of time.

Last month while in a car on Mohakhali Road, going toward Gulshan One, I was intrigued by a dramatic footpath display. It was a large

I had one of my most memorable “urban” experiences in Dhaka on Election Day. I roamed aimlessly around the city. The streets were filled with relaxed pedestrians. It was probably psychological, but the air felt fresh, even a bit aromatic! The usual cacophonous soundtrack of Dhaka streets was absent. There was no menacing truck to overrun me as I walked, no incessant honking to make me neurotic. Rickshaws appeared like the chariots of utopia. I saw carefree birds in city trees, chirping. It was an incredible feeling in the midst of our familiar congested and chaotic Dhaka.

In their election manifestos political parties would appear prudent if they address cities as the frontier for fighting the adverse effects of climate change. In the era of global warming, smart climate-change strategists around the world view the city as both a villain and an opportunity. Because, as much as they contribute to economic growth, cities also produce

It is essential to understand the politics surrounding Dhaka's origin as a city. The prevailing mythology is that Dhaka is 400 years old.

One of the most iconic public housing projects of the 20th-century was built in St Louis, Missouri, in the early 1950s, during a time of post-war optimism and construction boom in America. The Pruitt-Igoe housing project consisted of 33-housing blocks, each 11-storey high, and was arranged across a 57-acre site in the poverty-stricken DeSoto-Carr neighbourhood. Upon completion, the project was seen as an answer to the urgent problem of housing the urban poor.

In Paris recently I noticed an extraordinary phenomenon unfolding around the Eiffel Tower during a casual afternoon stroll.

Last year I relocated to Dhaka and was desperately looking for a place to stay, close to where I would be teaching: BRAC University at Mohakhali. I didn't need a large apartment.

The first Monday of October each year is celebrated as World Habitat Day. More than 30 years ago, the United Nations General Assembly conceived the day to build global awareness of a basic but overlooked human right; that is, everybody deserves a decent and affordable place to live.

No building symbolises the advent of professional architectural education in Bangladesh during the 1960s more appropriately than the Department of Architecture building, designed by Richard Edwin Vrooman (1920-2002), at the Bangladesh University of Engineering and Technology (BUET).

Early this year I went to Washington's vaunted art museum, the National Gallery of Art. I didn't want to miss a much-acclaimed exhibition, Vermeer and the Masters of Genre Painting.