The city we're forgetting: Dhaka's vanishing heritage

Dhaka is changing faster than it can remember itself. The city's skyline now tells two very different stories. One is written in the fading terracotta of old buildings and the shade of age-old trees. The other is spelt out in the reflective glass of new towers that define its growing ambition.

The tension between these two faces of Dhaka reflects more than an architectural shift; it captures a deeper question about what kind of city we are becoming.

Walking through the older neighbourhoods of Ramna or Old Dhaka feels like leafing through a living history book. The air carries the scent of rain and dust. Moss-covered colonial walls stand as quiet witnesses to the past. Wooden doors, each one carved differently, hint at the lives that once moved behind them.

When the streets grow too crowded, one can still pause under trees that have seen generations come and go. But this atmosphere is fading.

Many of these neighbourhoods, once central to Dhaka's identity, are now reduced to fragile glimpses of a past we are struggling to preserve. What remains of old Dhaka often survives by chance rather than care.

Across town, the new commercial zones of Gulshan and Bashundhara present a contrasting picture. Here, buildings rise in glass and steel, their facades reflecting the promise of modernity.

For many, these developments symbolise a confident, forward-looking Bangladesh. Corporate offices, uniform apartments and neatly planned cafés suggest a city striving to match global standards. Yet to many young architects and planners, the transformation feels less inspiring.

Nevritee Nawal, a fifth-year architecture student at BRAC University, views these changes with concern. "It truly is jarring how lifeless the newer, gentrified counterpart of Dhaka is," she says. To her, the new architecture feels disconnected from people and place.

"So, no, I do not see the new glass towers spanning the skyline of Dhaka as a symbol of modernity," she explains. "Not only are they disconnected, but they help to enforce class differences amongst people, where the main purpose of architecture should be accessibility to all."

Her words raise an essential question: can a city be called modern if its development comes at the cost of its character?

The new Dhaka often appears polished but feels anonymous, while the old town, despite its flaws, still retains a sense of belonging.

Across the capital, heritage structures continue to disappear. Some vanish quietly into new construction, others collapse after years of neglect.

Few remember the Greek memorial at Dhaka University from the 1910s, now hidden in plain sight. Each forgotten site weakens the link between the city's history and its present.

Yet there are signs of change within the architecture community itself. Nevritee and her peers are being trained to question imported models and rediscover local values.

This new mindset is beginning to shape how the next generation thinks about design. Instead of copying global styles, many young architects are exploring how to build sustainably, drawing lessons from traditional materials like brick and bamboo. They are seeking a balance between practicality and individuality.

Looking ahead, Nevritee is cautiously hopeful. "I think our generation is one of the first that are learning the core principles of architecture, serving the people instead of corporations, and building for their future," she says.

Her idea of progress goes beyond tall buildings or glossy facades. She imagines a Dhaka where architects design for communities, not just clients. "Rebuilding slums and rethinking urban living that benefits the common people" is how she frames it.

She points to examples like Urban Tune-Up: Rooftop Spaces as Containers of Public life, a thesis by Ridwan Noor Nafis that reimagines rooftops as compact public spaces. Such work reflects an emerging vision of Dhaka as a city that continues to grow while maintaining its social and cultural connections.

Still, turning this vision into reality will take more than good intentions. Nevritee believes it requires strong governance and civic pressure.

"I strongly believe more pressure should be given to the government, where corruption should not be tolerated in RAJUK," she says. "When the general public understands why their homes are lost to fire hazards and why architects should design a city built for them, only then can real change begin."

Her argument emphasised an often-ignored truth that architects or planners do not just build cities, they are shaped by collective awareness, accountability and political will. Without these, design remains a surface change.

Dhaka's story, then, is not a simple one of old versus new. The real challenge is to build a city that does not have to choose between heritage and progress.

A future Dhaka can take lessons from its past without being trapped by it, and it can modernise without losing its sense of self.

As the next generation of architects steps forward, their vision offers cautious optimism. The dream is of a Dhaka that grows thoughtfully, where development reflects the needs of its people and the memory of its land. A city that remembers its roots and also shapes its own future, not as a tale of two cities, but of one finding its balance.

rupok.du.ds@gmail.com