How earthquakes made people rethink living in high-rises

"I live on the tenth floor at Wari with my two elderly parents and my wife. When the building started shaking, I felt helpless. I kept thinking that if something happened to them, I wouldn't even know how to get them down the stairs in time. Since that day, the thought of shifting keeps coming back to me," said Mr Abidur Rahman, a resident who has begun questioning whether high-rise living is worth the fear he now carries.

For many people across Dhaka, his words reflect a quiet anxiety that has surfaced after the recent earthquake. High-rise living has become a regular part of Dhaka life, something people accepted out of necessity more than choice. But when the ground shook and buildings swayed, many began to rethink the comfort and convenience these apartments once promised.

The earthquake on 21 November 2025, which registered 5.7 in magnitude, was strong enough to be felt across a large area and close sufficient to Dhaka to cause widespread panic.

The epicentre in Narsingdi was barely a short distance from the city. The shaking lasted long enough for residents to run out of their homes and offices in fear. Many people were injured as panic spread through buildings and crowded places, while some were caused death.

For people living in high-rises, the experience was especially frightening. The swaying of tall buildings, the delay in descending many flights of stairs, and the uncertainty about structural stability created a kind of fear that persisted even after the shaking stopped. Many residents spoke about cracks in walls, and the long wait before they felt safe enough to return inside.

In the days that followed, more minor tremors and shocks were reported. These were not always strong, but they were enough to keep people alert and uneasy.

High-rise residents described sleeping lightly, keeping bags near doors, and checking social media late at night to see if others also felt movement. The earthquake did not last long, but the feeling it left lingered.

Over the last decade, Dhaka has seen rapid vertical growth. The shortage of land, paired with rising population, pushed the city upwards rather than outwards.

Today, Dhaka has hundreds of high-rise buildings, many built over a short period as real estate developers sought to meet the growing demand. Apartment living became the standard lifestyle for middle-class families. Moving into a high-rise meant having better security, a designated parking space, and a sense of modern living.

But the earthquake exposed another side of this lifestyle. People began to ask questions they had pushed aside for years. How safe are these buildings? Were they built following proper codes? Are elevators and stairways adequate for quick evacuation? The convenience of living high up now felt like a barrier to residents' safety.

Mrs Sanjida Aktar, who moved into a new apartment building in Banani earlier this year, shared her own worry. "I chose the apartment for the tight security, private living, sunlight and the view," she said. "I liked the clean corridors and the rooftop. But after the quake, I feel something shaking or making sounds, as if another earthquake were occurring. I keep thinking about whether I made the right decision. Maybe a smaller home on the ground would have been better."

Her thoughts are becoming more common in the city. People who once dreamed of high-rise living are now daydreaming about open space. Some imagine living in a small house with a yard. Others think about moving to quieter areas, away from the dense clusters of buildings that give Dhaka its skyline.

A woman in Jatrabari said, "When the earthquake hit, I realised how trapped we are. There is no open space around us; buildings are on all sides. Sometimes I wish I lived somewhere with a field nearby. At least you could run without fear."

A few families even moved temporarily to relatives' homes on lower floors or to less crowded neighbourhoods, not because their buildings were damaged, but simply because they did not feel mentally comfortable staying on higher floors. "I come to Hazaribagh in my brother's house," said Jahanara Alam, who used to live at Kasaituli, where the earthquake caused death. But most people know these temporary adjustments are not long-term solutions.

The bigger problem is that the ability to move is limited. Dhaka's growth has been heavily Dhaka-centric, meaning almost everything, jobs, schools, universities, hospitals, and offices are inside the city. For families with children, shifting far away is nearly impossible. School schedules, coaching centres, and extracurricular activities all keep them tied to the town.

For working adults, the situation is similar. Offices are located in Gulshan, Motijheel, Dhanmondi, Uttara, and other busy parts of Dhaka. Commuting from outside the city can take hours. Traffic jams often turn short distances into long, exhausting journeys. Even if someone considers moving to distant, less-crowded places, they know that the travel time would consume much of their day.

For many people, the earthquake sparked an inner conflict. On one side is the desire for safety, fresh air, and open space. On the other side is the reality of daily life, where moving far away would disrupt everything: children's education, office responsibilities, social life, and access to essential services. Dhaka's development model leaves little room for flexibility.

Some experts have long warned about the risks of depending so heavily on high-rise housing. But most residents did not feel that urgency until the ground beneath their feet shook.

Now the conversation has shifted. People are not only talking about the earthquake but also about the lifestyle that forces them upwards rather than outwards. They are questioning why parks are disappearing, why open fields are being taken over, and why the city is becoming a maze of concrete.

A man in old Dhaka said, "We are living on top of each other. If something happens, where do we go? Even the roads are full."

Yet, despite the fear, most people know they cannot easily leave their high-rises. Rent is high everywhere. Land prices outside the city have gone up. Transport costs are rising. And Dhaka continues to pull people in because opportunities are concentrated there.

So, people remain where they are. They think, they worry, they discuss plans that may never be acted upon. They imagine safer homes, but their imaginations stay inside their minds. The earthquake made them rethink their lifestyle, but the decisions they must take are not simple.

Dhaka's high-rise residents are like the buildings they live in. Tall, fixed, unable to move, surrounded closely by other structures. The quake shook their confidence, made them think of moving to quieter, safer places, but for now, these remain just thoughts - thoughts squeezed between the very buildings that leave no space for escape when the ground begins to tremble.

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