SOME parts of Dhaka are undoubtedly more beautiful and more breathable than others. When one thinks of spaces in the city to enjoy fresh air or the tranquillity of water, a few familiar names emerge: Hatirjheel, or the lakesides and parks in Gulshan and Banani. Chandrima Udyan used to be on that list, too. But much of its charm has faded over the last decade and a half. What was once a lush public space has become a more sterile environment, stripped of its former vitality. Only the Krishnochura trees remain, standing tall and offering a visual respite to those passing through.
This contrast raises questions that go beyond mere aesthetics. Is it coincidental that the city鈥檚 more affluent areas 鈥� often referred to as its 鈥榩osh zones鈥� 鈥� are also the areas with the highest concentration of green and blue infrastructure? Or is it a reflection of a deeper inequality in how Dhaka allocates its environmental resources? When natural spaces are unequally distributed and designed to serve a narrow population segment, the consequence is not just unequal beauty 鈥� it is unequal access to the health, comfort and dignity that these spaces provide. In that sense, the issue is not merely about trees or parks, but about justice.
Life in Dhaka is already a struggle for health and well-being. The city frequently tops the list of the world鈥檚 most polluted urban centres, especially in terms of air quality. Residents across all age groups suffer from pollution-related diseases, including asthma, diabetes, heart conditions, strokes and various skin problems. The relentless summer heat exacerbates these challenges, particularly for those who work outdoors 鈥� construction workers, hawkers and daily labourers. Heat stress is no longer an occasional concern; it is becoming a defining feature of urban life.
In Mohammadpur, where I live, the neighbourhood once enjoyed a modest but meaningful canopy of trees and plants. Rickshaw-pullers, vendors and passers-by would find comfort under their shade. Houses had small gardens or green corners. That greenery has mostly vanished, cleared to make way for road expansions, pavements, and what is often termed 鈥榙evelopment鈥�. Many of the trees were cut down, sometimes overnight, with little or no consultation with residents. These interventions are often carried out in the name of improvement, but to what end, and for whose benefit?
The road works and infrastructure projects in Dhaka are frequent, but not always transparent. Footpaths and roads are built and rebuilt without clear explanations. Rarely is project information shared with the public. It is difficult to understand what exactly is being constructed and why. The loss of trees has made the summer heat more intolerable. Paved surfaces trap and reflect heat, and without natural shade, people are left exposed. Meanwhile, drainage remains inadequate. Waterlogging is a persistent issue 鈥� the result of poor planning and the absence of natural systems to absorb and manage excess water.
What is most troubling is that, even after construction projects are completed, there is rarely an effort to restore the green cover. No new saplings are planted. The built environment expands, but the natural environment contracts. It is worth asking what model of development we are pursuing 鈥� one that prioritises concrete over climate, infrastructure over inclusion? Expensive, high-maintenance constructions are not automatically indicators of progress, particularly when they come at the cost of urban liveability.
Mohammadpur鈥檚 open spaces 鈥� parks, fields, and playgrounds 鈥� have also suffered. In some cases, renovations have made them less usable, not more. Added concrete structures reduce playing areas. These playgrounds are also not equally accessible. Boys and men dominate these spaces, while girls and women remain largely absent. That absence is not just cultural; it is also spatial. The design of these spaces often fails to account for safety, privacy, and inclusivity. If we want cities to be just and liveable, our public spaces must be designed for everyone, regardless of gender, age, or physical ability.
Importantly, greening our cities does not always require large investments. A modest but effective example comes from the Narayanganj City Corporation. As part of a project coordinated by Save the Children International, schoolchildren collected seeds from seasonal fruits like mango and jackfruit. Instead of throwing them away, they nurtured the seeds in sapling bags. When the monsoon arrived, the surviving saplings were planted in community spaces with the support of urban volunteers and local councillors. The enthusiasm of children and young people was palpable. Some even brought flowering plants from home to beautify their neighbourhoods. The project showed how intergenerational, community-driven initiatives can make a visible and lasting impact, and how the act of planting itself can create a sense of ownership and care for public space.
There is no reason such initiatives cannot be replicated in Dhaka. Especially now, in the aftermath of the democratic mobilisation seen in July, there is renewed civic energy across the country. Institutions, youth groups, and local governments have an opportunity to work together in expanding and protecting urban green spaces. Bangladesh has fertile soil and a supportive climate. Compared to many countries with harsher growing conditions, our context is uniquely conducive to greening efforts. The time to act is now.
Environmental degradation, however, is never experienced equally. It disproportionately affects low-income and marginalised communities 鈥� the people who contribute the least to environmental harm but suffer the most from its consequences. This is true in Dhaka as well. Even in high-density areas like Mohammadpur, open spaces do exist 鈥� yet many remain neglected or underutilised. With strategic planning and modest investment, these spaces can be revived. Trees help absorb pollutants such as carbon dioxide and nitrogen dioxide, filter dust, reduce the urban heat island effect, and provide habitat for birds and other species. Green spaces can serve as natural buffers, improving not only air quality but also mental health and social cohesion.
Even planting on road dividers or unused municipal land can make a difference. But it requires political will and a recognition that environmental equity is as important as economic growth. Immediate, practical steps must be taken to restore and expand Dhaka鈥檚 green infrastructure, especially in neighbourhoods that have long been overlooked.
The desire to connect with nature is a universal human impulse. In urban Bangladesh, it is also an increasingly urgent necessity. Cities like Dhaka and Chattogram are losing their natural spaces at an alarming pace and the consequences are not shared equally. While comprehensive urban environmental reform is essential, certain neighbourhoods 鈥� such as Mohammadpur 鈥� demand targeted, urgent attention.
If we begin to transform these spaces now, they could play a vital role in buffering against extreme heat in the years to come. More importantly, they can help make our cities more liveable, not only for some, as it is called, the top one per cent, but for all.
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Nushrat Rahman Chowdhury specialises on climate policy and humanitarian work with nearly 14 years鈥� experiences with non-government organisations.
