Sculpting Skyline: Unwilling contribution to the concrete jungle
Going down one of the most elite avenues of Dhaka city, the count of ones and twos will be less when it comes to the display of architecture by Mustapha Khalid Palash. Mr Palash, principal architect, and his team Vistaara Architects (Pvt.) Limited, have contributed to the new city skyline with significantly designed commercial buildings that are money-making machines for the economy. While passing by, young architects admire those works – this is quite an accomplishment for an architect, right? However, architect Mustapha Khalid Palash does not have a similar feeling. He is dissatisfied with the replacement of Dhaka’s natural landscape with man-made infrastructure, himself being a part of the contribution to the concrete ‘slum’ with added aesthetics. The nostalgic mind of this multi-talented person wanders around the city he was born in. He misses the vista of green and the landscape of Dhaka. All that visual relief has been lost in the name of fast-paced city development. The young Palash, born in the early 1960s on Baily Road, Dhaka, and later shifted to Gulshan in the mid-1990s, has a vivid scenario of life then: the environment, the lush and green of the city, and its cooling effect on the temperature in the good old days. The boom in population with unresolved planning about migration for a better lifestyle in the city is one of the main reasons for the overloaded condition in terms of size and expansion. Yet the lack of road networks and the commute system does not help much with stretching the city further north and south. Mr Palash believes decentralisation can be a solution to making these struggles better. The idea of scaling down architecture while maintaining its grandness is an old practice in this city. From the Mughal period to modern works by Louis I. Kahn and Muzharul Islam, but later it was lost somewhere in the city lines. A breathing space for the building and a gazing distance for the people are needed to observe large-scale architecture. Examples in Dhaka, as such, are the Mughal forts and palaces, the Sangshad Bhaban (parliament house), and a few others. As lifestyle developed, affordability increased. An unorganised building development started as people wanted to buy apartments over land due to a hike in prices. Hence in the last 20 years, the city became a concrete jungle from a greener jungle. Architect Palash brought back this practice in his design again. One can subconsciously understand the difference between standing in front of the Bashundhara Shopping Complex in the Panthapath area of the city, and Rangs Babylonia in Bir Uttam Mir Shawkat Sarak, on the Tejgaon-Gulshan link road. The inviting space in front of these buildings, on the street level, is the visual relief one needs while perceiving. Commercial building owners are keener towards using their well-known reputation in terms of selling spaces, and with reputation comes along building functionality and safety measures. “The architecture we design is not only for visual aesthetics that happens by default. We focus on delivery and timeline because a building is not just a space, it has a significant relation to the economy. Architecture is not just art. The basic system involves proper functional planning and the utmost safety measures for fire and structural factors. To me, architecture is like a tailored ‘coat’, where the inner lining of clothes has to be the most comfortable for the user, and the outer material has to be visually pleasing to the observer. The outer sight can differ from tastes, but the internal functionality has to be accurate,” explained Mr Palash. Architecture is a partial contributor to the destruction of this city, glorifying architecture is a cliché. He does not just design commercial buildings, but apartment buildings as well. His most well-known architecture though being on the prefaces of avenues like Gulshan is mentioned often. In all these years, he never designed a single-unit family residence, deliberately. He has done notable work in Chattogram and is currently working on a mass development project in Rajshahi. “The neo-modernism that our culture and society have gotten into has changed the social morphology to a different extent. The presence of a mobile phone is a distraction in relationships that has a social impact and even a lifestyle impact. Nowadays, apartment projects have ‘his and hers’ separate rooms, and the family living space culture is almost abandoned,” added the architect. Gulshan is already a heat island because of the excessive use of concrete, air conditioning and generator systems to support them. In addition to that the buildings are east or west facing on the avenue. Mr Palash and his team designed screening to reduce the internal effect of temperature. A few buildings even use photovoltaic glasses on the façade to produce renewable energy. “I have a hidden geometry while designing my buildings. I believe in signature, a handwritten signature, not rubber stamping.” “I have a hidden geometry while designing my buildings. I believe in signature, a handwritten signature, not rubber stamping. When I follow my geometric style, the buildings look like they are from the same house, but they are different in variation with visual expression” he mentioned. “The areas like Gulshan, Banani, Baridhara, Bashundhara R/A, Dhanmondi, and Uttara cannot be an example. The population density is much less there, and the distribution of basic commodities is also sufficient. The rest of the areas which are more organic, unsupervised, and ‘unorganised-ly’ growing are more in threat and should be taken care of” he added. Born to an artist couple, Mr Palash had exposure to art and culture since childhood. His confidence was developed in a very nurturing way by his parents, which eventually made his path of journey easy. “When I was 6, I used to assist my father with his commissioned works. If he had any works with letters, he used to draw the outline and ask me to fill it up in
Meet Architect Salauddin Ahmed- UN HOMME AVEC DU PANACHE
Many people spend their entire lives believing that the arts and music are completely different from the hard sciences, which include physics, chemistry, engineering, and even architecture. But are they really? Enter architect Salauddin Ahmed’s Atelier Robin Architects (ARA) in Hazaribagh and marvel in the atelier’s (French for studio) all-white, lofty, and expansive interior. You will see that architecture is not truly that far from art, if at all. Walking into Salauddin’s studio was in part equivalent to getting a glimpse of his inner workings: neat, geometrically perfect, and symmetrical. Aside from the conference room, which doubles as a miniature gallery, paintings and his sketchbooks are neatly spread out in the spatial atelier, where voices echo. Salauddin, a creator as well, designed most of the fixtures and furniture in the studio. But what sets ARA’s principal architect apart from the other practitioners in the industry? His schooling is in the US. His decade-and-a-half-long stay in the US, where he studied architecture at the University of Pennsylvania, in his career-forming phase exposed him to elements of his trade that are otherwise tough to attain in Bangladesh. “I didn’t come here to settle down. I came here to try it out. During my time away from here and being involved academically, I met architect, urbanist, and architectural historian Kazi Khaleed Ashraf. He influenced me to try out my trade in Bangladesh, as there were many opportunities here when I was starting out professionally, circa 1995. Then I did discover the vastness of the architectural practice in Bangladesh,” Salauddin said, explaining why he stayed back. Then he went on to compare architecture with music, alluding to how Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart perfected music from the age of four for the love of music—not commercialisation or leaving behind a vast collection but simply a legacy. “If an architect is just building buildings at an existential level, then,” he retorted, “it’s not architecture at all. Architecture is in the conscious and the subconscious; that is the vastness of architectural practice.” As Dhaka expands northward, homogenous residential buildings are popping out everywhere. People need a place to live, yes, but these buildings are just mere cages with the most basic elements that do not remotely enhance the art of living. The schooling our young architects are receiving just deals with hyper-commercial ways of living—ways in which more buildings and apartments can be crammed into the ever-so-dwindling space of Dhaka. “The application of laws, codes, and the conduct of architecture are barely taken into consideration by the authority. All the authority cares for, almost in a military fashion, is that the buildings conform to straight lines and extremely basic designs. They are not bothered by the emotional contact that architecture bears with the art of living. Habitats that enhance the beauty of living are underscored as a passion project, and they simply don’t make a lot of money. The number of architects presently practicing is sky-high, but that number needs to be threefold as high. However, they also have the mammoth task of dictating to society how architecture works. Bangladeshi architect and urban planner Muzharul Islam embodies that ideal concept of architecture. Later on, a school was set up to learn and then unlearn Muzharul Islam to create room for fresher ideas. That has been a successful way forward, a tried and tested system through which many contemporary architects of renown have come forward. But a few exceptions cannot be an example. In a country like Bangladesh, one or two exceptions will not do,” he explained it in detail. In all sincerity, Salauddin stressed emphatically the importance of ‘averageness’. “The word average carries a negative meaning in our society. But it has been proven that a person who carries themselves with the average air is the most attractive. However, the importance of averageness is not taught at an academic level. For example, all circles don’t have to be spherical. There is beauty in a slightly elliptical and average circle as well.” This city should represent an old ‘kantha’ that is average and not gaudy, so that everyone feels a level of comfort and familiarity, thus explaining averageness. Most Dhaka residents cannot afford such luxury, which makes an average approach go hand in hand with architecture: turning an empty lot into a home. “Dhaka is growing, but as an orphan,” Salauddin said morosely. Although much opportunity is not there to salvage Dhaka anymore from its systematic ruination, “possibilities” are, however, still there. His atelier is proof of that! Walking through the mazes of what used to be the heart of the now-removed tannery industry in Hazaribagh leads to his studio. A 15-foot gate, which could almost function as a castle drawbridge, welcomes you into the imposing interior. One would be left in awe that such a magnificent studio can be set up in a relic of a retired tannery. To Salauddin, it is the will and temperament that matter. “It’s a part of my ensemble: I take immense personal struggle to show someone the possibility.” Getting back on the matter of urban design, he spoke briefly about how it is done in successful cosmopolitan cities, one in which he once resided for a while. He elaborated, “Everybody here wants a south-facing veranda. Okay, but his neighbour might be deprived of the southern wind if he takes up all the space. In New York, for example, there’s a code: your building cannot project two hours of shadow on any surface in an eight-hour window. If you cast a shadow long enough, the adjacent building will need more heating capacity in the cold and get much less sun during the day. Your design form has to respect the many constituencies of urban design. This is impossible to even imagine in Dhaka.” The long conversation ended on a beautiful note. He said, “Ninety
Architect Rashed and the Poetics of Practice
In the crowded clusters of Dhaka’s architectural offices—where every firm spoke in bold, predetermined tones—finding an original voice was never easy. For Architect Rashed Hassan Chowdhury, the journey began not with buildings, but with books and design experiments of all kinds. Encouraged by his elder brother to pursue architecture, he entered BUET carrying curiosity and a restless desire to make and learn. Even as a student, Rashed was never confined to one discipline. He moved fluidly between book design, graphic work, product design—anything that allowed imagination to unfold in tangible form. But the multiplicity of voices, the weight of tradition and pressure of trends, left him with a fundamental question: How does one discover one’s own architecture? Rashed’s answer, at least in the early years, was to do everything. His first role was as a researcher at BUET’s Green Architecture Cell, followed by a post as lecturer at the University of Asia Pacific. After office hours, he joined architects like Nahas Khalil, Marina Tabassum, and Mahmudul Anwar Riyaad on project-based work—each collaboration sharpening instincts and broadening vocabulary. And at night, in the chilekotha/attic of his brother’s office—with only a computer and printer—he began sketching the contours of his own practice. Sleep was rare, but happiness abundant. Eventually came the realization: energy without direction cannot sustain itself. “I was doing too much, but none of it was really going anywhere,” Rashed recalls. That reckoning pushed him to leave the safety of multiple jobs and commit to a singular vision. Out of that decision was born Dehsar Works—a multidisciplinary practice whose very name is simply the last-to-first spelling of “Rashed,” a gesture as honest and direct as the work it produces. Learning by Doing Dehsar Works is not merely an architecture office—it is a laboratory. For Rashed, design is not about formula but about process, about finding concept and clarity. “The design process excites me most. It still does, every single time,” he says. This philosophy is reflected in the kinds of projects he chooses and the way they evolve: adaptive reuse, experimentation with materials, finding beauty in imperfection, and above all, engaging with the everyday lives of users. The Blues Communications Office, a transformation of a warehouse into a bold new workspace, tested both his patience and creativity. The design called for a complex metal structure—one that contractors hesitated to take on. Instead of abandoning the idea, Rashed and his team decided to build it themselves. They formed a sister concern, aptly named Workshop, to execute the construction. Through trial, error, and persistence, they not only completed the project but also gained a wealth of knowledge about materials and making. Ajo Idea Space is perhaps the purest example of his ethos. Conceived as a café and gathering space, it was never meant to be a conventional air-conditioned box. Instead, it embraced openness, natural ventilation, and a certain looseness that invited people to linger. The pavilion-like structure, with its vaulted steel forms and porous screens, blurred the boundary between inside and outside. It embodied sustainability not as a checklist but as a lived experience: a place where people ate, conversed, and created in ways that felt organic. Another notable work is the Beximco Learning and Development Center, a lightweight, semi-circular hall framed with steel and clad in polycarbonate sheets. Here, the emphasis was on creating an affordable, sustainable, and flexible learning environment that could anticipate future uses. By designing with recyclability and climate responsiveness in mind, Rashed sought to redefine what corporate infrastructure could mean in Bangladesh. Similarly, the Artistry Marble & Granite Experience Center transformed an old warehouse into a gallery-like environment for natural stones. Rather than demolish and rebuild, the design preserved and reinterpreted the existing shell, reusing nearly half the materials. The result was a spatial narrative where light and texture interacted with surfaces, allowing visitors to experience stone not as a static product but as a dynamic material. Another iconic project of Rashed is Suvastu Rialto Tower, a contemporary commercial landmark in Dhanmondi. Developed by Suvastu Properties Ltd., the project embodies functionality, visibility, and refined contemporary design. Suvastu Rialto Tower is a 3-basement, ground plus 13-storey commercial building, developed on approximately 10 kathas of land. The vertical organization of the building efficiently accommodates parking, retail, and office functions, addressing both spatial optimization and urban density challenges. The architectural language of Suvastu Rialto Tower is distinctly modern, characterized by clean lines, transparency, and material contrast. The façade features a glass curtain wall system, combined with aluminium elements and contemporary detailing. The glass facades not only enhance the building’s aesthetic appeal but also maximizes daylight penetration, contributing to a pleasant and productive interior environment. A Philosophy of Effort Rashed is not shy about offering advice to the younger generation of architects. His words are sharp but encouraging: “Stop complaining and start enhancing your skills.” For him, the profession is not merely about constructing buildings but about learning by doing—whether in furniture, graphic design, or urban experiments. Bangladesh, in his eyes, is a land of vast opportunity, waiting for those willing to work with patience and integrity. “There is so much to do, but very few skilled people willing to put in the effort,” he says. The formal degree, while important, is not enough. Real growth, he believes, happens through curiosity, through the courage to try, to fail, and to learn. Toward a Different Future The story of Dehsar Works is, in many ways, the story of one architect’s relentless pursuit of authenticity. From a chilekotha room with a single computer to award-winning projects recognized internationally, the journey has been marked not just by structures built but by lessons learned. As Rashed continues to shape spaces that are adaptive, playful, and deeply contextual, he reminds us that architecture is less about monuments and more about moments: the
