As the city settles into evening, the skyline tells its quiet story. A mosque rises in the foreground, its domes and minarets glowing against the fading blue light, while far off, a church’s red cross cuts through the mist. Here, faiths live side by side, each leaving its mark on the same streets and skies—a subtle reminder of coexistence in the heart of the bustling city.

What was once a flowing river has been erased, its waters buried under layers of concrete and profit-driven planning. In its place now stands a park, filled with neon rides, music, and the spectacle of a carnival. Families and children gather here in search of joy, unaware—or perhaps unable to dwell on—the river that once sustained life beneath their feet. The bubbles floating through the night air carry both wonder and irony: fragile, fleeting illusions of happiness, built on the silence of what was lost. This park is not just recreation—it is a monument to capitalism’s power to rewrite landscapes, to turn rivers into playgrounds.

A massive fire ripped through Dhaka’s Korail shantytown, destroying around 1,500 tin-roofed homes. Thousands of residents were left homeless as flames spread quickly through the densely packed settlements—an outcome made worse by overcrowding and the city’s rapid, unplanned urban growth.

Once a riverbed, now a manufactured plain — the sand beneath their feet doesn’t belong. Crowds gather in a space engineered for leisure, unaware or perhaps unconcerned with the memory of water that used to pulse here. Towering structures loom in the mist beyond, symbols of a city ever-expanding. This is capitalistic development at its most subtle: not demolition, but redirection. Nature filled in, packed down, and rebranded as public joy. A river stopped, a park born — progress standing on the bones of a past that cannot flow back.

A fire burns quietly in the wild grass, its glow cutting through the green like an omen. In Dhaka’s edges, such sparks mirror the city’s own trajectory — rapid, consuming, and often unchecked. Once rivers, fields, and trees shaped community life; now, concrete swallows’ memory. This image stands as both documentation and metaphor: the fleeting beauty of fire, and the relentless erasure of nature in the name of development.

After a long day on the construction site, laborers move between tasks and finally bathe in an open field, while luxury high-rises loom behind them. The image captures the relentless effort of the migrant workforce shaping the city’s skyline

A young man leaps into the air, his body suspended mid-flight as a crowd of boys and men watch from below. Against the pale blue sky, the jump feels both defiant and fleeting—an act of freedom carved out of shrinking spaces. What once was a riverbed is now a patch of sand, where play survives in improvised gestures, even as the city’s relentless march threatens to erase these moments. The leap is not just a stunt, but a metaphor—an attempt to hold onto joy in a landscape where capitalism leaves little room for play.

Concrete posts rise like skeletal frames against a hazy night sky, staking silent claims on once-open ground. Bicycles lean casually at their base, as if clinging to the last moments before the transformation becomes permanent. The scene captures the in-between: a landscape not yet city, no longer nature. Here, development announces itself not with buildings, but with markers of inevitability—structures waiting to grow. For those who once played, gathered, or cycled across these fields, the pillars are not just construction; they are omens of a future where space belongs less to people, more to profit.

A lone figure walks into the glow of a blinding headlight, carrying a bat over his shoulder as if it were both weapon and memory. The street is unfinished, raw with dust, its edges swallowed by darkness. A motorbike cuts through the scene, its light piercing the night. The image feels suspended between survival and disappearance—where play once belonged, now only shadows move under the weight of development and encroaching night.

Amid the wild tangle of weeds, a discarded mirror catches the sky, a fleeting illusion of openness in a city where horizons are closing. Once, fields and rivers offered that expanse naturally; now, reflection becomes the only window. The image is both quiet and unsettling—a reminder of how urban growth reduces nature to fragments, memories, and symbols. In the mirror’s surface lies not only the sky but also the question: what remains of freedom when the real landscape has been lost?

A glowing billboard stands tall, promising a vision of luxury and progress—a modern high-rise in the heart of the city. Yet, the reality beneath it is starkly different. The swirling dust in the air, the barren land, and the distant power lines tell a different story—a city caught between its aspirations and the cost of relentless urbanization. This image captures the contrast between the dream of development and the environmental toll it leaves behind.

In the shadow of looming city blocks, a couple poses for the photo, standing quietly in the tall grass, facing what remains of untamed land. Their presence feels both intimate and defiant—a gesture of belonging to a space rapidly disappearing under the march of development. Here, where concrete creeps closer every year, nature lingers like a fading memory. The scene is tender, yet heavy with the knowledge that this sanctuary of green is not permanent; it is a pause before erasure.

As urbanization rapidly transforms the landscape, makeshift infrastructure emerges as a symbol of resilience. Beneath the glow of artificial light, against a stormy sky, this structure stands as a symbol of resilience in an environment where progress is a matter of adaptation, not perfection.

Under a blood-red wash of artificial light, the earth lies wounded—its contours shaped by relentless extraction. This surreal landscape, devoid of human presence, evokes a planetary crime scene. The sand’s crimson hue is not natural but imposed, a metaphor for violence done quietly, beneath the radar of daily life. On the horizon, power lines trace the silhouette of development, indifferent to the devastation below. In this silent hollow, the land speaks—not through sound, but through absence