United News of Bangladesh

Growing up in rural Bhutan, I did not learn the meaning of resilience from textbooks. I learnt it from the women in my life. I learnt it from my mother, who worked in our fields, understood the rhythms of the seasons better than any meteorologist, and still found time to manage home and ensure that her children received an education. I remember people from my village and surrounding villages visiting our home to seek counsel from her on complex issues like inheritance disputes. She did it all with quiet strength but never called it leadership. But that is exactly what it was. I learnt it from the women farmers who could read the sky and the soil. They were the first to worry when crops failed. They were the ones who rationed food so everyone could eat. They walked longer distances when water sources dried up. I learnt it from teachers who insisted that leadership was not defined by gender or a sense of entitlement but by character and service. Long before climate change became a global agenda item, the women in our region were already adapting. They were climate leaders without ever being called so. Today, the world has the language to describe what they lived through. Climate change amplifies existing inequalities. It threatens livelihoods, health, and dignity, and it does so disproportionately for women and girls. Women remain historically underrepresented in the design, implementation, and financing of climate action. Under a worst-case climate scenario, an estimated 158 million more women and girls could be pushed into poverty, which is 16 million more than the projected number of men and boys. (UN Women) At recent global climate forums, the imbalance remains visible. At COP29, only 6 out of 78 leaders referenced the impacts of climate change on women, and four of those voices were women themselves (WEDO). This is not just a representation gap. It is a leadership gap in shaping solutions. The climate finance landscape reflects a similar imbalance. Out of USD 33.1 billion per year in bilateral climate-related development assistance, only 57% integrates gender considerations, and only 2.4% has gender equality as a principal objective (OECD DAC, 2022). In mitigation finance, the figure drops to just 2% (OECD, 2022). For adaptation, it is 4% (OECD CRS, 2022). And when we look at projects that explicitly target both climate adaptation and gender equality, the number stands at a mere 0.1%. (OECD, 2022) We are integrating gender. But we are not prioritising it. This year’s International Women’s Day theme, ‘Give to Gain’, resonates deeply with me. In our culture, we often say that generosity strengthens community. When you give land to build a school, you gain an educated generation. When you give trust, you gain loyalty. When you give opportunity, you gain transformation. If we give women meaningful space in climate decision-making, we gain more inclusive and effective policies. If we give funding directly to women-led and community-based institutions, we gain stronger adaptation outcomes. If we give visibility to women’s leadership, we gain accountability in climate governance. If we give better data and evidence, we gain smarter and more equitable investments. If we give institutional commitment, not just policy language, we gain lasting change. Across the Hindu Kush Himalaya, women are already on the front lines, leading sustainable agriculture, managing water resources, responding to disasters, preserving biodiversity, and holding communities together in times of crisis. But too often, they lack access to finance, technology, and platforms to scale their contributions. At the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD), as we move forward into our next Medium-Term Action Plan, our commitment is clear: to make strategic investments in women and systematically include them across our science, policy, and finance platforms; to strengthen tracking of gender equality and social inclusion; and to ensure that climate finance in the Hindu Kush Himalaya reaches those who are already leading change on the ground. But beyond institutional commitments, I carry something more personal. Every time I meet women farmers in the mountains of our region, I see reflections of my mother. I see the same quiet determination. The same intelligence is rooted in lived experience. The same ability to hold families and ecosystems together under stress. Living in the mountains has taught me that resilience is not abstract. It has a face. It has a voice. And very often, it is a woman’s voice. On this International Women’s Day, let us celebrate women’s contributions and invest in them. Let us not only acknowledge inequality, but also correct it. Let us not only integrate gender, but also prioritise it. Because when we truly give to women, we do not diminish ourselves. We gain stronger communities. We gain a more resilient planet. And that’s something worth fighting for. Happy International Women’s Day. Pema Gyamtsho is the current Director General at International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development

So, the ultimate noisy, brattish, flippant, hyper serious Saleem Samad is gone. To the world he was the fearless journalist and media activist but to us he was our old from Shaheen school, batch of 1969. He was the same person all his life, not serious it would seem except for matters that really mattered to him but always a friend, always acting as if life was a party of old friends where he could make the most noise. The hot Ovaltine in the CHT story School days were simpler for all of us where the world was so limited and safe but life changed after SSC exams as we all drifted to different institutions and destinations. Saleem was not the kind to climb educational ladders and he ended up as a journalist which truly suited him. If anything, it was tailor made for him and he chased stories, did interviews and wrote them in his slightly off grammar English that was soon gathering attention. He walked the ranks with various English dailies and was soon a name known to many. He made his name in the late 70s with a report on the Shanti Bahini insurrection having found contacts to take him there in the CHT hills. It came out in the Bangla version of the  Ittefaq group – Weekly Robbar- and that brought him great fame and familiarity. I would tease him about his story content where he mentioned drinking hot Ovaltine offered by the SB and all that. It was a great story and Saleem even had to undergo interrogation by the authorities for his trip and all that but he survived and went on with his work merrily. At Bangladesh Today and Dhaka Courier We met as colleagues at Bangladesh Today in the early 80s, a superbly produced and written monthly that had many old and new friends involved. It was one of the best English mags in the country and caught everyone’s immediate attention. The guy-in-charge was Syed Mahmud Ali who later joined the BBC and a host of young and mid- level journos worked and chatted there. Subrata Dhar, Nadeem Quadir, Zahed Khan, Belal Chowdhury, Kalam Mahmud,  Hasan Ferdous, Saleem and myself were some names in the crowd. Most were contributors but we all became part of a team that pushed a work of excellence.   What was most fun was of course the eternal adda we all had where Saleem would get his legs pulled really hard. It bred relationships that never died and after so many years many recalled those happy days… I left in 1984 to join Dhaka Courier and soon Saleem also became a regular contributor there. However, I lead a bit of a peripatetic life and left in 1986 to join the UN though my links with the media remained. And with Saleem too, The jailed journalist Saleem did full time jobs, part time ones too but all were within the media world. His reputation grew as did his freelancing work. In 2002, while freelancing for an international media outfit, Saleem was arrested for ‘anti-state “activities and in jail for over 2 months. He was finally released after his arrest became an international cause for media freedom everywhere. Not only did many speak up about him but he himself became an activist and remained so for the rest of his life. It was truly a game changing episode of his life. Saleem remained active in the media freedom sector and when we both met in Toronto in 2007, Saleem was running an online portal but also active as a media freedom pusher. That had become his profile and allowed Saleem to push his causes. By the time we both returned after declining to be Canadian citizens, Saleem had gained a global media activist profile. Later life His later years were full of many activisms, column writings and social activities. He was a keen Shaheen school alumni activist and made many new friends from new generations. That’s where I last met him. We talked as two ancient friends do. He had muscle and pain issues and even entered the CRP a couple of times. We last chatted on the phone a couple of months back  about his aches and pains and that was that. And then this news. I am still struggling to process it.. So how does one say goodbye to a friend of 60+ years? Briefly, I hope. So farewell old friend till we meet again in the great newsroom up there where nothing including news making  ever ends. Best wishes    

Dhaka, the planet’s second most populous city, is on track to become the world’s largest city by 2050, according to the UN World Urbanization Prospects 2025 report. This dramatic rise is largely due to the millions of rural-to-urban migrants seeking work, safety, and survival in the city. Urban Bangladesh is quite literally built by migrants, yet the state’s social safety nets are designed as if the urban poor, predominantly rural-to-urban migrants, do not exist. When more inclusive social safety nets are imagined, they miss the spatial realities that structure migrants’ everyday lives in Bangladesh’s cities. More bluntly, Bangladesh’s social protection efforts continue to have a rural bias. Research by the Centre for Policy Dialogue (2023) emphasizes, for instance, that urban poor households remain systematically excluded from more than 115 safety net schemes nationwide. The government’s fears that urban safety nets might encourage migration are often cited to justify exclusion, even though allowance amounts are far too small to offset the cost of urban living. We, therefore, end up in a social safety net architecture that treats urban migrants as invisible people rather than legitimate city dwellers. The Scale of Urban Exclusion The scale of urban migrant exclusion from social safety net programmes (SSNPs) is well documented. A 2025 UNDP policy brief stated that while nearly one-third of Bangladesh’s population now lives in cities, only about 20 per cent of social protection beneficiaries are urban, and programmes exclusively targeting urban populations receive just 4 percent of total social protection spending. Nearly two-thirds of extremely poor urban households receive no social protection at all, a far higher exclusion rate than in rural areas. Even flagship programmes such as old-age, widow, and disability allowances show minimal urban reach, and in some cases such as the widow allowance they are not operational in city corporation areas. As a result, poor urban migrants are left to survive the city without any social buffer. The Bangladesh state is cognizant of the urban gap in its SSNPs. In 2020, the government developed the Urban Social Protection Strategy and Action Plan, explicitly acknowledging that Bangladesh’s social protection system had failed to recognise the vulnerabilities of the urban poor, including migrants living in informal settlements. The strategy recognised that urban poverty is not only about income, but about insecure housing, lack of tenure, informal employment, weak social networks, exposure to violence, and exclusion from basic services, arguably making urban deprivation harsher than rural poverty. The action plan proposed a three-part framework: expanding rural programmes into cities, introducing urban labour-market interventions, and developing social insurance for urban workers. Yet five years on, this agenda remains stalled. The action plan called for expanding allowances, food security programmes, urban workfare, and national social insurance; for creating a single registry; for ensuring portability for mobile populations; and for addressing land tenure insecurity in slums. None of this has come to pass. Perhaps, the action plan’s stalled status provides us an opportunity to imagine a more robust, security and resilience oriented, city-specific approach to social safety nets for urban migrants. Missing Urban Social Safety Net is a Security and Climate Risk Afterall, the absence of urban social safety nets is not only a poverty issue. It is a security and climate risk. In cities like Dhaka, migrants are concentrated in the most heat-exposed, flood-prone, and polluted neighbourhoods, while working in the most climate-sensitive and informal jobs. Without income protection, healthcare, housing, or legal recognition, climate shocks quickly translate into displacement, illness, conflict, and social unrest. Policing and disaster response cannot compensate for this structural vulnerability. Urban social protection is therefore the frontline for climate adaptation and preventive security rolled into one. Need to Embed Social Safety Nets in Everyday Spaces Existing policy recommendations still imagine social protection as a set of programmes delivered through eligibility lists and transfers. But migration is a spatial process, and protection must respond to that reality. Global comparative research on urban safety nets shows that income support alone is insufficient in cities; protection must be linked to housing, healthcare, childcare, employability, and violence prevention. In dense urban settings, social protection works only when it is spatiallyembedded. If urbanizing Bangladesh is serious about protecting migrants, social protection must begin at the moment of arrival, in the places where migrants arrive over and over. We need welcome centres at bus terminals, truck stands, and transport hubs, places where migrants first enter the city. These centres can register inflows and outflows, provide first aid, drinking water, washing and ablution spaces, and connect people to jobs, housing, healthcare, schools, and legal support. They can also issue simple, non-punitive work licences or tokens that enable access to income without criminalising informality. Beyond arrival, protection must secure the conditions of everyday life. This means safe dormitories and WASH facilities, pathways to family housing, health insurance and a strengthened urban primary healthcare system, and schools that welcome mobile populations rather than excluding children for lack of fixed addresses. Public health must be treated as a right: enforcing food safety standards, maintaining minimum air-quality thresholds, and guaranteeing water, sanitation, and waste services in migrant settlements. Social protection must also include security and care; stronger law-and-order protection in vulnerable neighbourhoods, and public spaces for sports and recreation that help rebuild social ties in harsh urban environments. Vulnerable people often are not aware of programmes or schemes that may help them. This is why they should be able to access social safety nets precisely in the places where they experience vulnerability, meaning the city’s terminals, pavements, worksites, clinics, schools, streets, and so on. A migrant-centred safety net must be synced to the spatial and lived everyday realities of migrants. Bangladesh must, in other words, urbanize its social safety nets. As our cities continue to grow through migration and climate stress, they cannot function with security and resilience without protecting migrants. We are certainly grappling with a political failure to act on commitments, but perhaps more profoundly we are grappling with the failure to imagine an everyday lived social safety net approach for urban migrants. By Mohammad Azaz and Efadul Huq. Mohammad Azaz is the Administrator of Dhaka North City Corporation. Efadul Huq, Phd, is Assistant Professor of Environmental Science & Policy and Urban Studies at Smith College. Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in the article are those of the respective authors.

You would not believe it when I say that walking at night is the most relaxing thing in the world for me. As evening approaches and the yellow of the sky is replaced with black, the lights of different houses in neighborhoods flicker open exposing the streets-and people on the streets-to a pallid, shadowy hue. Going back through memory lane, my evening walks in Dhaka as a child meant me being hoisted off the floor by either my uncle or some other relative and toured around the neighborhood block. The sky would change color according to its own will and choice. In the long run it meant me often walking and looking up at the changing sky and watching its various shades spread all over the blue. Walking past a shop and being careful not to get hit by a car on the pedestrian sidewalk, I would ask my uncle, aunt etc to buy me something to eat. They would always oblige and I would revel at the opportunity to get something tasty to eat every time we went on a walk. Aside from that….. Walking-or going out-by night meant watching traffic in Dhaka’s busiest streets, people getting off their cars in the middle of the road and/or buying a tiny packet of badam from a street side vendor and such other sights. But I also remember that one would have to be careful while walking on the streets in the late evening so safety was a big thing. Everyone in Dhaka knows things could go out of control in a span of minutes. The sights varied and in my memory’s mirror I can see my own para with its many real-life paintings in motion or in still. The elderly walk out at night to reach parks or visit a shop to buy groceries. These would be people in their 70s and 80s going out to catch a breadth of fresh air sometimes with family escorts or occasionally by themselves. Safety was a major concern for them taking this evening walk bordering on the early dark. It’s not crime that the family is worried about but these elderly people falling down and hurting themselves. Thankfully, such scenes were rare but after all these years my memory of that anxiety still remains.   Maybe crime was an issue in some parts of the city but older residents are also stronger now, more self- reliant and taking care of themselves better. But it’s true I wish I saw a would-be snatcher getting whacked by an old man like a senior citizen version of superman. But it’s true, overall for Dhaka, precautions must be taken at night by those who want a taste of walking in Dhaka at night. Toronto Visiting cafes in Toronto at night time is different from Dhaka’s night time. With safety and security well taken care of, taking a walk to a neighborhood park is not an issue of concern for night strollers. When I was there, I would watch from my veranda the neighbourhood as night fell after the evening had gone to bed. The park was just a few blocks away where so many came around to taste the night descends amidst the trees. So much would happen there. It had swings and other playground toys for children. There was a large space for events and activities held in the park. I would enjoy riding the swings at the park in the daytime but I would not go out at night alone as a stabbing had once occurred there a few days back and so for many children, night outs were off for a while. But then crime is so low in that city that family walks returned and the night was claimed back by the people living there. For those living in downtown Toronto, the lights, busy streets and endless people walking through offer a visual and sensory stimulation of their own. Downtown Toronto offers many peaceful delights, like the cafe where some of them one can even pet a cat as an extra. Interestingly, such joints have now opened in Dhaka too. In terms of the cozy feel that one gets visiting a nearby convenience store, Toronto and Dhaka both offer that sense of pleasure including visiting vendors or joints for a midnight snack and tea. Both cities are different and also the same in many ways. Both have their own tongues in which they speak to the residents but both are welcoming to all. Toronto is in the richer part of the world so many matters of safety and pleasure are taken for granted but Dhaka with all its limitations offers an experience all of its own.   So get up, open the door and take a walk as the lights come on.   

This morning my daughter, Shahrin, herself a civil engineer, excited, sent me a text from Cox’s Bazar, where she is on a holiday with her two sons, Tanzif and Tawfeeq, and her BUET faculty husband, Dr Asif Raihan: “Chhoto nanima (my wife Dr Zinat Mahrukh Banu’s youngest maternal aunt) invited all of us to a reception of Upal mama (maternal uncle) on the 27th.”  Upal is the nickname of Professor Osama SM Khan. The University of South Wales, in the UK, has announced the appointment of Professor Khan as its new Vice-Chancellor and Chief Executive, who will join the university in May 2026. It means Osama is going to be the first Bangladesh-born, as well as Bangladeshi-educated chief executive of a public university in the UK. To all of us this means the nation achieved something significant and honorable, a new success or accomplishment that brings pride, just like our heroes historically added feathers for victories on this 16th December – our historic Victory Day.  

 He is Prof. Mahbubullah to many and “bhai” to us, He was felicitated by many of his admirers at a recent event at the Press Club where his books were discussed by eminents like him. The occasion was meant not just to salute the person but also his books, the work that he will be leaving behind bearing his thoughts. It's an interesting journey that the once jailed revolutionary has slowly evolved in the public mind as an eminent scholar.   I realize that in many ways, he remains one of the last of his generation, who believed that there was such a place as a better world, where Marxist socialism held all the answers and the young ones like him were all ready to give their all for it all.  That is no longer so anywhere and it’s in this departure that sharpens the profile of a generation who in so many ways personified politics as the path to hope , a path now lost to the weeds of time. The Marxist’s manifesto of Independent Bangladesh I am saying all this because Mahbubullah bhai is very much a part of that “independent state” making history of Bangladesh in 1971.  How many people would know that he along with his party comrades had stood in front of a crowd and read out a manifesto of an independent Bangladesh?.  As a consequence, others on the podium – Kazi Zafar  and others + - had arrest warrants issued but they  went into hiding  but Mahbuullah bhai was arrested. In the trial that followed. Mahbubullah bhai was found guilty and jailed. His 1971 was spent behind bars, a testimony to the integrity of his political thoughts. But it was not nationalism that had moved his mind, it was socialism that separated him and his politics from the mainstream and the two never met. The post 1971 Bangladesh The politics of pre-1971 Left was very ideological, uncompromising, commitment driven but also very dogmatic and intolerant. What held them together was also what divided them. The ideology of the Left was either pro-“Peking “as Beijing used to be called and pro- Moscow, two distant meccas.  International politics ruled the waves of local politics going deep into the realms of  Bengal’s distant villages even. Between 1972 and 1975, despite all the bloodshed, the Left emerged as a ship of nobler souls than the average politicians of the mainstream. Whether it was Siraj Shikder  of the Sharbohara Party  who had taken to armed confrontations and was felled or Mahbubullah bhai’s political chariot that was more focused on the structure of political change making , they  stood tall. They were however never a serious contender  for state power as 1975 and subsequent changes showed but they stood tall , respected for their integrity and who some hoped would perhaps succeed one day and set up a poor people’s  paradise on earth. It was not to be as global history shows  but to many including us, they were people of integrity who were committed to positive change. But history has its own way of deciding its path. And one day the old regime died and if the AL was a casualty, on looking back can see that the independent Left of many kinds also faded away partly perhaps as the main foe was gone. A political construction which had pushed away the old regime claimed the formal seat of power and many members of the old Left drew close to that.  History’s equations once more decided the march of  time and those who  once wanted to capture the State now became more loyal to the same but as it wore different robes. The academic and the critic       Mahbubullah bhai’s life too changed gears and had soon joined the academia at Chittagong University and both his status in scholarship and rose rapidly. And one day he had reached the top in both the academic ladder but ancillary ones as well. Meanwhile, he was closer to the BNP cluster which was far less regimental or orthodox than his earlier Marxist ones. Yet he didn’t exactly give up his belief structure but was less ideological class politics driven perhaps and emerged as an eminent senior intellectual. I would remember meeting him once to discuss class politics in the home of the late Editor of Dainik Bangla Ahmed Humayun in the early 70s and occasionally later at events or socials. His world was more about words while earlier it was about action. There is a certain inevitability in this process but that affects us all. New realities emerge as one ages, family time demands grow but he remains full of heat and passion that suited him. His four walls may have changed over time but his own role within that space remained the same- to be loyal to what his intellect considered was right. It’s not about agreement but commitment.   

As the scent of winter promises relief, the fresh produce markets of Dhaka are delivering a different kind of jolt: sudden and sharp price hikes on essential food items. For the city's ordinary citizens, this surge in the cost of living is a heartbreaking compromise between family needs and financial reality. The recent spike in prices for both seasonal vegetables and proteins is placing an immediate and heavy burden on middle and low-income families, with a simple trip to the market becoming a source of anxiety. The struggles reported by consumers and small traders across the capital show a widening gap between market reality and the goal of price stability pursued by bodies like the Directorate of National Consumer Rights Protection (DNCRP). Read more: Winter fails to cool prices as Khulna kitchen markets see fresh hikes Reality of the Market The escalating prices are not abstract figures; they are deeply personal crises. Md. Dulal, a security guard, shared his heartache over a family craving. "The duck meat is now selling for Tk 500 per kilogram. My children had their hearts set on it, but with the price going up, it's out of our reach now. It's simply a luxury we cannot afford." The protein crisis extends to fish as well. Md. Mainuddin, a fish trader himself, noted the extreme costs for premium catches. "A one-kilogram Hilsa fish goes for Tk 2,800, and a large Rupchanda fish is Tk 1,200 per kg, which is far too high for the average buyer, even if other fishes are slightly lower in price."

In a small fringed settlement of Kodam Tola, Shyamnagar, Sathkhira  bordering the forests of the Sundarbans, where the rhythm of life is bound tightly with nature, the story of the Mondal family unfolds — a story of tragedy transformed into triumph and dignity. Back in 2010, a devastating tiger attack changed the life of the Mondol family forever. Subash Mondol, a hardworking man and devoted father, lost his life while working in the forest leaving behind his wife and two young children. What followed was a period of unimaginable hardship. Alomoti Mondol, his widow burdened with grief and responsibility, was left to fend for her family in a community where opportunities for women were limited, and survival itself was a daily struggle. “After my husband’s death, I had no idea how to feed my children,” she recalls softly. “There were days when I didn’t know if we would have enough to eat.” Life in the Sundarbans is never easy. The region’s people coexist with the forest, relying on it for their sustenance — fishing, collecting honey, and harvesting resources. Yet, this dependence often comes with danger, as human-wildlife conflict remains a grim reality. For widows like Mrs. Mondol, the loss of a breadwinner can mean a plunge into poverty and despair. But sometimes, hope finds its way through unexpected hands. Through the Integrated Tiger Habitat Conservation Programme (ITHCP) implemented by WildTeam in 2019 A.D. Mrs. Mondol received an opportunity to participate in a week-long tailoring training. The program aimed to empower women affected by human wildlife conflict, helping them rebuild their lives with dignity and self-reliance. At first, she hesitated she had never held a needle as a  profession, and the thought of starting something new at her age seemed daunting. Yet, with encouragement from the trainers and other women in her village, she found the courage to try. “I still remember how excited I felt when I first used the sewing machine with knowledge on designing,” she smiles. “It was something I could call my own — a tool that could help me stand on my feet.” Along with the training, she received few fabric suit pieces, enabling her to start stitching clothes for the local market. Slowly but surely, her skills improved. Her work — neat, careful, and full of heart — began to attract customers. The once-quiet corner of her house turned into a small, bustling workspace filled with the sound of the sewing machine’s rhythmic hum. As her small business took root, her daughter-in-law, Poornima Mondal, joined her. Together, they began stitching and selling clothes in their local market, creating not just garments but also a new identity for their family — one built on resilience, cooperation, and creativity.  

Bangladesh, long cited as a global hotspot and ground zero for climate change. Being swept by waves of recurrent disasters and intense weather, our nation of 170 million people frequently faces episodes of physical harm and severe outbreaks of vector-borne diseases.  The impact is deeply felt among the poorest, who constitute over a fourth of the population and depend heavily on a fragile public health system because private care is beyond reach. The poor are also the backbone of Bangladesh’s largely informal economy - when they are mostly sick, their livelihood gets affected.  Because Bangladesh lacks a universal health-insurance scheme, most health costs are borne out of pocket. In fact, Bangladesh has the second highest out-of-pocket expenditure in South Asia after Afghanistan. People in Bangladesh are financially exhausted from making medical expenses caused by frequent disasters and outbreaks of various diseases, pushing vulnerable families into debt and distress. The most urgent hazard is the intensifying summer heat, especially in cities, including Dhaka, where millions of people live in slums. In these areas, inadequate utility services, high-rise surroundings that trap heat, and cramped living conditions combine to make people vulnerable. Slums are the world’s most congested places, leaving people huddled and dehydrated. During summer, when power outages become frequent, slum people are forced to spend long hours on the streets at night, or work long hours in overheated garment factories or informal jobs — hawking or pulling rickshaws — in the daytime. In rural coastal zones, heat-waves and arid land hit farmers and informal labourers just as hard. Chronic exposure to heat is the fate of millions in Bangladesh, including the poor living in the countryside, especially along the coast, where vast swathes of land lie parched during summer as heatwaves become more frequent all over Bangladesh. Living constantly in the heat could be life-threatening. It can lead to heat exhaustion, heat stroke, heat cramps, neurological problems, and skin diseases. This is a big burden for a country where non-communicable diseases such as diabetes and heart and kidney diseases are alarmingly rising, largely because of unplanned urbanization and expansion of a rather unhealthy food industry. The summer is now starting earlier than before, stretching into the monsoon and introducing new climate patterns from March through October. And the outlook is bleak - heat-wave frequency and intensity are projected to climb even higher. Over the past few years, prolonged summers, featuring some of the longest heat waves in history, were accompanied by a clear shift in rainfall pattern, creating ideal conditions for the rapid spread of vector-borne diseases like dengue. Often, dengue fever coincides with flu season, when multiple other viruses also strike. People suffer from co-infection, heat diarrhea, and colds developing from incessant sweating.     Unusual rains also trigger flash floods, which cause injury and later lead to diarrhoea, skin infections, and crop destruction. A single flood may seem minor at national scale, but for individual families, especially farmers, a lost harvest means debt and hunger. People, mostly farmers, also die in lightning strikes, floods, and cyclones. Along the coast, people are silently dying from drinking unsafe water due to the intrusion of salinity. An increasing number of low-pressure systems and cyclones are also hindering the incomes of the poor by affecting fishing, farming and other agricultural activities. Less income means less availability of food and funds for treatments. Climate change is also taking a toll on mental health. Falling income while diseases and disasters increase naturally causes stress and anxiety. A reflection of the consequences of constantly living in stress and anxiety is evident in the ever-growing number of high blood pressure patients. Emotional wounds rarely make the headlines, though they leave deep marks on people’s lives. Bangladesh’s overcrowded public hospitals and weak primary-health infrastructure are ill-equipped for this surge in climate-driven health problems. Many rural patients travel to urban centres for care, incurring significant travel and treatment costs, often resorting to high-interest loans when no collateral exists. Every fever, every drip, every hospital visit cuts into the household budget. A simple mosquito bite can start a chain reaction that ends with a child missing class. What begins as a health issue soon spirals into a social and economic crisis. More expenses than income means productivity loss. From a macro-economic perspective, this cycle matters. Rising out-of-pocket health costs reduce labour productivity and erode life expectancy and many more. Early warning capacity needs strengthening. Developing an effective early warning system depends on the generation of reliable meteorological data, which needs investment to align it with public health planning. Some short-term steps can be taken to give people a respite from heat stress. Shaded public spaces and access to safe drinking water need to be increased. An awareness campaign on ways to deal with heat is required. Health insurance schemes and social protection programmes should be introduced and expanded to protect low-income families from falling into debt after illness. Climate related health concerns could be part of social insurance schemes. It is expected that the Government will include the climatic health concerns under the draft National Social Security Strategy (NSSS) 2026 and Action Plan 2026. Health needs to occupy a more prominent position in our climate policies. It must be placed at the very center of adaptation and resilience strategies. Health must move to the centre of our climate-adaptation agenda. If policymakers only count damaged crops or lost land, they will miss the true cost of climate change — exhausted parents and malnourished children. When extreme weather makes people sick, or worse, kills them, investing in health is not optional; it is indispensable for sustainable growth and resilience.   Dr. Khondaker Golam Moazzem is a leading industrial economist in Bangladesh and Research Director at the Centre for Policy Dialogue (CPD), Dhaka. With over 30 years of experience, he has published extensively on social issues, workers’ rights, and sustainable development, including climate and energy policy, and actively advises government bodies and trade associations on inclusive and environmentally conscious policies.   The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official editorial position of UNB.

When the restless heart that once beat with curiosity, mystery and endless imagination suddenly fell silent, it left more than just grief. It carved an untreatable wound where nostalgia of teenage years used to dwell with sweet melancholia. This Wednesday, Rakib Hasan, the revered author of the Tin Goyenda series, breathed his last at Gonoshasthaya Nagar Hospital during dialysis. He had returned often, each visit a fragile thread keeping his light alive. But now, before treatment could even begin, death claimed him, causing us a great loss. Destined to chase mystery Rakib Hasan was born on December 12, 1950 in Cumilla. His childhood moved with his father’s transferable job, across Feni and beyond, but it was fueled by a world he carried inside,  a world of shadows, enigma and bewilderment. Initially, he completed schooling, tried uneventful regular work for a while. But the 9 to 6 life could never meet the needs of a soul meant to roam the unknown, to explore suspense and to chase anecdotes waiting to be told. Some books do more than just telling stories. They hide in your backpack, peek from your desk, fold within a fat textbook, become your companions under a warm blanket and your secret friends when the afternoon outside becomes too loud. For those of us who grew up in the '90s and '00s, Tin Goyenda was all of that. Launched in 1985, it was never just detective fiction. Inspired at first by Robert Arthur Jr.’s ‘The Three Investigators’, Rakib Hasan penned the series  into a world for restless juvenile hearts. Kishore, Musa, and Robin, through their laughter echoing under moonlit skies, courage flickering through dark forests, doubts trembling in shadowed corridors, became our invisible companions. They were our whispered wishes, our daring dreams of justice. Through their adventurous tales, we started believing that mysteries could be solved, truths uncovered and that friendship could conquer any fear. And then there was Geogina "Jina"  Parker. Spirited, mischievous, and fearless, she teased Musa, challenged the boys and yet brought warmth and loyalty that tied the group together. For us juveniles, she wasn’t just a character, she was the laughter in the night, the spark in our imaginations, the daring spirit that made flipping the pages of Tin Goyenda under the dim glow of a bedside lamp feel like sneaking into another world that we didn’t understand properly then. Even now, when I pick up a yellowed book, spine-cracked and pages pale with time, a pang of nostalgia hits. An adolescence lost, yet alive within the adventures Rakib Hasan left behind. Over 400 books, including more than 150 Tin Goyenda volumes, were his gift. To many of us, those books are the worlds that will never fade. Beyond 'Tin Goyenda' It goes without saying that his imagination had no limits. Alongside works under his own name, he wrote as Zafar Chowdhury for the Romohorshok series and as Abu Sayeed for Goyenda Raju. He translated Tarzan, Arabian Nights, and other timeless adventures to bring the distant worlds into the hands of Bangladeshi juveniles. His writings were never just mere stories of solving mysteries. They were lessons in courage, resilience and quiet bravery which worked like magic to shape the thoughts of young readers. Every tale had the heartbeat of childhood nights, the thrill of discovery, the whisper of courage hidden in shadows, constantly reminding us that even in darkness, something precious waits. Now that voice has faded like the last soft echo of a bedtime story. What remains now for the fans? A few faded pages, spines worn thin by love, margins filled with the handwriting of teens who are no longer unreasonable like they used to be. Those books once held beneath old mosquito nets, read by the trembling light of a dying yellow bulb, smelled like rain, mud, dust and multiple true friends. And somewhere between those lines, an entire generation found its courage, its laughter, its desire to live long and dream big. Tin Goyenda, Goyenda Raju, Romohorshok, names that once echoed through morning schoolyards and late afternoon playgrounds, now rest like ghosts in our shelves, whispering the promises of a world that will never return. Those tiny pocket books upheld a whole new world to us and helped understand too. They taught us that mystery was never just in the forest or the fog, it was in the ache of growing up, the fear of losing magic and the adamant hope that our heroes never die. And yet, they did, just like Rakib Hasan, leaving us to wander like nomads through the dim corridors of memories, grappling his writings like torches that still flicker, even after the storyteller is gone. A final goodbye I remember sneaking a Tin Goyenda book under my blanket, heart pounding that my mom might find out, reading past midnight, desperate for just one more chapter. I remember the pride when someone asked, “Who solved it?” as if I had been a part of the adventure. Even as tears fall, I am grateful to him for the laughter, the fear, the puzzles, the nights spent with his words. For understanding the fact that children deserve great stories and that even ordinary life can hold extraordinary wonders. Goodbye, Rakib Hasan. You have gone, but your mysteries remain in our old dusty bookshelves, in aching hearts, in every juvenile’s pursuit of the unknown who grew up into adults reading your words. May your divine soul find peace! And, may your writings never lose their appeal!