The Daily Star (TDS): What is the current scenario of living space in Dhaka?

Salauddin Ahmed (SA): What defines a living space is the outcome of a city and its understanding of what it means to live. We may construct beautiful apartments, but if those places lack connection to the city and remain isolated, they become nothing more than curated spaces for existing in kempt time.

As an architect, the way I perceive the world—particularly my immediate surroundings: this city and this country—I see a certain degree of misfortune. I am part of these narratives, and I often ask myself: What am I trying to achieve with my work? Can my work evoke emotions in someone, whether it haunts them or gives them peace, even if only for a moment?

How do I view the housing landscape of Dhaka? Of course, I have to see it positively; otherwise, life becomes meaningless. Yet, I also recognize many avoidable mistakes in what we call progress, which raises concerns that must be addressed.

Karim Residence at Bashundhara

I liken a city to a family album, filled with pictures of loved ones that tell stories and spark conversations. But if the album contains only self-portraits—if it focuses solely on one individual—it becomes exclusionary. Similarly, this city has a rich history and architectural heritage, yet we are crumpling and crushing it all, replacing it with luxury apartments. Building without understanding our history, considering the future, or focusing solely on the present does not constitute meaningful progress—it carries a downfall.

Yes, apartments are being built, and living spaces are being constructed, but neighbourhoods are not being created. In a megacity, if we do not carefully nurture certain qualities, the concept of a 'neighbourhood' will remain in the pseudo-realm of a mirage.

I belong to one of the last generations that truly understand what it means to have neighbours. When I talk to my teenage son about neighbourhoods, he doesn't relate—he has no connection to the idea of neighbours. To me, this disconnection is deeply concerning.

I continue to work with optimism, hoping that our collective efforts will generate a voice—a voice that fosters discussion and brings change. As an architect, my work is my way of allowing the world to engage with my perspective and vice versa. I cannot align with the idea of quietly sitting somewhere, designing buildings in isolation from the conversations and complexities of the world.

TDS: Could you share your journey as an architect, highlighting the inspiration that shaped your design philosophy?

SA: I focus on doing what feels appropriate. I strive to deeply understand the things I create—the places I work, who I am working for, and why I am doing this work. I also consider the materials I can use to shape the space I am creating, making efforts to understand all these aspects.

I am bringing someone else's dream to life in three dimensions, which is no easy task. Creating something for someone requires understanding their needs and translating their vision into reality. I listen carefully and strive to capture their ideas. I believe I am a keen observer.

The entire life of a human is a creative journey. I believe that creative discovery is a process of uncovering something that already exists.

ARA Design Studio - Hazaribagh/Mehedi Hasan Junaid - Prantography

There is an interplay between the discovery of risk and the pursuit of certainty. Risk arises when I have the knowledge and ideas but lack the skill to bring them to life myself. In such cases, I entrust the entire task to someone else, relying on their expertise and craftsmanship. However, my philosophical understanding is absent within them. This creates a potential danger—the final product may be shaped more by their skills than by my original vision. Sometimes, the two align perfectly. But sometimes, there's a risk.

And then, there's the product of certainty. When someone creates something by hand, and another person holds, touches, and experiences it, a connection is formed through that tactile interaction. Yet, a handmade product inherently carries an element of risk. For instance, if you buy an iPhone and it has an issue, you can immediately claim a fix. The beauty of handmade creations, however, lies in their imperfection, with risk adding character and authenticity.

I belong to a different group of creators—I work with local materials and craftsmen, and I see that as my responsibility. Why should I abandon what I can still create here? While I might incorporate foreign elements for things we cannot produce locally, I am committed to utilizing the skills and craftsmanship that still exist in this country. It is my moral duty to work with the materials, techniques, and artisans available here.

However, this approach comes with its own set of risks. Clients sometimes ask, "What did you make? The table isn't perfectly smooth," as their expectations have been shaped by a standard of refinement.

For me, this is a journey of taking risks—both for the buyer and the creator. Handmade products won't be identical; they may be similar, but each piece will have its own beauty due to its uniqueness. But does society truly value that in a world increasingly driven by mass production?

Living Blue, Rangpur

TDS: How do you incorporate your design philosophy into your work?

SA: The work I did 10 years ago—if I were asked to replicate it now, I wouldn't be able to do it. Every day, I reshape and redefine myself, much like a river.

Architecture is a deeply interconnected discipline. To truly understand architecture, we need to connect it with other subject matters—philosophy, psychology, science, and the arts.

Today's 'Salauddin' seeks to create designs that prioritise comfort and harmony. I don't design anything that brings me joy but causes suffering to others, whether it's a brick wall, a tabletop, a building's floor, or a façade. I aim to find balance within the materials themselves, as each material has its own language. I never want to force a material into something it's not meant to be. Therefore, I am very careful to ensure that the materials I use stay true to their inherent qualities while fulfilling the needs of my design.

Whoever enters my work, I strive not to overpower their intelligence. There are certain basic premises I adhere to—I want someone to feel welcomed in my space. I don't want anyone to feel suffocated when they step into a place I've designed. The moment they step in, I want them to feel a sense of oxygenation. The very first thing they touch should embody everything, acting as an ambassador to them.

Today, you came to my space—a 'defined neighbourhood' in Hazaribagh. This place carries a loaded meaning, marked by a distinct smell that defines it. When I design my office spaces here, I think about their purpose and what they aim to achieve, because I believe beauty exists in everything—it just needs to be discovered. You can't merely state it; you have to experience it.

Concern Worldwide Bangladesh

The old staircase or a wooden handrail in this building must complement the touch of modern elements to create harmony. This reflects the understanding of what feels comfortable to us today. So, there is a railing alongside the older one. This has a double meaning: it guides you, saying 'follow me,' and it ends at my door. Without explicitly telling you where I am, it ensures you're not lost.

I want you to interact with my work—to feel its tactility. Then comes the door—an unusually tall one. Its height stems from the idea of humbleness: after entering, you become the brightest presence, as everything inside is white. The only intentional bursts of colour are the red sitting area and my table.

Design must not be a superimposed concept but a logical and meaningful idea.

TDS: How has the landscape of real estate development transitioned in this region?

SA: Architecture is a living entity. While every piece of architecture can be translated into a building, not every building can be called architecture. You may observe many structures in Dhaka and assume they represent architecture; however, a deeper analysis is necessary to truly evaluate this.

A building should holistically express itself as part of its tropical landscape and environment, representing the reality of its setting. If someone thinks adding greenery is the entirety of landscaping, they lack a deeper understanding of the concept.

Similarly, if an architect believes architecture is only about constructing buildings, I would pose the same question: does this reflect limited knowledge of architecture? For instance, a school building might one day become a hostel, an ashram, or even a marketplace. In such cases, is the architecture still fulfilling its purpose? Architecture must be critically examined to ensure it connects to its surroundings and serves its intended purpose.

Cafe Mango at Gulshan

In our country, the buildings being constructed today need more critical evaluation to ensure better outcomes. Laws and regulations regarding construction are minimal, which business entities often exploit. However, if we, as clients and users of these buildings, demand better features and standards, change can happen. If I, as a resident, question missing features or insist on improvements, this collective demand can drive progress. Progress may be slow, but it is possible.

The progress we see now, however, is not inclusive. The design must allow the majority to connect with it, involving cultural connections. This is why, when I study or write about rural landscapes and their homes, the people in those villages begin to recognise the value of their houses. By appreciating and enhancing our resources, we can connect our culture as a whole.

Take Dhaka as an example—it has become overrun. To address Dhaka's issues, we must shift our focus outside the city. We need to understand other cities and ensure they do not become replicas of Dhaka. Each district has its own identity.

Dhaka is a megacity with complex problems that must be solved within itself. Smaller cities, like Khulna, have their own issues, which must be resolved locally. Imposing elements from megacities onto smaller cities often creates more problems than it solves.

We also lack research and understanding about suburban areas. What does 'suburban' mean in our context? What distinguishes suburban areas from megacities, and can the two coexist? If so, what must exist between them to create balance? These are questions of urban planning and design—determining how far each can influence the other.

Yet, our society increasingly evaluates everything through the lens of financial gain. I would advise the younger generation to slow down and explore the streets of their city—whether it's Dhaka, a village, or elsewhere in Bangladesh. Walk, observe, and experience them in all seasons. If we believe in our ability to improve our cities, we can do it—with time, patience, and determination.

TDS: As an academician and a principal architect, what advice would you give to the newcomers in this field?

SA: My advice to the younger generation is to slow down, as they often have a rushed attitude. However, young minds are not entirely at fault here. Much of the responsibility falls on those who teach and shape them. If I, as a teacher, never expose my students to the beauty of rural Bangladesh—if they never experience a pond, a village, or our rich cultural heritage—and instead focus solely on Europe, how will they ever understand and appreciate their own country? Educators and academic platforms bear a significant responsibility to guide students in the right direction. Unfortunately, in our country, we currently lack this approach.

We have to find a balance so that young people can think about their future without desperation, especially as architects. Viewing the city from inside a car and experiencing it by walking around offer two entirely different perspectives. Sadly, this city lacks public spaces where people can freely roam and connect. Life is not just about chasing success or completing projects—it's about understanding, appreciating, and meaningfully contributing to the world around us.

As architects, we need to create cities where people can walk freely, feel at ease, and find opportunities to connect in shared public spaces. Without these elements, there is no room for positive growth or the nurturing of knowledge.

In our country, we still have opportunities to work with hands-on methods, which are highly valued abroad as societies become increasingly mechanised. We must focus on our abilities, possibilities, and opportunities.

To me, being Bangladeshi means creating work that reflects our identity. This identity is unique, and it is something we must cherish and celebrate.

The interview was taken by Saudia Afrin of The Daily Star.