Dhaka, the beating heart of Bangladesh, is a city of dazzling contradictions. From dawn to midnight, its rhythm rarely pauses - rickshaws weave through chaotic streets, buses blare horns, and skyscrapers rise from the dust as testaments to ambition and growth. Yet, beneath this restless energy lies an invisible malaise: disconnection. In a metropolis that never sleeps, countless residents feel profoundly alone. This irony defines Dhaka's urban condition -- as the city expands in wealth and population, its people grow increasingly detached from one another. The very forces that drive its dynamism - migration, modernisation, and market growth - also fracture its human connections, creating a metropolis that is vibrant yet emotionally hollow.
Dhaka's alienation is rooted in its history of explosive urbanisation. The city, now home to over 23 million people, has grown faster than almost any other in South Asia. Every year, hundreds of thousands leave rural Bangladesh for Dhaka's promise of work, education, and survival. Climate change has intensified this migration - floods, river erosion, and salinity intrusion destroy livelihoods in coastal and riverine areas, pushing the displaced into the city's already strained spaces. Yet Dhaka's infrastructure and social systems are unable to absorb such vast inflows. Roads are jammed, housing is unaffordable, and public spaces are vanishing under the pressure of commercialisation. The result is paradoxical: physical density but social distance. High-rise apartments, slums, and gated communities sit side by side, but their residents rarely interact. The proximity of bodies has not translated into the proximity of hearts.
The rhythm of Dhaka's daily life itself generates alienation. The city's infamous traffic consumes hours each day, eroding time for family, leisure, or reflection. For the working class and middle class alike, urban life often feels like an unending race to secure housing, jobs, or even a seat on a crowded bus. Commuting becomes an ordeal; basic tasks require negotiation and endurance. In such an environment, exhaustion replaces empathy. Marx's concept of 'labour alienation' resonates here: Dhaka's workforce, from garment workers to corporate professionals, toils endlessly but feels detached from the meaning of their labour. Work becomes survival, not fulfilment; colleagues become competitors, not companions. The city's economy thrives on productivity but offers little space for emotional or social well-being.
Sociologically, this sense of detachment can be understood through Émile Durkheim's idea of 'anomie' - a condition of normlessness that arises when social norms and values are disrupted by rapid change. Dhaka's transformation from a small town into a megacity within a few decades has dismantled many of its traditional social structures. Nuclear households replace extended families; neighbourhood solidarity has given way to anonymity. In the relentless churn of urban life, people struggle to find shared values or stable reference points. Georg Simmel's classic analysis of metropolitan existence also applies: to cope with the overstimulation of urban life - noise, crowds, deadlines, and pollution - individuals adopt a 'blasé attitude', emotionally withdrawing as a form of protection. In Dhaka's context, this manifests in hurried glances, brief conversations, and an unspoken indifference that shields the self from sensory and social overload.
Social fragmentation deepens this psychological divide. Dhaka is increasingly segregated along class lines-the affluent retreat into high-walled compounds, air-conditioned offices, and private clubs. People with low incomes inhabit congested slums, precarious informal settlements, and rented rooms in decaying buildings. Between them lies a vast middle class struggling to hold on to dignity amid rising costs and declining quality of life. The city's geography itself mirrors inequality: Gulshan and Banani stand worlds apart from Kamrangirchar or Korail. These spatial divisions are not merely economic - they produce cultural isolation, distrust, and a breakdown of collective identity. The sense of 'we', so integral to community life, dissolves into individualised survival strategies.
The privatisation of social spaces further compounds alienation. Where earlier generations gathered in tea stalls, open fields, or local playgrounds, today's Dhaka offers malls, rooftop restaurants, and exclusive cafes. The commercialisation of leisure has turned social interaction into a transaction. For many, even recreation is now mediated through consumerism - to meet is to spend. Public parks are scarce, and community centres are rare or poorly maintained. The few existing open spaces are often occupied by vendors or encroached upon by construction projects. Without shared, accessible venues for interaction, urban relationships remain shallow and fleeting.
Technology, often seen as a bridge, has become a double-edged sword. While social media allows Dhaka residents to stay connected virtually, it usually reinforces real-world isolation. Online visibility replaces genuine intimacy; likes and comments substitute for conversation. A generation now grows up hyperconnected but emotionally disconnected - a phenomenon sociologists call 'networked individualism'. The pandemic years accelerated this shift, normalising digital interaction while diminishing the habit of face-to-face engagement. In a city where the physical environment is already alienating, the digital turn has deepened psychological solitude.
The consequences are visible and alarming. Dhaka is witnessing a rise in mental health challenges - anxiety, depression, and burnout are increasingly common across socio-economic groups. A 2024 survey by the National Institute of Mental Health found that nearly one in five urban residents reported symptoms of clinical stress, with loneliness cited as a significant factor. The social consequences extend beyond individuals: civic trust declines, neighbourhoods become transient, and collective problem-solving weakens. When communities fail to communicate, cities lose their resilience. The inability to organise collectively - whether for disaster response, public hygiene, or local governance - becomes a direct outcome of social atomization.
Alienation also has cultural repercussions. Once known for its strong communal traditions, Dhaka's cultural fabric is thinning. Local festivals, street fairs, and neighbourhood gatherings that once symbolised urban solidarity now give way to individualised entertainment - streaming platforms, private parties, and online escapism. Artistic expressions increasingly mirror this disconnection. Contemporary Bangladeshi films such as 'Shonibar Bikel' and 'Live from Dhaka' capture the anxiety and isolation of city dwellers trapped in moral and material contradictions. Literature, too, reflects this shift: urban short stories and novels now dwell less on collective struggle and more on individual alienation and loss. The arts have become both mirrors and symptoms of the city's fractured emotional landscape.
Addressing Dhaka's disconnection requires rethinking the very idea of urban progress. The solution is not merely better infrastructure but better social architecture. Urban planning must move beyond traffic management and commercial zoning to prioritise human interaction. Pedestrian-friendly streets, community parks, libraries, and local cultural hubs can restore spaces of belonging. Affordable housing must be integrated with mixed-income communities to reduce segregation. The city's planners must see social connection as essential infrastructure, not as an afterthought.
Public policy should also strengthen community engagement. Neighbourhood associations, youth clubs, and volunteer initiatives can rebuild trust and collective efficacy. Participatory urban governance - where residents have a voice in planning and decision-making - can bridge the distance between citizens and institutions. Mental health support must be mainstreamed within urban health policies, recognising that stress and alienation are not individual weaknesses but systemic consequences of how cities are built and managed.
Educational and cultural institutions have a vital role to play in restoring connection. Schools and universities in Dhaka can serve as community anchors, fostering civic education, empathy, and collaboration. Art, theatre, and public storytelling can revive collective imagination - reminding residents that cities are not just markets or machines but living social organisms. The media, too, can shift its narrative from urban glamour and real estate to urban humanity, spotlighting stories of solidarity, creativity, and resilience.
Dhaka's challenge is existential: how to reconcile material advancement with human belonging. If growth continues to prioritise speed, profit, and competition at the expense of empathy, the city risks producing a population that is economically active but emotionally adrift. Yet the crisis is not irreversible. Around the world, cities like Seoul, Curitiba, and Copenhagen have demonstrated that intentional design and inclusive governance can humanise urban life. Dhaka, too, can draw from these lessons - adapting them to its unique cultural and socio-economic context.
To heal its fractures, Dhaka must reimagine itself as more than a megacity - as a community of shared lives. This means nurturing what urban sociologists call 'social capital': the trust, cooperation, and reciprocity that enable societies to function. It means ensuring that no resident feels invisible amid the city's noise and neon. The task is complex but urgent. In a world increasingly defined by urban living, Dhaka's experience serves as both a warning and a possibility.
The story of Dhakas' disconnection is, ultimately, a story about modernity itself - about how progress, when measured only by GDP and infrastructure, can erode the very bonds that make life meaningful. To rebuild connections in this megacity is to reclaim the essence of what it means to live together. The future of Dhaka will not be determined solely by its skyline but by whether its people can rediscover empathy in the crowd, solidarity amid speed, and humanity within the machinery of urban life.
Dr Matiur Rahman is a researcher and development professional.
matiurrahman588@gmail.com