The streets of Dhaka burst into life at the crack of dawn, awash in a sea of red and white as men, women, and children poured out to welcome a new season and a new year with song and dance.
It wasn't just a celebration with faces alit and hearts aflutter as music echoed in the air. It was an outpouring of uninhibited Bangaliyana—an annual ritual that reclaims public space with music, colour, and community.
In a year weighed down by economic strain, political uncertainty, and global tension—more so as we try to vanquish the remnants of a fascist regime—this Pahela Baishakh offered something rare—collective hope. It was not merely festivity but a bold act of defiance—a declaration that we are still here, still singing, still standing tall with resilience in our hearts.
As "Mrityu nai, nai dukkho, aachhe shudhu praan" ("There is no death, no sorrow, only life")—Nazrul's defiant proclamation—rang out at Ramna, it was met with quiet affirmations from a crowd that had gathered long before sunrise. The joyful faces who helped topple a regime only eight months ago returned to the streets—not in protest this time, but in celebration.
The very streets around Shahbagh intersection, that embodies the spirit of defiance and protest and had been bloodied in July and August, turned crimson today with joyous celebrations that will herald a new beginning.
People thronged the streets with their loved ones to welcome the new year amid hopes for peace, healing, and stability. They came to proudly stake their claim in an enduring legacy—a culture rooted in resistance, inclusivity, and identity.
"We want to reclaim our culture from the dark shadow of fascism," said an 80-year-old marcher at the Shobhajatra, his voice steady beneath the beat of the drums. "They tried to manipulate our spirit. But culture—real culture—lives within us. It resists, it endures, and it lights up the dark. I came here today to walk with others, to feel that resistance rise within me."
"Even though I missed the previous Mangal Shobhajatra marches due to work, this year I couldn't stay away," said Farhana, a Dhaka University graduate, now a private executive. "I felt a deep cultural awakening. As Bangalees, we must uphold our identity by celebrating our festivals. This is no longer just tradition—it's part of a broader cultural resistance."
Nearby, eight-year-old Shokorja Phoring clutched her father Ariful Sabuj's hand, her tiny frame wrapped in a red and white panjabi printed with traditional motifs. "I've never seen such big structures before," she said, pointing excitedly at the towering effigies. "It feels like a fair! I'm going to come every year."
Like Shokorja, countless children were seen across the streets, dressed in bright colours, their faces glowing with joy. Many paused for photos, soaking in the festive spirit.
As the march proceeded, hundreds in traditional attire joined, carrying Bengali musical instruments—from the ektara, dotara, and khamak to dhak, dhol, and khol. Their rhythms created a pulsing heartbeat that moved the crowd forward.
Bright yellow tigers, bold red palanquins, and fierce black demons—symbols of resistance—marched alongside the people. Paper fish, floral masks, and giant props lit up the streets beneath the looming metro rail, transforming the city into a vivid tapestry of art and identity.
Placards floated above the crowd, bearing messages both playful and political: "Rampal batil koro" (Stop the Rampal Power Plant), "Ensure justice for the July Massacre," "Ilish er daam komao" (Lower hilsa prices), "Free Palestine", "Shramiker Najya Paona Bujhiye Dao", "Bishesh Khomota Ayin Batil Koro", "Free Bawm Civilians", "Vat Dibona" and more. These demands, painted in bold strokes, reflected an engaged citizenry not just in festivity, but in shaping their future.
The streets of Dhaka had already erupted in colour—red and white sarees billowing like flags of celebration, children with painted cheeks and paper masks, the beat of the dhak pulsing like a collective heartbeat.
Crowds filled Shahbagh, Suhrawardy Udyan, and TSC and other neighbourhoods of Dhaka. Not too far away, in Dhanmondi, Shurer Dhara kicked off new year celebrations at 6am with a vibrant homage to the spirit of Swadesh, the soul of the homeland. Performances included those by adivasis in their traditional attire rendering folk songs and dances.
Even amid hardship, people held fast to this annual ritual—a cultural reclamation, a renewal, a reminder that joy, like rebellion, is both resilient and contagious.
As the sun rose higher and the drums beat louder, the people of Bangladesh reminded themselves—and the world—that culture is not a luxury. It is a lifeline. In the face of uncertainty, they turned once more to their traditions, their music, and to one another. And in doing so, they dared to hope—for a future where joy is shared freely, where resistance lives in rhythm, and the spirit of Bangaliyana marches undeterred.