ONCE upon a time, in a city that might resemble Dhaka (but we’ll never tell), the air was so thick with dust and smoke that birds forgot how to fly. Instead, they wheezed their way from branch to branch like asthmatic opera singers. Here, the citizens — armed with little more than apathy and makeshift masks — engaged in a strange dance of denial while their beloved metropolis ascended to the throne of ‘world’s unhealthiest air.’ An accolade, no doubt, worthy of being inscribed on smog-covered billboards.

In this dystopian drama, where the air quality index routinely surpasses 200 — and frequently ventures into the hazardous 300+ range — it’s hard not to recall T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.’ Eliot described a fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, but Dhaka’s fog doesn’t bother with poetry. It claws at throats, coats lungs, and leaves a metallic taste of despair. Replace Eliot’s wistful melancholy with urban chaos, and you have the perfect opening lines for Dhaka’s air pollution saga. But wait, Dhaka’s fog — a sinister blend of PM2.5, PM10, and shattered dreams — doesn’t just envelop; it invades. It is the uninvited guest at every breakfast table, the invisible villain in every lung. ‘Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping,’ wrote Dickens. We should rewrite this line, replacing ‘fog’ with ‘smog.’

Take, for instance, the city’s infamous brick kilns. They are the Darth Vaders of Dhaka’s air saga — breathing heavy, lethal fumes into the atmosphere. Despite years of governmental ‘mandates’ (a word here meaning ‘polite suggestions ignored by all’), these kilns continue to operate with all the stealth of a marching band. According to the Department of Environment, over 7,000 kilns in Bangladesh emit more than 9.8 million tonnes of CO2 annually, not to mention the particulate matter that settles in lungs like squatters who refuse to leave. Perhaps, in a twisted homage to ‘Breaking Bad,’ they’re cooking something — not meth, but misery.

Imagine if these kilns could star in their own soap opera: ‘Days of Our Smokes.’ Each episode would feature a kiln owner promising to convert to cleaner technology, only to laugh maniacally and toss more coal into the fire. Plot twist: the government inspector turns out to be their poker buddy.

If the kilns are the main villains, Dhaka’s vehicles are the bumbling sidekicks. Picture a scene straight out of ‘Mad Max: Fury Road.’ Dhaka’s streets are overrun by decrepit buses belching black plumes of despair and rickshaws navigating through a post-apocalyptic maze of honking chaos. Unlike the sleek, chrome vehicles of ‘Mad Max,’ these are rusting tin cans that seem to run on pure spite.

Dhaka boasts over 1.6 million registered vehicles, many of which operate without proper emissions controls. Studies show that vehicular emissions contribute up to 25 per cent of the city’s total air pollution. Singapore, a city once plagued by vehicular chaos, solved its problem with a mix of strict emissions standards and congestion pricing. Dhaka, on the other hand, seems to operate on the principle of ‘Let’s see how much worse it can get.’ Why ban old buses when you can keep them as mobile history exhibits?

Then there’s the construction industry, Dhaka’s answer to a live-action reenactment of ‘The Great Gatsby.’ Just as Jay Gatsby’s extravagant parties masked his inner emptiness, Dhaka’s relentless construction boom masks an underlying neglect of urban planning. The result? A city that grows taller but breathes shallower.

On any given day, you’ll find construction sites throwing dust into the air like confetti at a dystopian wedding. No barriers, no water sprays, just pure, unfiltered chaos. Experts estimate that the construction sector contributes nearly 30 per cent of airborne particulate matter. In ‘Game of Thrones’ fashion, the slogan seems to be, ‘Chaos is a ladder,’ albeit one built with sand and asbestos.

But what is a drama without its king? In this case, the government plays the role of Hamlet, forever indecisive. To act or not to act, that is the question. Policies are drafted, but enforcement is a ghost that haunts bureaucratic corridors, much like Banquo’s ghost in ‘Macbeth.’

Consider the recurring promises to plant trees, introduce electric vehicles, or modernise industries. These vows are like Frodo’s journey in ‘The Lord of the Rings’ — long, arduous, and seemingly destined never to reach their destination. Only, instead of battling orcs, the government battles…well, themselves. According to the World Bank, Bangladesh loses nearly $6.5 billion annually — about 3.9 per cent of its GDP — due to health costs and productivity losses linked to air pollution.

If the government is Hamlet, the citizens are the townsfolk of ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail.’ When faced with existential threats, their response is often, ‘It’s just a bit of bad air. I’ve had worse.’ Armed with the latest TikTok filters but no actual air filters, they navigate the streets as if oblivion were a fashion statement.

Public outcry? More like public sigh. Even as AQI scores climb higher than Dhaka’s unfinished mega-projects, many remain resigned. Perhaps they’ve embraced the mantra of Scarlett O’Hara in ‘Gone with the Wind’: ‘I’ll think about it tomorrow.’ But tomorrow, as we all know, never comes.

The numbers paint a grim picture. According to the Global Burden of Disease study, air pollution was responsible for over 173,000 deaths in Bangladesh in 2021 alone. Respiratory diseases, heart conditions, and strokes are on the rise, with children and the elderly bearing the brunt. Hospitals report a staggering increase in cases of asthma and bronchitis, particularly among children. A recent UNICEF report states that over 40 million children in Bangladesh are exposed to air pollution levels six times higher than global standards.

What if Dhaka’s air pollution crisis could inspire its own cinematic universe? Imagine a Marvel-style team-up: The Enforcers (government inspectors), The Innovators (green tech companies), and The Avengers (citizens armed with petitions and asthma inhalers). Together, they fight the ultimate villain: ‘The Smogster.’

In the final act, Dhaka’s citizens storm the streets, demanding change. Industries comply, vehicles are upgraded, and construction sites become paragons of cleanliness. The city’s skyline emerges, not as a hazy silhouette, but as a beacon of hope.

Of course, this is just a fantasy — but so, too, was the idea of humans walking on the moon. If Neil Armstrong could take one giant leap for mankind, surely Dhaka can take one small step towards breathable air. Let’s just hope it doesn’t require a spacesuit.

HM Nazmul Alam is a lecturer in English and Modern Languages, International University of Business, Agriculture and Technology.