Decorating a rickshaw, generally with enamel paint could be a costly affair—more expensive perhaps than even purchasing one. Every rickshaw is painstakingly adorned by artisans living in a bosti (slum) before it hits the road. From the vehicle’s rear to its rexine seatbacks, the rickshaw artists barely leave any space unoccupied in an effort to give as elaborate an effect as possible and draw maximum eyeballs in a city of over 10 million residents. The word ‘rickshaw’ is derived from the Japanese term jinrikisha. Dhaka-based art collector Durjoy Rahman draws a parallel between Bangladeshi rickshaw art and Japanese Ukiyo-e prints.
“The way Japanese artists portrayed the socio-cultural aspects of Japanese life in woodcut prints can be compared to the rickshaw paintings portraying the life and culture of Bangladesh. An emblematic feature of urban life in Dhaka, rickshaw paintings tell stories of Bangladesh—of everyday life, current affairs and whatever the artists’ imagination unleashes. This form of art can be claimed as Bangladeshi pop or street art,” says Rahman, whose Durjoy Bangladesh Foundation (DBF) has championed rickshaw art in Bangladesh and beyond over the years.
Rahman feels that rickshaw art has served more than an aesthetic purpose in Bangladesh’s urban setting. He is happy that its cultural value is being acknowledged. “The objective goes beyond mere decoration. It has long been used to depict social realities. For example, during the Liberation War of 1971, it became a vehicle for social and political commentary,” he explains.
Author Kuntala Lahiri-Dutt celebrated the history of rickshaw art in her book Moving Pictures. She writes, “The first cycle rickshaws came to Bangladesh (then East Bengal) from Calcutta in the 1930s, apparently not to Dhaka, but to a town just to the south (Narayanganj) and another, Mymensingh, well to the north, arriving in the capital in 1938.” Because of her roots in Bangladesh, Kuntala was always curious to discover the land of her ancestors. “I wanted to approach rickshaw art as a social scientist and was keen to know, ‘where does it come from?’” she reckons.
Although rickshaw art flourishes in an urban milieu, Kuntala discovered that it may have originated in rural Bangladesh. “Dhaka is full of migrants. Back in their villages, these were people who practiced the traditional arts of lokhhir sara, ghat, kulo (the mat to thresh rice) and alpana decorations. As rural people moved to the cities, they took their art with them. The rickshaws provided the migrants a space to express themselves when they arrived in the big city,” notes the Canberra-based writer.
Economic prosperity has fuelled Dhaka’s rapid modernisation in the last decade. In an attempt to decongest the busy roads, the rickshaws were banned in 2019 but as Kuntala points out, the genre refuses to die. Though not recognised as art by Dhaka’s cognoscenti, many of them agree that it remains an object of curiosity. Hossain admits that these days, he makes a good sum by selling hand-painted souvenirs and collectibles to foreigners and rich locals who are looking to beautify their homes.
Rickshaw art has entered the world of fashion and design, too. Brands such as Biskut Factory and Jatra are cashing in on the middle-class Bangladeshi’s newfound love for rickshaw-themed products, such as phone covers, sunglasses, tote bags and shoes. Such merchandising of an old practice seems to be good news for the heritage art form, which is likely to get a second cycle of life with renewed interests from riders and collectors alike.