Art, tradition and income: Rise of mehedi culture during Eid in Dhaka

As dusk settles over Bailey Road, the pavement begins to transform.

Rows of plastic chairs appear along the roadside, occupied mostly by young women holding out their hands in quiet anticipation. Mehedi cones move swiftly between fingers as artists bend over their work, tracing intricate patterns with practiced ease. The air hums with conversation, the rhythm of traffic, and the steady flow of customers arriving after iftar.

By early evening, the narrow stretch opposite the Mahila Samity building turns into a temporary hub – part beauty station, part seasonal marketplace — where art, tradition and livelihood intersect.

Scenes like this are no longer confined to a single street. In the final days of Ramadan, similar clusters of mehedi artists emerge across Dhaka — from neighbourhood corners in Dhanmondi and Rampura to more organised setups in Banani and Gulshan, where pop-up stalls and Eid fairs draw crowds. What was once a largely private ritual has, over time, expanded into a visible, citywide practice that blends culture with commerce.

A seasonal street economy takes shape

At the heart of this transformation are young women like Habiba.

Having completed her studies in 2024, Habiba now balances a job while running her own boutique. This year, she stepped into the seasonal mehedi business for the first time, setting up a stall on Bailey Road from the 25th of Ramadan.

"I usually start in the afternoon, around 3 or 4pm, and continue until 10 at night," she said. "The busiest time is after iftar."

On average, she serves seven to eight customers a day. Her prices begin at Tk200, while more elaborate bridal-style designs range between Tk500 and Tk600. On a good day, she earns between Tk3,000 and Tk4,000.

Habiba is one among dozens of artists working along the same stretch. According to her estimate, around 30 to 40 mehedi artists have set up stalls along the road, turning it into a competitive but vibrant space.

"There's a lot of competition," she said, glancing at the line of artists seated nearby. "But there are also all kinds of customers."

Despite the commercial nature of the work, Habiba occasionally offers free designs to street children – a small gesture that, she says, brings her personal satisfaction amid the rush.

More artists, fewer clients 

A few stalls away sits Nusrat Jahan, a master's student at the University of Dhaka, who approaches mehedi work differently.

For Nusrat, applying mehedi is not a full-time profession but an occasional source of income. Self-taught and with some experience working in beauty parlours, she began working on Bailey Road from the 28th of Ramadan.

"I usually get four to five customers a day here," she said. "I earn around Tk3,000 on average."

Her pricing ranges from Tk200 to Tk800, depending on the complexity of the design. While she finds the roadside experience worthwhile, she believes parlour work can sometimes be more profitable.

Nusrat also points to a growing challenge within the trade.

"There are more artists than clients," she said. "Competition is very high."

According to her, as many as 50 to 60 artists may be working along the same stretch during peak days, often competing for a limited number of customers. Still, the demand remains steady enough to sustain the seasonal rush.

For many of these young women – students, recent graduates, or part-time workers – mehedi offers a short-term but meaningful income opportunity during Eid. With minimal investment and a skill that can be self-taught, the trade has become an accessible entry point Into earning, particularly for women.

From home ritual to urban convenience 

Customer demand, meanwhile, reflects both continuity and change.

Sarita, a fourth-year BBA student at Titumir College, travelled from Moghbazar to Bailey Road specifically to have mehedi applied.

"I like having both hands filled with designs," she said. "I love the smell, and it's part of our culture."

This year, she paid Tk100 for a simpler upper-hand design and Tk150 for the lower portion, opting for Indian-style patterns over Arabic ones.

Like many others, Sarita once applied mehedi at home. But over time, convenience has reshaped her habits.

"I used to do it myself, but now I don't have the patience," she said. "It's easier to come here."

Her experience reflects a broader shift – from home-based, time-intensive practices to quick, service-based transactions in public spaces.

Tracing the roots of a cultural practice

This transformation, however, is rooted in a much longer history that stretches far beyond the streets of Dhaka.

Henna, derived from the plant Lawsonia inermis, has been used for thousands of years across North Africa, the Middle East and parts of South Asia. Early uses were largely functional — valued for its cooling properties in hot climates and for its role in traditional medicine. Over time, however, the staining quality of the plant began to take on symbolic meaning, gradually evolving into a form of body adornment associated with celebration, protection and good fortune.

The spread of henna into the Indian subcontinent is widely linked to centuries of cultural exchange, trade and the expansion of Islamic rule, particularly during the Mughal period. Historical accounts and cultural studies suggest that henna became embedded in courtly and domestic life alike, especially among women, where it was used during weddings and other auspicious occasions. Intricate designs, now characteristic of South Asian mehedi, are believed to have developed during this period, influenced by Persian and Central Asian artistic traditions.

In Bengal, the practice took on a more intimate and domestic form. Before the widespread availability of commercial cones, women would collect henna leaves from local plants, grind them into paste and apply simple motifs by hand. The designs were often modest – dots, vines, and floral patterns – but the act itself carried social significance, usually performed in groups within the household. Mehedi was most closely associated with weddings, particularly the pre-wedding "gaye holud" and mehedi gatherings, where it symbolised joy, transition and communal bonding.

Its transition into Eid culture came more gradually.

Unlike weddings, where mehedi had long been an established ritual, Eid in Bengal historically centred on new clothes, food and prayer. However, as urban lifestyles evolved and exposure to broader South Asian media and fashion increased, practices associated with adornment – including mehedi – began to find a place within Eid preparations. Applying henna on the eve of Eid, especially among young women, became a way of marking the festive moment, blending older traditions with newer expressions of celebration.