News stands mostly without newspapers: What Dhaka's hawkers now sell to survive?

Before Dhaka's streets stir with the honking of rickshaws and the rush of office-goers, a different kind of symphony begins. At the newspaper distribution centres, the city's early morning rhythm is orchestrated by hawkers gathering their daily lifeline: the newspapers. 

In the 1980s, Dhaka had only six such centres. Hawkers from across the city would converge, each with little time in hand, hurriedly sorting stacks of papers before heading to their designated areas. 

Back then, morning newspapers were more than a commodity – they were a ritual. 

Middle-class households reached for them as soon as they woke, while the affluent and working-class alike ensured they were never left behind. Even young readers were ardent newspaper fans. For many, a day without newspapers simply did not start.

Today, the bundles are much lighter – the crowds thinner. 

Compared to the 90s, newspaper consumption in Dhaka has fallen below 20%. And yet, the city still houses 4 to 5 thousand paper hawkers eking out a living. 

Newspaper stalls shrank to 30 

Dhaka's newspaper hawkers are organised under two cooperative societies: Dhaka Sangbadpatra Hawkers' Multipurpose Co-operative Society Ltd (the older "Hawkers' Samity"). There is also the Sangbadpatra Hawkers' Welfare Multipurpose Co-operative Society Ltd (the "Kalyan Samity"). 

The former is older, while the latter is relatively new.

Zakir Hossain Khan, the store in-charge at the Hawkers' Samity office near Dainik Bangla sits at his desk long after noon, counting "returns." These are the unsold papers that show a failing market. 

His society manages 55 distribution centres across Dhaka. "In the past, the city corporation set up nearly 100 stalls", Zakir says. 

"They were usually near bus stops. But as the city grew, many were destroyed. Some were removed for the Metro Rail. Now, only 25 to 30 are still standing." 

Hawkers get 40% commission 

After finishing their morning deliveries to homes and offices, some hawkers set up temporary stands in busy areas. There are about 50 of these. But the amount is very low. 

A hawker usually earns a 40% commission on each paper. 

The society takes a very small cut of Tk0.50 to Tk1. 

Zakir joined the trade in the mid-90s. He remembers his brother's library in their home village. It was the centre of the community because it had national newspapers. People spent all day there just to read.

"That world is gone," Zakir says sadly. "The decline started with mobile phones. But the pandemic was the final blow. A rumour spread that newspapers could carry the virus. Many regular readers stopped buying them. They never started again." 

He explains the change simply: "Young people do not touch paper. They get news instantly on their phones. Everyone is a journalist now. Only the elderly still read out of habit. Every time an old person passes away, we lose a reader. Our market is dying of old age."

However, something unusual happened during the July Uprising of 2024. 

When the internet was shut down, the city turned back to the hawkers. People stood in lines at stalls to buy papers. They needed to know what was happening in their own streets – a short reminder of how important the press used to be. 

Aliraj and the Shahbagh stall  

Many remember the two temporary stalls beneath Bangladesh Medical University (PG Hospital) in Shahbagh. 

Today, only the one beside Popular Pharmacy remains.

It was once a famous meeting place for writers and poets like Humayun Azad.

In the 80s and 90s, papers like Ittefaq and Janakantha were in massive demand. 

Periodicals ranged from political journals like Bichinta and Ajker Surjo Uday to entertainment magazines like Ananda Bichitra, Tarakalok, and Chitralok, health publications like Apnar Shasthya and Prescription, and women's magazines including Begum and Onnya. 

Niche magazines on computers, sports, and crime also had significant readership. Shahbagh became a magnet for readers; passersby would spend hours simply observing the stacks of newspapers. 

Today, the man running this spot is Aliraj. He still keeps a few newspapers, but they are tucked away or hanging in the back. His main business has shifted. He now sells bags, office files, and children's school books.

"Cars would wait in line just to grab a paper from me. I used to go home with Tk6,000-5,000 in profit. Now, some days I can't even buy groceries. Before, I hated it when people stood and read for free. Now, I am just happy if anyone stops to look," Aliraj says. 

Newspapers were in the skies 

In Paribagh, opposite Hotel InterContinental, Jasim Molla runs a small stall, delivering just 30 newspapers daily – down from 300 in the past. 

Once, he also sold international magazines like The Times and National Geographic. 

Some airlines were regular clients of Dhaka's newspapers. According to Zakir, the BFCC (Bangladesh Flight Catering Centre) supplied newspapers for domestic and international flights. Staff would start work before sunrise, distributing newspapers until 10am. 

Hawkers have witnessed history unfold: Ershad's fall, the Gulf War, the caretaker government, the 1991 election, the death of Salman Shah, the Twin Tower attack, the execution of Ershad's associates, the deaths of actors Manna and footballer Monem Munna, and the rise of Formula Minus Two. 

At that time, "Telegrams" (extra editions) were printed in an hour. Hawkers would jump on buses, shouting the headlines to a hungry public. 

Once respected, now struggling 

In Mirpur 11, Syed Abu Naser is struggling to keep his father's stall open. He left his college studies to take over the business when his father fell ill. 

"I used to sell 200 copies of "Rahasya" magazine alone," Naser says. 

Now, his stall is filled with gloves, socks, and pens. "Some days, I don't sell a single paper. I keep them only to honour my father's memory. But the truth is, every newspaper I stock is a financial loss." 

Zakir Hossain echoes the sentiment: "Our future is uncertain. When times were good, we did more than business, we provided news and earned respect. We worry about tomorrow more than anything else." 

Dhaka's paper hawkers once chronicled the city for thousands of readers. With readership declining and digital media on the rise, their world is shrinking.

They deliver yesterday's news to a world that has already moved on.