The hurdles of living alone as a single young woman in Dhaka

Namira is 27, unmarried, and lives alone. Her room cannot, in any sense, be labeled a luxury. It is a small, hard-won territory. 

"Living alone feels rewarding," she said. Outside the door, however, the city resists women like her at every turn.

In Dhaka, an unmarried woman — even one who can afford her own space and pay rent on time — is often deemed "indecent" by many landlords and treated as nothing but trouble.

Landlords don't hesitate to ask intrusive personal questions: why a woman is unmarried, how late she returns home, or whether she has a boyfriend who might visit. Unsurprisingly, in most cases, there is a "no male visitors" policy. Many landlords also demand copies of national identity cards from family members and insist on meeting parents or guardians before agreeing to rent out the space.

The long list of terms and conditions often comes with a hefty price. Female tenants have to pay higher rents due to the limited housing options available, and sometimes they are subjected to eviction without prior notice. 

There is no national survey that counts how many women live alone in Bangladesh. But the indirect indicators tell a clear story. 

According to the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics' Labour Force Survey 2024 (updated in September 2025), the number of women in the labour force rose from 19.1 million in 2015–16 to 23.69 million in 2024. Over the same period, female unemployment dropped from 6.8% to 3.46%. 

More women are working, and they are staying in the workforce longer.

Marriage, meanwhile, is being delayed. The BBS Sample Vital Statistics Report 2023 shows that 21.7% of adult women remain unmarried. Among girls aged 15 to 19, 9.4% are single. 

Migration data from the same report shows Dhaka absorbing the highest share of internal migrants, which is 42.1%, with women accounting for 43% of that movement, many arriving for education or employment.

Work pulls women into the city. But housing pushes them back.

Tanzia, 31, is a journalist who has been living alone in Shewrapara for two years. She pays Tk10,000 in rent. Her reason for living alone is simple. "I don't have to deal with roommates," she said. Privacy, for her, is not a philosophical ideal but rather a practical need after long reporting days and hectic work hours.

Finding a place, however, was exhausting. "Safety was the biggest concern," she said. "The area, the building, whether it had any additional security and whether all of that fit my budget." When her landlord learned she would be living alone, the response was not outright rejection but hesitation. "She was worried," Tanzia recalls. "She asked if I'd rather share it with another girl."

The building has no guard, no caretaker. Her safety is largely self-managed. A "neighbour aunt" used to interrogate her during idle afternoons. "I did feel judged at first," Tanzia said. "But over time they've gotten used to me and don't ask about my personal matters anymore."

But living alone has its demerits too. If she fell ill suddenly, Tanzia said, there would be no one to look after her. And that vulnerability always comes with greater fear.

Another woman, a young professional who asked to remain anonymous, lives alone in a more liberal neighbourhood of Dhaka. Her experience is rather less combative. Her family lives outside the city; living alone was a logistical choice. Her landlord did not object. Neighbours do not watch her. Guards and caretakers treat her "normally".

Yet even in this relatively frictionless arrangement, anxiety persists. "Safety is the biggest concern," she said. "There is hardly any way to fully assess the security of a house until you actually start living in it." Trustworthy domestic help is hard to find. Services cost more when you are alone. Independence, she has learned, comes with a surcharge.

The unevenness of these experiences is telling. Living alone as a woman in Dhaka is always conditional. Acceptance depends on neighbourhood, class, perceived respectability, and the landlord's personal morality.

In Farmgate, one landlady, who requested anonymity, said two unmarried, office-going women have rented rooms in her house for four years. "I'm happy with their behaviour," she said. She shares a friendly relationship with the girls. There have been no complaints so far. 

Contrast this with another landlord, also requesting anonymity, in Dhanmondi — a relatively liberal, middle- to upper-middle-class area. He refuses to rent to single women altogether. The reason is never financial; it is always social: fear of gossip, of "guy problems," of what neighbors might complain about.

Across the city, unmarried tenants, especially women, face curfews, restrictions on guests, bans on rooftop access, and intrusive surveillance. 

Afrin Mim, a multimedia journalist, described how even routine movements became subject to scrutiny. She commutes to work each day by motorcycle ride-share. Weeks later, she learned that building guards had been gossiping about her, remarking on how they saw her leaving "with different men" on different days. "I was honestly shocked," she said.

We asked Maha Mirza, a researcher and human and rights activist, why unmarried women face far greater hurdles when searching for accommodation. 

"The reasons are complex," she said. "Bangladesh remains a deeply conservative society, and the idea of women living alone is still relatively new. Ten years ago, this was almost unheard of."

Landlord behaviour in Dhaka, she explained, is "highly segmented by neighbourhood." In more affordable areas such as Mohammadpur, Shyamoli, and Adabor, conservatism tends to be stronger, and single women are more likely to face refusal or intrusive questioning.

"Even when two or three women try to rent together, landlords often feel uncomfortable. 'Family-only' rentals are the norm, and single tenants, whether men or women, are viewed with suspicion," she said.

Mirza points to broader societal and structural shifts behind the change. 

"The trend has grown noticeably over the past five years," she said. Large numbers of young women now migrate to Dhaka from district towns to study. Initially, they live in hostels or shared messes with four or five others."

"But once they graduate around the age of 23 or 24 and secure a job, many do not return home, nor do they marry immediately. Outside Dhaka, employment opportunities remain extremely limited, leaving little incentive to go back."

Urbanisation, she notes, is accelerating for both men and women. Among women, some do marry, but a growing number want to remain financially independent. That trend will only increase.

Seuty Sabur, associate professor of Anthropology at BRAC University, underscores that the hurdles are not only about housing but about how women are perceived. "Unmarried men also face difficulties renting accommodation. But women are subjected to greater surveillance and, in some cases, character assassination," she said.

She attributes this to a prevailing belief that a woman living alone is incapable of looking after herself, as well as deep-rooted social stigma and gender expectations embedded in a patriarchal society.

There are neighbourhoods that could be deemed relatively liberal such as Gulshan, Banani, Baridhara, Niketan where renting for single women may be easier. Yet, the process rarely comes without friction. 

Seuty added that while the phenomenon of women living independently is now more common, and social acceptance has increased somewhat, comfort has not fully followed acceptance.