The long night: When election eve feels like 'chand raat'

On Wednesday night (11 February), the living room of my ancestral home was filled with laughter and political discussions. In the next room, children played while the elders continued a heated debate after dinner about whom to vote for. The air carried a rare mix of warmth and urgency.

Among the younger cousins — many of them first-time voters — the excitement was palpable. Some of the younger women had even put on mehendi, just as they would on Chand Raat — the night before Eid.

Though Dhaka's streets remained unusually quiet, in villages and small towns, homes were fuller than they had been in years. Relatives returned from the cities, some after a long time, turning ordinary evenings into reunions.

The day before, rivers and highways were crowded with launches and buses carrying people back to their hometowns to vote. The rush felt familiar — like the journey home before Eid, when workers and students leave the capital to celebrate with family. This time, however, the destination was not a festival, but polling centres. 

"It has been a long time since I saw all of my extended family together in the same place," said Mizan Munshi, a 22-year-old first-time voter from Shariatpur. "We don't get to see each other very often these days. My uncles and cousins stopped visiting our village home years ago. The excitement I feel tonight is unlike anything else."

Mizan was not alone. For many, the joy that once defined Eid gatherings had gradually faded. But on that night, a familiar anticipation seemed to return. For years, voting had felt distant — procedural rather than participatory. Yet the expectation of a fair contest brought people back together. From rickshaw pullers to university students, from Gen Z to the elderly, the anticipation cut across class and age alike.

The last widely accepted general election took place in 2008; subsequent polls were accompanied by allegations of irregularities and declining voter participation, eroding public trust in democratic institutions.

This election followed a turbulent chapter in the country's political history. More than 1,400 people reportedly lost their lives during the unrest that preceded the regime change. Sixteen months under a technocratic interim administration followed. Voters were once again being asked to determine their political future.

"This vote holds significance because people died to give us the opportunity to decide our future again," said Simi Ahmed, a first-time voter who actively participated in the July Uprising. "Even though I don't like either of the candidates nominated from my constituency, I still feel an obligation to those who sacrificed their lives to make Bangladesh a democracy again."

Of the country's 12.77 crore registered voters, nearly 50 lakh were casting ballots for the first time — roughly 3.9% of the electorate. Voters between the ages of 18 and 27 accounted for approximately 44% of the total electorate, a demographic that played a visible role in the July movement demanding democratic transition.

"This vote holds significance because people died to give us the opportunity to decide our future again. Even though I don't like either of the candidates nominated from my constituency, I still feel an obligation to those who sacrificed their lives to make Bangladesh a democracy again."

Simi Ahmed, a first-time voter who actively participated in the July Uprising

Analysts described the vote as one of the most institutionally consequential moments in Bangladesh's post-authoritarian transition. For the first time, citizens would cast two ballots — one in a referendum on the July National Charter, and another to elect a government for the next five years.

Although many voters expressed cautious optimism about the fairness of the process, the memory of past controversies lingered, tempering celebration with watchfulness.

"What happens tomorrow is uncertain. There could be clashes," said Sahib Abdullah, a university student from Khilgaon. "I just hope the polling centres remain free from chaos."

Sahib described the interim government's performance as "mixed", reflecting a sentiment shared by several voters interviewed across districts. "If they can deliver a free and fair election, that will be their ultimate success," he said. "People will remember them for that."

Tomorrow's vote would do more than determine a government; it would shape the trajectory of the country for years to come. The outcome would influence economic policy, institutional reform, foreign relations, and the credibility of public institutions that had faced sustained scrutiny over the past decade. For many voters, this was not simply about party preference — it was about whether democratic mechanisms could function as intended.

Political observers noted that transitional moments were often fragile. A credible election could restore confidence in electoral processes and provide a foundation for stability. A disputed one could deepen polarisation and prolong uncertainty. The responsibility, therefore, extended beyond candidates and campaign rhetoric; it rested with institutions tasked with safeguarding the vote.

Across districts, polling officials prepared ballot boxes and security personnel reviewed deployment plans. Civil society groups monitored compliance, and voters set their alarms.

For those who had spent months demanding the return of representative governance, the act of casting a ballot carried symbolic weight. Rights regained often felt different from rights long taken for granted. And in that sense, even amid caution and complexity, the simple ability to choose resembled celebration — not of a festival, but of citizenship restored.