When the music stops: The quiet death of Dhaka’s musical instrument shops

In 1966, a guitar artisan named Baikuntha Sarker opened a small music shop in the narrow lanes of Shankhari Bazar in Old Dhaka. He called it Surasree, a name that roughly translates to "the goddess of melody". 

When he placed his first instruments on display, he could hardly have imagined that the shop would outlive him, branch out into multiple businesses, travel with his grandchildren, and eventually extend as far as Spain.

Nor could he have imagined that one day his grandson would sit behind the counter watching months pass without a single sale exceeding Tk20 lakh in a business that once generated as much as Tk1 crore a month.

The distance between what Surasree once was and what it has become is not merely one family's story. It reflects the experience of almost every shop in Dhaka's Science Lab area, a stretch that for decades served as the city's unofficial capital of music. 

The shops remain. The instruments are still stacked on shelves, hanging from walls and lined up in display cases. 

Yet the bustling trade, the steady stream of students arriving with hard-earned savings to buy a first guitar or replace the strings on a borrowed instrument, and much of the area's former vibrancy, have faded.

A business built across generations

After Bangladesh's independence, Surasree relocated from Shankhari Bazar to the Science Lab area. For decades, the family stood among the city's most recognised musical instrument retailers. As the business expanded, so did the number of family-run outlets, including Melody and Co, New Golden Music, and Adi Surasree. 

These were not simply competitors; they were cousins, brothers and nephews establishing their own businesses within the same family tradition.

Dulal Sarker, who runs one of the Surasree outlets while also managing a business in Spain, belongs to the third generation of the family. He speaks matter-of-factly about the decline.

"Ten to 15 years ago, there were months when our sales reached Tk80 lakh and sometimes even Tk1 crore," he says. "Now we barely sell Tk15-20 lakh worth of instruments. Meanwhile, the cost of instruments, transportation and other expenses have increased almost tenfold."

He adds, "Larger operations like ours are still surviving because of their scale. Smaller shops in this area are struggling even to cover their rent and operating costs."

Then there is Jatin and Co, which makes Surasree seem young by comparison. Founded in 1910 by Jatin Mohan Mandal, a man remembered for his exceptional knowledge of music and musical instruments, the shop initially specialised in harmoniums, tablas, dhols, dotaras and sitars before later importing violins. More than a century later, it remains in operation under the third generation of the Mandal family.

Its history, however, has been marked by repeated disruption. During the Liberation War in 1971, the Pakistani army forced the family to close the business and flee. In 1992, following the demolition of the Babri Masjid, extremists attacked and burned down the shop and factory. Instruments, records and photographs accumulated over decades were lost forever.

Each time, the family rebuilt. Yet current owner Shurojit Mandal speaks of the past two years with particular concern. Their signature product, the harmonium — once synonymous with Bengali cultural life — has experienced a dramatic fall in demand. 

"Two years ago, monthly harmonium sales exceeded Tk10 lakh," he says. "Now they are down to Tk2–3 lakh. The political unrest of recent years and the pressure faced by the cultural sector have had a major impact on our business."

The figures cited by both businesses point in the same direction. The question is why.

When basic needs crowd everything else out

Economic pressure reshapes society's relationship with culture through countless small decisions made within households. A family that once budgeted for music lessons decides not to do so one year, then the next. Eventually, the habit disappears altogether.

"In our country, cultural activities usually take a back seat," says Dulal Sarker. "People think about culture or entertainment only after their basic needs have been met. In recent years, many people have struggled to meet those basic needs and have been more concerned about safety and security. Cultural activities simply became less important."

He also points to a broader shift in attitudes.

"Once, not only the elite but also middle- and lower-middle-class families valued cultural practice," he says. "That has changed significantly. Increasingly, culture is seen as a luxury and, in some circles, even something to be discouraged."

The issue is therefore not simply affordability. It also reflects a gradual rise in social conservatism that has altered perceptions of music and the arts. A harmonium in the living room was once unremarkable. In some households today, it requires justification.

The disappearance of the after-school freetime

If economic pressures affected parents, educational pressures affected children.

A guardian of a Chhayanaut student, who herself studied there years ago, describes how childhood has changed.

"When we were growing up, we attended music or dance classes alongside school," she says. "Now children are constantly moving between private tutors and coaching centres. The level of competition leaves very little space for extracurricular activities."

There is also the growing influence of digital entertainment.

"Teenagers spend much of their free time on mobile phones," she says. "They simply do not have enough time to develop hobbies. Apart from those who pursue music seriously, the group that once bought a guitar out of curiosity or for recreation has gradually disappeared."

This is precisely the customer base that shops such as Surasree and Jatin and Co find difficult to replace. Casual buyers — the teenager saving for a second-hand guitar or the office worker hoping to learn tabla on weekends — were never the biggest individual spenders. Collectively, however, they formed the foundation of the market. As that base shrinks, the entire ecosystem becomes weaker.

Mandal points to another challenge: intensified competition.

"More shops have opened in the Science Lab area, and online retailers have become increasingly important," he says.

Many now import instruments directly from China, Indonesia and other countries, eroding the traditional advantage held by physical retailers.

"There are many online businesses importing instruments directly from abroad, especially guitars and keyboards," he says. "Their prices are often lower, and browsing is easier. If customers already know what they want, there is less reason to visit a shop."

The decline of classical instruments

Within the broader downturn, no category has suffered more than traditional classical and folk instruments — the products that once formed the backbone of businesses such as Jatin and Co.

The shift is visible in changing consumer preferences.

"People now mostly want ukuleles and guitars," says Mandal. "That is why sales of classical instruments have declined. We have adapted by selling those instruments as well. Customers who once wanted harmoniums now want ukuleles."

For more than a century, Jatin and Co has sold harmoniums. Introduced to Bengal through colonial trade, the instrument became deeply embedded in classical, devotional and folk traditions. For generations, it was among the first instruments purchased by musically inclined families.

Today, however, it is increasingly being displaced by the ukulele, an instrument whose popularity in Bangladesh has been driven largely by YouTube tutorials and social media trends. Cultural traditions evolve, and new instruments inevitably gain followers. Yet the speed of this transition reveals how dramatically the sources of musical inspiration have changed.

Laisa Ahmed Lisa, general secretary of Chhayanaut, offers a more nuanced perspective.

"Even this year we have around 5,000 students," she says. "Our enrollment has not declined; it has actually increased."

At the same time, she acknowledges wider challenges.

"It is true that local cultural institutions have declined, partly because of political unrest and changing social attitudes."

The Chhayanaut guardian raises another concern: the condition of the talent-development ecosystem itself.

"Students who want to pursue music professionally often enter competitions and talent-hunt programmes," she says. "But there is widespread concern about corruption and malpractice in some of these platforms. Many parents find the experience discouraging and hesitate to involve their children."

A tradition at risk

Surasree's business network now extends across Bangladesh and Spain, suggesting a degree of resilience. Yet when Dulal Sarker is asked whether the next generation will take over, his answer is unequivocal.

"Nobody is particularly interested in the family business," he says. "We do not force them. We learned the trade from our fathers and grandfathers, and it was passed down naturally. The younger generation neither understands it in the same way nor wants to pursue it."

What may ultimately be lost is not only a business model but also a body of specialised knowledge: the ability to assess an instrument's quality, understand its provenance, and guide everyone from first-time buyers to professional musicians. Such expertise cannot easily be replicated by an online catalogue.

When Sumon Sarker, owner of Adi Surasree, recalls renowned musicians seeking instruments imported from the United States, Indonesia or China according to their specific needs, he is describing relationships built on trust, experience and decades of accumulated knowledge.

The Science Lab area is not empty. Most of the shops are still open. Yet businesses that once generated Tk1 crore a month now struggle to exceed Tk20 lakh. Shops that survived Partition, the Liberation War, arson attacks and displacement are now confronting a quieter challenge: a shrinking market and an uncertain future.

None of this suggests that Dhaka has stopped loving music. Chhayanaut's enrolment figures indicate otherwise. Rather, a combination of economic hardship, social conservatism, academic pressure, online competition and prolonged political instability has reshaped how people engage with culture. The result is visible in the instrument shops of Science Lab, where generations of musical heritage continue to endure, but under increasingly difficult circumstances.