Pohela Boishakh, the most universal of Bengali festivals, ushers in the new year with vibrant celebrations and colorful traditions. Yet behind the festive scenes, the day also highlights a stark contrast — while many embrace joy, others face the same daily struggles, untouched by the season’s cheer.
On Monday, at Ramna Park, some children celebrated the first day of the Bangla New Year while others were there to work, selling goods to make a living.
Sohana Jahan, a young girl, had come to celebrate with her parents.
“Every year, I go out with my parents on Pohela Boishakh,” she said. “We visit Ramna Park and Dhaka University. I really love this day.”
Ariba Adnan, a class eight student, was also out with her parents, dressed in new clothes
“Pohela Boishakh is a festival for everyone. We all celebrate it together,” she shared.
“Every year, Abbu buys me a new dress before Boishakh. He says the new year should begin in a new way. I enjoy this day so much. On the first day of the year, Ammu and Abbu do not scold me. I get to roam around. I wish every day was like this.”
But while children like Sohana and Ariba celebrate the day in joy, others of their age are already immersed in life’s harsh realities.
One such girl was Shyamoli, around 13 or 14 years old, selling balloons at Ramna Park.
She does not even know her exact age.
Shyamoli comes to the park with her elder sister to sell flowers, though on Pohela Boishakh, she was selling balloons.
Her family consists of one brother, three sisters and their mother.
Her elder sisters are married and live separately and her elder brother provides no financial support.
With a mother unable to work, Shyamoli has been forced into the battlefield of life.
“I, too, want to celebrate Pohela Boishakh,” she said quietly.
“I want to wear new clothes. But how can I, without money? How will I feed my mother if I don’t sell these balloons? There are more people today. Maybe the sales will go well. But so far, not much has sold. Maybe it will,” she added.
Jannatul Akter Afrin lives in Sayedabad and had come to Ramna Park with her grandmother, who was selling tissues and masks.
Afrin, once a third-grade student at a madrasa, no longer attends school.
She said: “My father is gone. My mother is sick and cannot work. I have to work. That is why I stopped studying.”
Like other children, Afrin should have been celebrating the new year with joy.
But, instead, she has joined the ranks of those fighting to survive.
“I do not celebrate Pohela Boishakh. How could I?” the child asked.
Md Rajim, a second grader from Moghbazar’s Ambagan area, was selling cucumbers and guavas around the park.
“I study in class two,” he said. “I help my father sell things after school. But since school is closed today, I came in the morning.”
When asked about celebrating Pohela Boishakh, he replied: “You cannot celebrate without money. Those who have money—only they can celebrate.”
Like Shyamoli, Afrin and Rajim, there are countless children across the city and the country whose every morning begins with struggle.
For them, not just Pohela Boishakh, but every special day feels the same—ordinary, burdened and heavy with survival.