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The Trackside Barber Shop, Dhaka

Wen Yang Liao

Taiwan

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On the heavily polluted rivers of Bangladesh, where the air is thick with the soot of burning waste, a man carries a massive bouquet of balloons on a small boat—a scene as absurd as a vision from a dream.

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Bronze

Rainbow in the Smog

On the edge of Dhaka’s rails, life is measured in centimeters. As the train roars past with a blur of wind and noise, the barber’s hand remains unshaken. At the extreme boundary of motion and stillness, the path of the razor runs parallel to the rhythm of the steel wheels.

Honorable Mention

Kamalapur Railway Station's ticket hall reeks of dust and urine, its corners packed with homeless. Strikingly, many are young children—drugged, starving, or exhausted, mostly asleep. They wander between stations, much like a boy I just saw leaping onto a locomotive.
Bangladesh, Dhaka.

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There is no Hope

Kamalapur Railway Station's ticket hall reeks of dust and urine, its corners filled with the homeless. Shockingly, many are young children—drugged, starving, or exhausted, mostly asleep. Sadly, they are often abandoned here by parents unable or unwilling to raise them.
Bangladesh, Dhaka.

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Nominee

Where is Hope

I’d heard people describe Bangladesh as a more chaotic version of India. But perhaps because I’ve already visited India three times, that intense “culture shock” I felt during my first trip to South Asia didn't hit me as hard this time. Instead, it felt strangely familiar.