Akhtar, 32, stands quietly beside his vegetable van, the corrugated wall behind him echoing the early mornings he’s spent setting up in the same spot. His steady posture and blank expression reflect the rhythm of his work — rooted, repetitive, and without complaint.
Date: April 19, 2024
This series of 10 portraits explores the everyday presence of working-class individuals across Dhaka through the lens of deadpan aesthetics. Each image features a single subject captured in their authentic environment — from roadside vendors and rickshaw pullers to a street doctor’s assistant and a city cleaner — framed with emotional neutrality and a direct gaze.
Deadpan photography resists dramatization, instead embracing flat light, symmetrical compositions, and a sense of observational detachment. I have intentionally used muted colors throughout the series, a defining trait of the deadpan style, to strip away sentimentality and emphasize stillness, texture, and the quiet dignity of each subject. The result is a study in quiet resilience — moments suspended in motionless tension, where expression is still but presence is loud.
These portraits do not seek to glorify or romanticize labor; they simply document the human condition as it exists in the margins of urban life. Through this series, I hope to give space to those often seen but rarely looked at.
Hemayet, 39, sits behind the security desk of an apartment complex, surrounded by ledgers and silence. Twelve hours a day, he watches residents come and go, his presence steady but almost invisible. His stillness speaks more than any greeting.
Date: April 19, 2024
Enayet Mia, 39, stands on a side street with a chicken in each hand, his arms hanging naturally from years of repetition. He walks across Dhanmondi calling “Murgi!” in a voice so familiar it reaches balconies before his figure appears. Yet when seen, he is silent — gaze direct, presence grounded.
Date: April 20, 2024
Robiul, 45, stands beside his rickshaw, hands wrapped in plastic for grip, his body shaped by years of pedaling through the city’s heat and chaos. A quiet figure in constant motion, he pauses here — not to rest, but simply to be still.
Date: April 19, 2024
Sheuli Begum, 50, crouches beside her roadside food stall, where steam and silence rise together each morning. She cooks for those who work too hard to afford more, serving quietly from behind her pots, as if feeding others is just part of being present.
Date: April 20, 2024
Abdul Awal, 62, sits at the edge of the footpath, crutches laid beside him in the dust. A quiet fixture of the street, he doesn’t call out or gesture — he simply waits, still and unmoving, in a world that rarely stops to see him.
Date: April 21, 2024
Tauhid, 52, arranges his medical tools on a plastic table just after dawn, before the street fully wakes. For a small fee, he checks blood pressure and sugar levels, his work quiet, methodical, and unnoticed by most. But each reading marks a small act of care.
Date: April 20, 2024
Shah Alam, 49, stands with his broom before a truckload of waste, just after sunrise. Each morning, he moves through the streets before they fill with noise, clearing what others leave behind. His work is silent, but without it, the city would not begin.
Date: April 21, 2024
Kabir, 35, carries his mobile stall across his shoulders — cigarettes, paan, and small goods neatly arranged in jars. His method is old-fashioned, a walking echo of vendors from another time. He moves slowly, deliberately, as if nothing about his trade needs to change.
Date: April 21, 2024
Sufia, 55, sits at the edge of a bus stop, bags gathered at her feet, wrapped in fatigue and printed fabric. She is on her way to visit her daughter, but for now, she waits — resting between movement, carrying more than what’s in her hands.
Date: April 21, 2024
Wow ! What captures , great work
Thank you.
Amazing photography Pablo!
Thank you.