The congested streets of Dhaka used to be shrouded by a pall of black smoke that infested the lungs of the city dwellers, be they pedestrians, cyclists or bus passengers. The smoke resulted from the burning of fuel through the process of combustion in the two-stroke engines of the baby taxis — the little black and yellow vehicles that buzzed around the streets.

As is typical of the Bangladesh government, it took no action to curb the deadly pollution that was affecting public health. Then, five years ago, a Canadian project came up with a way to convert the fuel for the two-stroke engines to natural gas. The baby-taxi-owners were all for it because with lower fuel consumption they would be able to rent out their vehicles at a higher rate. But the government could see no advantage in it for itself, and the bureaucrats could not believe that such a conversion could work. It was far better to blame the neighbouring country, India, which, using its inimitable craft, was dumping the two-stroke Bajaj engines on Bangladesh. But the roads of Calcutta and Mumbai did not suffer from the kind of pollution that those in Bangladesh did. Indians, by the way, are no fools. They also manufacture the four-stroke engines that run on gas, ones which would not pollute old Dhaka’s fair streets.

The Bangladesh government at last saw a way that would benefit it immense- ly. For, by controlling the entry of the four-stroke baby taxis and limiting the authorized dealership to one minister, it could re- gularize the trade and cut out foreign competition, thereby benefiting its own industry.

The former minister of communications, Nazmul Huda, stepped forward. He promptly banned the two-stroke engines, forcing the baby-taxi-owners to purchase new vehicles. Now the colour of the little things that buzz around Malibag and Moghbazar, Mipuer and Moijheel is green. The smoke has gone and the streets of Dhaka have never smelled so wonderful.

The greening process was helped in no small measure by the end of plastic bags. Usually pre-occupied with abusing her political rivals, Begum Khaleda Zia seems to have spared some thought for the environment as well. It was she who banned plastic bags in the country, and thereby set the tone for the new leadership.

For what purpose did the former prime minister decide to rid the country of plastic? One reason could be that she intended to prop up the miserable jute industry which her government owned and which drained crores of taka every year. And so, in keeping with the wishes of their leader, the citizens of Bangladesh reached into the depths of their wardrobes and recovered their discarded jute bags.

Soon the jute bag became the status symbol of upper-class Bangladesh society. Wives of the great industrialists of Dhaka would not be seen at an iftar party without a jute bag adorning their porcelain-skinned shoulders. “We are not polluters ,” claimed the lovely ladies, as they strove to help Bangladesh move towards sustainability from the comfort of their SUVs.

Shops that retained plastic bags were raided by the police. Micrometers close at hand, they pounced on anything that was less than 10 microns in thickness. And never did a policeman take a bribe to turn the other way.

But the entrepreneurs of Bangladesh had better ideas. A plastic bag gets the shopping home only once, before it is jettisoned, but a jute bag is for life. No need to manufacture any more, and no profit for the businessmen. So they mounted a campaign to discredit the jute bag, calling it old-fashioned and, worst of all, smelly. They created a market for string sacks, and ropey cotton bags that rip when in contact with something as sharp as a packet of cornflakes. And shoppers are compelled to take a new bag for their next set of purchases. Khaleda Zia’s dream, however, has been realized. There are no longer plastic bags in Bangladesh. The streets of Dhaka do not host the dance of the plastic in the wind.