Sheikh Rajibul Islam’s path to cinematography did not begin on a film set. It began in an architecture studio. He spent his early years studying structure, proportion and light; skills he assumed would shape buildings, not films.
Then he discovered the work of Anwar Hossain. The poetry in Hossain’s images opened something within him. “His frames spoke in silence,” Rajibul says. “I realised images could hold emotion in a way words couldn’t.”
He picked up a camera to observe people quietly, initially through still photography. That habit soon turned into a hunger for moving images, where rhythm, time and breath could add new layers of meaning. Training at Pathshala South Asian Media Institute and Begart honed his instincts, but the real growth came from the mentors he worked alongside.
Architect-turned-cinematographer Rashed Zaman taught him how to shape light with intention. Mishuk Monir grounded him in honesty and restraint. Assisting on Tareque Masud’s Runway revealed the power of patient, observational filmmaking.
Later, working under Roger Bonnici at BBC Media Action instilled the technical discipline that would define his professional maturity. At the BBC, he shot projects such as ‘Raisa’ in Bangladesh and the ‘Ujan Ganger Naiya’ series.
His independent journey began with Kamar Ahmad Simon’s ‘Shunte Ki Pao’, a film that proved he could carry a story visually. A major leap came with Mostofa Sarwar Farooki’s ‘Doob – No Bed of Roses’, starring Irrfan Khan.
That film brought international attention and led to a run of notable works: ‘No Land’s Man’, ‘Unish 20’, ‘Dui Diner Duniya’, ‘Mohanagar 2’, ‘Rajkumar’, ‘Kacher Bhitor Ochin Pakhi’, ‘Nikhoj’, ‘Taan’ and ‘840’.
What sets Rajibul apart is the way he blends structure and emotion. Architecture still guides his sense of space and proportion, but cinematography allows him to build something more delicate: the emotional environment of a story.
“Architecture deals with walls,” he says. “Cinematography deals with what people feel inside those walls.”
Working in Bangladesh brings its own challenges; limited equipment, tight schedules and an industry that does not always prioritise visuals. Yet he sees momentum. Better investment, stronger crews and a growing audience are pushing the craft forward.
For newcomers, his advice is stripped of glamour: chase stories, not gear. “Train your eyes before your hands. Assist people who are better than you. Let limitations sharpen your creativity. And treat every frame as an emotional responsibility,” he advised.
At the heart of his work is a larger conviction: Bangladeshi cinema must trust its own identity. “We don’t need to imitate anyone,” he says. “Our light, our colours, our rhythms; they’re enough.” The monsoon sky, the hush of a rural afternoon, the hum of a roadside tea stall; these, he believes, hold the DNA of a visual language that is unmistakably ours.
