Have we been feeling alright, from a perspective of social existence, lately? It's hard to miss the tension in the air. The rickshaw puller frowns more. The cashier avoids small talk. The chatter of industrial areas has gone silent. Everyone seems tired: not just physically, but economically and emotionally. Prices are rising, dreams feel delayed, and kindness seems to be the first thing we have collectively run out of.

Bangladesh has always been a nation built on empathy. From helping neighbours during floods to sharing rice during hardship: our sense of community has long been the invisible thread that held our economy together. But somewhere between rising inflation and endless ambition, we've lost sight of that foundation. What we're facing now is not just an economic crisis: it's a kindness crisis.

Inflation today is much more than just a figure on a government chart. It is something that lives in our homes, shapes our moods, and subtly redefines how we treat one another. When purchasing power drops, so does patience. When people can't afford essentials, kindness becomes a luxury few can spare. The middle class - the stabilising layer of our society- is shrinking. The lower-income class is expanding. And for many, survival has replaced compassion.

The cost of living has surged beyond logic. The price of essentials, utilities, transport, and education has grown faster than most incomes. Families are quietly cutting corners on meals. Young professionals work overtime yet cannot save enough to plan ahead. 

Small business owners operate on razor-thin margins, caught between higher supply costs and customers unwilling to pay more. Every individual feels the squeeze, and when there's so little left to give, empathy often becomes the first casualty.

The real question is this: can a society truly progress if kindness has a diminishing nature in its pursuit of growth? We celebrate GDP expansion and foreign reserves, but we rarely discuss the social exhaustion behind them. The rat race for financial growth has left most of us running without rest, without pause, and without purpose. We have learned to hustle, but not heal.

Now, a person's worth is measured by what they earn, not what they contribute. The more we glorify speed and success, the less room we leave for softness and connection. But this unkind economy isn't just a moral issue: it's an economic one. 

Studies across the world have shown that people in psychologically and socially supportive environments perform better, innovate faster, and stay longer in their jobs. Yet kindness remains the most undervalued currency in Bangladesh's modern economy.

Here, growth has become mistaken for goodness. But an economy that thrives while its people burn out is neither sustainable nor successful. Our economic discussions rarely address the human fatigue that underlies them. It is as though progress has become an equation that no longer includes compassion.

If kindness is the missing link in our national story, then policy must begin to reflect that truth. Building a kind economy requires strategic structural shifts, not just slogans or speeches. The government can begin by strengthening social protection for the working poor. 

The most visible victims of inflation are those who work the hardest and earn the least. Expanding cash transfers, improving access to low-interest credit, and ensuring minimum wage adjustments that match inflation are simply welfare tools: they are acts of national empathy. They restore dignity, not dependence.

Our private sector must also embrace the idea that empathy is good economics. Corporate kindness should not end at CSR photo-ops. It should be reflected in fair wages, mental health support, flexibility for workers, and community reinvestment. 

Companies that care for their people end up building more resilient teams and more trustworthy brands. The private sector's role in nurturing a humane economy goes far beyond charity and is more about culture.

Education, too must evolve to reflect this changing social reality. Our schools and universities continue to teach competition, not compassion. Students are taught to outperform others, not to uplift them. If we truly want to create a future where economic progress is sustainable, emotional intelligence must become a rooted fragment of our education system. Kindness should be learned as seriously as economics. A generation raised on empathy will build an economy that serves people, not just profits.

Urban life, too, must make space for kindness. Cities like Dhaka have become hubs of survival rather than living. The chaos, noise and relentless pace of urbanity have eroded our patience and empathy. Urban policy must now focus on restoring human calm through accessible public spaces, affordable housing, ethical entertainment, and green areas. When citizens can breathe, they can care.

Even fiscal policy has a moral dimension. Inflation control is not only about managing interest rates: it is about protecting the most vulnerable from falling further behind. Subsidising essential goods, reducing VAT on necessities, and ensuring price transparency are not economic favours: they are moral responsibilities. Economic stability should never come at the cost of human stability.

We often define the economy through money. But the real economy of any nation lies in its people, and how they treat one another when times are hard. Bangladesh's greatest strength has never been its capital: it has always been its compassion. 

The garment worker who shares her lunch, the grocer who offers credit, the teacher who gifts chocolates with their own salary: these acts of everyday kindness form the invisible social network that sustains us when systems break down.

Yet as we modernise, automate and globalise, we risk losing this delicate human glue. The social economy - the web of trust, reciprocity and care that underpins our markets - is breaking. Without kindness, no reform or development goal can truly craft progress. Because kindness is what turns policy into humanity.

There's also an economic case for empathy. Kindness increases trust, reduces stress, and improves workplace cohesion. It builds cooperation, which in turn fuels innovation and growth. Societies that nurture compassion spend less on conflict, healthcare and unemployment. It's not just a "feel good" ideal: it's a systematic strategy.

The strain on mental health in Bangladesh speaks volumes about the hidden cost of our economic system. Recent data show that more than 18% of adults suffer from mental health issues and around 80% of them do not receive treatment. In other words, while economic pressures mount, the emotional resilience of our people is cracking. When people are isolated, anxious, and unheard, kindness becomes even harder and more necessary.

Bangladesh's journey forward depends on rediscovering this truth. As inflation rises and inequalities deepen, the distance between hearts, hands, and bellies grows wider. We must actively bridge that gap: through our policies, businesses, classrooms and everyday choices. Every economic reform needs an emotional counterpart. A kind act is not charity: it's an investment in stability.

The world may be chasing faster growth, but Bangladesh can aim for a better growth: one grounded in fairness, empathy and collective well-being. It's time we ask ourselves what progress truly means if it doesn't make us better humans. Kindness cannot be measured in GDP, but it can be felt in how we live, how we speak, and how we care.

Maybe that's where real progress begins: not in how much we earn, but in how much we understand. Because at the end of the day, it isn't inflation or growth that defines us. It's whether, in the face of both, we remember to be kind.

Mohaimenul Solaiman Nicholas is a graduate of Economics and Social Sciences from BRAC University. 

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.