In the world’s most densely populated city the three wheeled rickshaws are coloured more brightly than a rainbow, making these primitive people carriers impossible to ignore on the city’s cripplingly congested streets. It’s true cycle rickshaws are a common sight across Asia but in the colour and creativity stakes, Bangladesh wins hands down. It was the highly decorated, tin rectangle at the back of the rickshaws that grabbed our attention most. Here a striking key visual takes pride of place: it can be anything from movie stars, to a fable, to an expression of religious devotion. We were swept up in the swirl of colours and stories painted onto the rickshaws and set out to find out more about the artists behind this uniquely Bangladeshi art form and why their craft is under threat.

The owner of the garage welcomes us into the cool of his workshop. Murals adorn the walls: depictions of the familiar face of the “father of the nation” Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, whose image is everywhere in Bangladesh, and of Mecca. But these paintings are mere reminders of our host’s talent and craft, he actually stopped working as a rickshaw artist some 10 years ago. A self-taught artist, he painted rickshaws for 26 years, but then the work dried up and he was forced to give up painting and take over the running of his family’s rickshaw garage instead.

He suggests a couple of reasons for the end to his career as a rickshaw artist; the rise in digitally printed artwork, whose price he can’t compete with, and the local Government in Rajshahi no longer issuing rickshaw permits. Congested streets are a problem in many Bangladeshi cities and Rajshahi’s authorities are trying to tackle this by preventing new rickshaws getting on the roads. Rickshaws often bear the brunt of the blame for Bangladesh’s painfully slow moving traffic and many consider them a barrier to the country’s development.

The cluttered shelves of unused paint pots and the dilapidated rickshaw in one corner of the workshop take on a more sombre feel after we’ve heard the former artist’s story. In fact, the whole room feels like a monument to the past, to his former career.

He no longer paints rickshaws either, the last time he did was 14 years ago. Nowadays his trade is sign-painting, he explains, while showing us the books he uses to double check his spelling and grammar. This kind of work seems primitive for a talented artist but signs are often still hand-painted in Bangladesh so the work is available. Bulbul thinks that mass produced artwork is to blame for the sharp downturn in demand for traditional rickshaw art. Large companies now produce backplate designs in bulk, at half the price charged by rickshaw artists. Any kind of creativity or artistic flare is quashed because the designs are standardised templates which cannot be customised. Bulbul believes that everything in his industry is headed towards digitisation and expresses hopes of setting up a digital print studio in the future. We start to wonder if there are any working artists left. Maybe we’ve arrived 10 years too late.

Bonjo’s small workspace is a mish-mash of rickshaw parts, paint pots and brushes and a sewing machine. The walls are daubed with streaks of different coloured paints, a testing board before he paints onto the metal plates . He trained as an artist in 1969, just before Bangladesh’s Independence and has had his own shop for 35 years.

Bonjo’s workload fluctuates from month to month, but when there is work he and his son work 12 hour days, seven days a week. These days his customers tend to request simple designs and the pair is currently finishing off a bulk order of water lily designs for 10 brand new rickshaws. Rickshaw pullers don’t tend to own their own rickshaws, instead fleets of rickshaws are often purchased by businessmen who will then rent them out.

Artists paint directly onto the metal backplate or the rickshaw body. First the artist will apply background colours, before gradually layering up the detail on top using enamel paints. With smooth and sure brushstrokes Bonjo’s waterlily illustrations start to take shape, he rests his free hand beneath his painting hand for stability and builds up shades of red, yellow and white.

Next door to Bonjo’s space is another workshop, in here a jovial group of men create the appliqué hoods and seat covers for the rickshaws. Stacks of highly decorative plastic and vinyl line the shelves around the workshop and the floorspace is cluttered with bags of trimmings and wooden rickshaw parts. Scattered in the remaining space, three or four young men work at treadle sewing machines, stitching together pieces of plastic with lightening speed.

Bonjo trained three students but none are working as rickshaw artists any more, there’s not enough work for them now, he explains. A few of the rickshaw artists he knows left Bangladesh to try their luck working in the Middle East, but Bonjo’s been in the game too long and prefers to stay put, despite the lack of work.

We’re meeting a rickshaw artist called Yousuf, his home/studio is on the same street. A little further down the lane, we push open an iron gate, stepping into a slender courtyard, it’s bright and airy, the walls are painted light green and foliage hangs from bamboo fencing overhead. Doors off either side lead into the residents’ homes, it’s a lively space, where children are playing and giggling. In a small corner, opposite his front door, Yousuf has set up a workspace, housing all the tools of his trade; easel, paints, brushes and canvases. Like the other artists we’d met, Yousuf’s workspace is adorned with his own paintings, pieces of work that might not make it onto a rickshaw but reflect his own artistic taste.

Yousuf paints expressive pictures of movie stars in luminous pinks and reds, vibrant wildlife scenes and idyllic depictions of village life. We’re not the first people to interview him, he’s gained a little fame through appearing on some other TV interviews about his craft. His father was a renowned rickshaw artist and taught Yousuf, and his six brothers, how to paint from a young age. When we meet, Yousuf’s young daughter, Asha, sits alongside him, watching and learning the craft. But rickshaw painting alone is not enough to sustain him and his family, so he’s found another niche, which provides an additional source of income and allows him to continue working as an artist. The tourist industry.

Tourists are drawn like magpies to the brightly coloured rickshaw designs, so Yousuf now paints pieces onto rexine panels, which are easily rolled up and transported home as souvenirs. He’s not the only artist who’s segued into tourist art, we came across a website where some of Dhaka’s most renowned rickshaw artists sell their wares at premium prices.

But tourism alone won’t sustain this industry, rickshaw art was created to appear on rickshaws, not on walls and without the rickshaw as its canvas this craft will cease to exist in its traditional form, instead morphing into some kind of curiosity.