We are neglecting cooking gas danger at our own peril

At around sehri time, when families wake to ignite stoves and heat food, two homes in two cities turned into furnaces. In Halishahar, Chattogram, an entire floor of a residential building was shattered by a gas explosion, burning nine members of two families. In Rayerbazar, Dhaka, another family of four was burned in their rented flat before dawn had broken. We call these incidents tragic and unfortunate, promise investigations, and move on. What will we do to prevent them?

The Fire Service and Civil Defence recorded 27,059 fires across Bangladesh in 2025. Cause-based data tells a story that should make us uncomfortable. Of 27,059 fires, 2,909 incidents (10.75 percent) were caused by stoves. Gas cylinder leakage accounted for 920 fires (3.40 percent). Gas supply line leakage led to 562 fires (2.08 percent). Gas cylinder explosions were responsible for another 121 cases (0.45 percent). Add electrical faults, which are the leading cause of fire in Bangladesh, as per the 2025 data, to the equation, and the tragedy becomes a depressing pattern.

Cooking gas has long been part of urban life in Bangladesh. Natural gas flows through pipelines in many cities. Liquefied petroleum gas (LPG) sits in cylinders in countless kitchens. Both are efficient, relatively affordable, and indispensable. They are also unforgiving and invisible. They have no natural colour. A chemical odorant is deliberately added so that humans can detect leakage by smell. When we ignore that smell or dismiss it as trivial, we are putting lives at risk.

Experts have repeatedly explained how gas accumulates—a small hole in a pipeline, a loose regulator on an LPG cylinder, an unused but still connected pipeline inside a building. In confined kitchens with shut windows, the gas concentration rises. When it reaches a certain level and meets oxygen, a single spark is enough. That spark can come from a matchstick, a stove lighter, or the tiny arc produced when an electric switch is flipped on. While gas creates the “bomb,” the spark provides the “fuse,” further linking faulty wiring and gas accumulation.

And yet, in many urban apartments, kitchen windows remain tightly shut at night, gas lines are installed once and then forgotten, regulators are used for years without inspection, and electrical wiring snakes across damp walls, patched and repatched by informal technicians. We live with all this and are surprised when the inevitable occurs.

There is also an institutional dimension that deserves scrutiny. Many developed countries have developed consumer education, routine inspections, and enforcement of safety standards. In Bangladesh, regulatory bodies exist, but proactive engagement with households is rare; periodic safety checks are not the norm; public awareness campaigns about gas leakage are sporadic; and building codes are more frequently honoured in their breach than in their observance.

The result is a culture of reactive governance. But systematic auditing of old pipelines, mandatory inspection of LPG setups in apartment buildings, and strict penalties for unsafe installations remain exceptions rather than rules.

Let us also consider the socio-economic layer. Many urban families live in rented flats where tenants have little control over the infrastructure. Landlords may prioritise rental income over maintenance. In older neighbourhoods, supply lines run through decades-old buildings without comprehensive upgrades. When a leak develops inside a concealed pipeline, detection depends largely on smell.

There is also a tendency to frame safety as an individual responsibility. Households are advised to maintain lines, check fittings, and call authorities when irregularities are noticed. All of this is valid. But expecting perfect vigilance from millions of households while regulatory oversight remains inconsistent is unrealistic.

Consider the sheer scale of fire incidents in 2025. Seventy-five fires a day. If 10.75 percent of fires are caused by stoves and another 5-6 percent by gas cylinder or supply line issues, then roughly one in every six or seven fires has a direct link to cooking gas. That is not a marginal problem. It is structural.

There is also a cultural element of normalisation. A faint gas smell is sometimes tolerated for hours. A regulator that hisses slightly is considered manageable. A minor spark in a switchboard is dismissed as routine. We are accustomed to improvisation in many aspects of life. Improvisation, however, is a poor strategy against combustible gases.

If we are serious about reducing these tragedies, the response must be multi-layered. Regulatory agencies need to expand manpower and equipment for inspection. Periodic mandatory checks of gas lines in residential buildings should not be optional. Utility providers must maintain updated maps of pipelines and remove unused connections. Public awareness campaigns should be sustained, not seasonal. At the household level, the basics matter. Use of high-quality fittings rather than the cheapest available is necessary, as is the installation of gas detectors in high-density urban apartments.

There is also room for policy innovation, like insurance incentives for buildings that comply with safety audits, penalties for landlords who ignore leakage complaints, training modules integrated into community programmes and schools.

The human cost is already visible in hospital wards. Burn injuries are among the most painful and resource-intensive medical conditions. They require long-term care, multiple surgeries, and psychological support. For families, they mean emotional devastation and catastrophic expenditure. For the state, they mean a strained health infrastructure. Each preventable explosion adds to that burden.

Structural reform is difficult. It demands coordination among gas authorities, fire service, city corporations, building regulators, and law enforcement. It demands data-driven planning and transparent reporting. It demands that we treat gas safety not as a private matter but as a public safety priority.

H.M. Nazmul Alam is an academic, journalist, and political analyst. Currently, he teaches at International University of Business Agriculture and Technology (IUBAT), and can be reached at nazmulalam.rijohn@gmail.com.

Views expressed in this article are the author's own. 

Follow The Daily Star Opinion on Facebook for the latest opinions, commentaries, and analyses by experts and professionals. To contribute your article or letter to The Daily Star Opinion, see our guidelines for submission.