Satyajit Ray’s Hirak Rajar Deshe is not just a landmark in Bengali cinema, but one of the finest works in the history of filmmaking across the subcontinent. Beneath the playful, humorous adventure of Goopy and Bagha lies a powerful political allegory – one that critiques authority, injustice, and the manipulation of human thought. Its relevance remains striking even today. In the film’s final scene, as Goopy emerges from the ‘Jonttor Monttor Ghar’ (brainwashing chamber), he breaks into song: “Nohi jontra, nohi jontra, ami prani (I am not a machine, I am a living being).” It is a declaration of human freedom and consciousness. It is from this illusion, this imitation of the human, that one of the most complex questions of our time begins.
In the post-pandemic world, the quiet transformation of social life is impossible to ignore. A glimpse of this shift can be seen in a recent election story from New York. It is said that a generation of young people, lonely even amid the crowd, found a sense of belonging through political campaigning. They did not merely paste posters or count votes; within that shared effort, some found friendship, some found love, and others at least discovered a space where they felt seen and heard. In a sense, politics became a substitute for social life. This story is not as distant from us as it might seem. In major cities of Bangladesh, young people have experienced a similar, if quieter, rupture in recent years. From the outside, everything appears functional – universities have reopened, offices are running – but beneath the surface, the texture of relationships has changed. During the pandemic, when study, work, and friendship were confined to screens, that habit lingered. Opportunities for face-to-face interaction diminished, and loneliness gradually settled in.
It is precisely at this moment that a new companion has entered our lives—artificial intelligence. Whether it is ChatGPT, Gemini, or Claude, these systems allow us to converse, to share thoughts, even to unburden ourselves. We know they are not human, yet speaking to them does not feel uncomfortable. In fact, at times, it feels easier than speaking to real people. There is no judgment here, no social pressure, no fear of rejection. For this reason, AI is no longer merely a source of information; it is becoming a space of emotional exchange.
This shift is not merely technological, it is deeply social. We are moving toward a form of relationship where there is connection without risk, conversation without complication. When we ask, “Who are you?” or “What do you like?”, the responses come back in a tone that suggests preference, personality – even desire. We are told there is no body, no personal life, and yet ‘pasta’ or ‘cookies’ are somehow favourites. The language is not alien; it is strikingly familiar.
This human-like tone is, in fact, AI’s greatest strength. In reality, it feels nothing; it has no independent self. It breaks our sentences into tokens, converts them into numbers, and processes them through a vast neural network, calculating probabilities at immense speed. All of this happens in fractions of a second. Yet what returns to us is language infused with the illusion of human presence.
Recent research presents a dual picture of this phenomenon. On the one hand, AI-based conversations can reduce loneliness, as users feel that someone – something – is listening to them. On the other hand, overreliance on such interaction can distance individuals from real relationships. Gradually, people may withdraw from social engagement and slip into a form of digital dependence.
In this context, Bangladesh’s position is significant. We are not creators of this technology; we are its users. Yet its impact is clearly visible, especially among young people, who are spending increasing amounts of time in digital spaces while real social interactions continue to shrink. AI companionship thus appears to be an easy, accessible, and risk-free alternative. But research suggests it is not a lasting solution; rather, it may extend the problem in new forms.
The experience across Asia reflects a similar complexity. In countries such as China, Japan, and South Korea, the use of AI companions is growing rapidly, driven by social isolation, urban pressures, and fragile relationships. In some cases, these interactions alleviate loneliness and offer comfort; in others, they encourage withdrawal from human connections. Those already socially isolated are often the most likely to form deep attachments to AI. Thus, the technology emerges both as remedy and risk.
For Bangladesh, this serves as a cautionary signal. Our society has not yet fully entered a culture of isolation, but urbanisation, digital dependence, and social fragmentation are advancing quickly. AI companionship may offer temporary relief, but if it becomes a primary source of connection, it could quietly erode the space for real human relationships.
In the end, the question remains: how real is this companionship? Perhaps not real at all. Yet when loneliness spreads quietly around us, we often move toward illusion even while knowing it is one. Late at night, when the real world falls silent, a mechanical voice can become a source of comfort – a listener, a companion, even a mirror of emotion. But within that comfort lies a fundamental contradiction: the machine borrows human language, yet it does not live as humans do. Today, from behind the digital screen, it echoes again as a reminder: no matter how convincingly machines imitate humanity, the truth of being alive still belongs to us.
Yet there is also an opposing impulse – one that has echoed through history. During the construction of railroad tunnels in West Virginia, when steam-powered drills began to replace human labour, John Henry stood up against the diminishing value of human strength. In American folklore, this legendary worker challenged the machine itself, as if to declare that man had not yet been defeated. John Henry, with his hammer, cut through rock faster than the steam drill; though the immense exertion cost him his life, he never bowed before the machine. His story endures as a reminder that even in the face of advancing technology, humans will to resist, to compete, and to assert dignity does not easily fade.
The writer is an Associate Professor, Communication and Journalism, University of Chittagong. Email: rajibnandy@cu.ac.bd
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