By the time Sheikh Hasina’s helicopter lifted off from Dhaka last August, the energy on the streets had already shifted. For the first time in years, Bangladeshis, bloodied, exhausted, but unbroken, walked the capital without the shadow of police batons or the threat of an unmarked van in the night. It was a hard-won taste of freedom and safety. And for the four members of Toronto-based band, Warlaw, it was the seed of a song.
‘Kids were being shot in broad daylight,’ says guitarist Naushad, his tone reminiscent and thoughtful. “There was no law, no consequence for fascists. That’s how the name came about. Zarif (the guitarist) came up with it. Warlaw. It’s a reminder of the lawlessness we saw during the uprising.”
But ‘Hungkaar’ was not born out of inspiration alone. ‘The song came out of sheer grief and helplessness of being far away from home, yet feeling every death is one of our own brothers falling,’ Naushad explains. ‘This was our way to participate in the movement.’
The movement behind the music
Sparked by anti-quota demonstrations, the July Student Movement in Bangladesh quickly became an anti-regime mass mobilisation. By August, state violence had killed over a thousand, injured tens of thousands, and left families shattered. Among the dead was Mugdho, a young student whose face became a rallying image for protesters worldwide. The band also notes the significance of Abu Sayed’s death, whose iconic stance before armed policemen became immortalised in protest memory. The line ‘Ar kori na bhoy” (“I am not afraid anymore”) is a direct reference to Sayed’s defiant bravery.
‘The song came out of sheer grief and helplessness of being far away from home, yet feeling every death is one of our own brothers falling’
For bassist Shanil, the movement hit home in the most literal way. ‘They were openly shooting kids,’ he says, pausing before adding, ‘I had just had a kid myself. I thought, my kid deserves better. Working on this song, I wanted to do it for Mugdho, Abu Sayed, and for everyone who lost their lives. I didn’t want to just mourn them—I wanted to celebrate their lives.’ ‘Hungkaar’ is more than just a protest anthem—it’s a reclamation of sovereignty.
An unplanned creation
Despite the weight of its subject, ‘Hungkaar’s creation was anything but clinical. ‘It came together without a plan,’ Naushad admits. ‘Chaotic, but organic.’ Part of that chaos came from the band’s different musical strengths. The creation process unfolded in Toronto, where Warlaw’s Bangladeshi community lent crucial support. ‘We need to mention Auvik,’ Naushad says firmly. ‘He’s our brother here in Toronto who lent us his jam space so we could write the song. He provided priceless advice on melodies and production; his insight skyrocketed the song’s quality. He was instrumental to Bimurta’s development as a metal vocalist, first, and then Shanil played a role after that.’
Another vital contributor was Sanjid Anik, who penned most of the lyrics. ‘I only wrote the chorus,’ Naushad explains. ‘Sanjid started writing on the spot, producing the lyrics in no time. His passion for July and his stance against oppression showed in every line. He was always supporting us, and that’s an indication of his love for our country.’
Vocalist Bimurta, juggling university and work, leaned on the mentorship of the band and the community as he stepped into heavy metal for the first time. ‘I was nervous,’ he admits. ‘But this song gave me a push. It wasn’t just about music. It was about doing something for a greater cause. Naushad Bhaiya and Zarif Bhaiya shaped the song, Shanil guided me, and with Auvik’s help we pulled it all off together.’
Inside the song
Musically, ‘Hungkaar’ is a slow-burn powder keg. For fans of heavy metal, the pace is electric. Notably, the lyric video deserves a special mention; it depicts a timeline of events from the uprising, aligned with the riffs and solos, a perfect depiction of Warlaw’s thought process. Even the sound of helicopter blades, the sounds of a regime ending, was worked into the track, cementing the band’s intent to make every detail matter. “The footage, the murders, the pain,” Naushad says. ‘We want people to think about these things, to pay respects, to learn from history. And yeah, we want fascists to know we see them.’
Musically, ‘Hungkaar’ is a slow-burn powder keg. For fans of heavy metal, the pace is electric.
Gratitude, fire, and a message of resistance
If ‘Hungkaar’ was just a scream into the void, it might still resonate. But Warlaw’s tribute is something rarer: a song of gratitude. ‘This song not only gave us purpose, it gave us each other,’ says Bimurta. Shanil frames it as a reminder of solidarity. ‘We have so many tragedies in our history. But even in the darkest times, we came together. You are never alone.’ For Zarif, the takeaway is political as much as personal. ‘I hope people are thoughtful about our country, about the leaders coming in the future. We don’t want our youth to have to go back to the streets to march.’
At the end of the ‘Hungkaar’ video, the band leaves viewers with a final message that encapsulates their ethos: ‘To the fascists of yesterday, today and tomorrow: Bangladesh will rise, Bangladesh will resist.’
The road ahead
Warlaw’s future is, by their own admission, unwritten. ‘We’re finding our feet,” Naushad says. “We’re still experimenting. This is the only song we’ve worked on together so far. The chemistry is there, and we want to move forward organically.’ That future may involve more music, more political statements, or maybe both inextricably tied. For now, the goal is simple: get people to play ‘Hungkaar’ on repeat, let it burrow into their bones, and keep the memory of the uprising alive