Most of us, in our daily lives, order food or other essentials through delivery services for the sake of convenience. But these days, that convenience feels less like a given and more like a luxury or simply a matter of getting lucky once in a while. The reason lies in a familiar business playbook, which goes like this: start by offering a great service at a fair price, build trust and dependency, then gradually raise prices while cutting corners. It’s a bait-and-switch that works because, by the time customers realize what’s happening, they’re already too reliant on the service to walk away. The inconsistencies from the delivery platform are becoming a norm, and the common people, despite being deceived, are using them.
The food delivery industry in Bangladesh fits this pattern perfectly. In their early days, apps like HungryNaki, Uber Eats, Pathao Foods, and Foodpanda offered affordable prices, prompt service, and a win-win relationship between customers and restaurants. But you don’t hear much about the other delivery services now. Let’s understand the reason.
Despite being a global giant with deep pockets, Uber Eats couldn’t survive in Bangladesh. Fierce competition from Foodpanda, which had already cemented its place with aggressive local branding, celebrity endorsements using hyped up cricketers and influencers, and campaigns that resonated with Bangladeshi consumers, left little room for the newcomer to breathe. Uber Eats struggled with cultural disconnects, operational hurdles, and an unsustainable subsidy model, while Foodpanda doubled down, expanding its network and capturing both customer loyalty and vendor partnerships. The result? Uber Eats decided to exit the Bangladeshi market, and Foodpanda emerged as the undisputed market leader, tightening its grip on a now near-monopolized food delivery industry. That dominance hasn’t come without controversy. In January 2024, the Bangladesh Competition Commission fined Foodpanda BDT 10 lakh for abusing its market position, specifically threatening to increase commission rates and reduce delivery zones for partner restaurants, effectively boxing out competition.
In the current scenario, social media is flooded with negative reviews about various delivery platforms. Prices have surged well beyond inflation, extra charges have multiplied, and service quality has taken a sharp downturn. One customer reported paying a 132 taka “priority delivery” fee for food in her office that arrived more than two hours late, long after colleagues had left, the office was locked, and even the security guard had gone home. The only compensation offered was a token 20 taka voucher from the platform. Another customer shared a particularly frustrating experience when ordering three full tehari from a popular restaurant through Foodpanda. The delivery rider brought only three half portions, a mistake acknowledged by both the rider and the restaurant. The restaurant offered to send the remaining portions, but the rider refused to pick them up, and Foodpanda’s customer service declined to process a refund without a “valid photo” as proof despite the restaurant’s confirmation of the error. The result was a financial loss and a ruined dining experience. Others complain of cold meals, missing items, or orders being cancelled mid-route, even after paying extra for “premium” service. What once promised ease and reliability has turned into an overpriced gamble, leaving many questioning whether the convenience is worth the cost anymore.
For many, the only decent alternative has been Foodi. While its range of restaurants is limited, it does feature most of the popular ones. However, some users have also expressed frustration that several favourite restaurants remain absent from the platform, making it difficult to rely on as a complete solution.
While customers voice their frustrations, the riders who keep these delivery services running have their own set of grievances, and they paint an equally troubling picture. In the early days, riders earned fair payments for their work, but over time, these rates have been chipped away. The average delivery charge, once around 40 taka, has now been halved to 20 taka, and when multiple orders are batched together, that average drops even lower. To make matters worse, riders say they are responsible only for delivering food to the specified location, yet they are frequently pressured to carry orders up several floors, sometimes as high as the seventh, with no extra pay for the added effort and delay. Those with bikes are often forced to accept orders well outside their assigned zones, eating into their time and fuel without fair compensation. Night and evening shift bonuses have also been slashed, with the midnight bonus dropping from 20 taka to just 12 taka. Riders are demanding transparency and accountability, especially when it comes to tips. Many claim that even when customers tip more than the delivery fee, their overall payment is reduced. In October 2022, riders in Dhaka, Rajshahi, and Sylhet went on strike, demanding higher delivery rates and better benefits. Riders have complained about low pay, with one stating, “Pulling a rickshaw is better than a Foodpanda job,” citing the intense workload for minimal compensation. Even after all these years their cries are not being heard.
Recently, Foodpanda promotions and influencer marketing are again flooding social media feeds, and you must be wondering, why is that a problem? The problem is that marketing can’t mask reality forever. Because amidst growing frustration from both riders and customers, the company’s credibility is eroding. Slick campaigns may temporarily distract from the criticism, but they do little to address the core issues.
Similar patterns have played out globally, from Instacart in the U.S. facing backlash over tip deductions to Deliveroo riders in the U.K. striking over unfair pay. The lesson is consistent: without fair treatment of both customers and delivery partners, no amount of branding will save a platform’s reputation. Convenience doesn’t have to come at the cost of fairness. But for that to happen, platforms must see customers and riders not as disposable assets but as the backbone of their business. Without that shift, the food delivery boom in Bangladesh risks collapsing under the weight of its own broken promises.
Until more viable alternatives emerge, both customers and riders remain little more than puppets in a system they cannot escape, caught between a platform’s dominance and the absence of genuine choice.