Seed Paper: A Plantable Paper Turns Waste into Living Green

Every year, tonnes of paper, from office files to school notebooks, end up in Bangladesh’s landfills or clog its rivers. Trees are felled elsewhere to make fresh paper, while the used sheets contribute to methane emissions and choked waterways. In a nation already battling rising seas, erratic monsoons and shrinking green spaces, one small innovation is offering a different ending: a sheet of paper that refuses to become waste and instead becomes a plant.

That innovation is Seed Paper or Bon Kagoj (literally “forest paper”), a handmade, seed-embedded sheet that is finding its way into business cards, wedding invitations, calendars and election leaflets across the country.

The need is urgent. Bangladesh imports most of its paper, indirectly driving deforestation abroad while generating mountains of local waste. Recycling rates remain low. Most discarded paper either rots in dumps or is burned, releasing carbon. Meanwhile, urban families have little space to grow food, pollinators struggle, and the younger generation rarely sees the direct link between daily consumption and environmental health. Bonkagoj flips that script: the very material we throw away becomes the vehicle for restoration.

In Bangladesh, The concept has been pioneered by Shalbrikkho, a Narayanganj-based startup founded by Mahbub Sumon. Launched commercially in late 2019 after two years of experimentation, Bon Kagoj is handmade from waste paper like old kindergarten notebooks, office printouts, invitation cards. The sheets are shredded, soaked until they turn into a soft pulp, then blended by hand. The pulp is spread thinly across screens or moulds. At the final moment, a careful mix of native seeds is sprinkled evenly across the wet surface. Gentle pressure and natural drying bind everything together. No electricity is required for the core process; the entire operation runs on human hands and sunlight. The result is a sturdy, slightly textured sheet, thicker than ordinary paper, but alive with potential.

The seeds chosen are thoroughly Bangladeshi: red spinach, tomato, brinjal, chilli, and a handful of hardy flowers. They are suited to local soil and climate, need no special treatment, and once sprouted, provide edible greens or bright blooms that attract birds and insects.

The merits go far beyond symbolism. Every four kilograms produced spares one mature tree, saves roughly a thousand litres of water, and prevents the release of 25 kilograms of CO₂ annually. It creates fair-wage work for local artisans. Most importantly, it closes the loop: the paper decomposes in soil, feeding it, while the seeds germinate and grow. What was once a message on a card becomes food on a plate or colour in a garden.

To activate that life, the user simply soaks the sheet in water for a day or two, tears it gently, places the pieces shallowly in moist soil, and keeps them watered and sunlit. Within seven to fifteen days the first green shoots push through, a visible reminder that waste can be reborn.

More than five tonnes of seed paper have already been made and planted across Bangladesh. Each sheet planted is one small act of defiance against the throwaway culture that has overtaken us.

In a country where “save the green” is no longer a slogan but a daily necessity, seed paper offers something rare: proof that the solutions we need can be handmade, local, and alive. It asks only that we change one habit – instead of discarding a piece of paper, we let it continue its journey as a living thing.