

TECHNOLOGY
TECHNOLOGY
Revealing Asia's Tech Changemakers: CHHAP Explores the Future of Innovation Asia's tech is not just gadgets and apps—it's a story of creative minds forging the future. From Tokyo's AI labs to Dhaka's startups, Asian tech changemakers are leading with groundbreaking concepts transforming lives and sectors.
Revealing Asia's Tech Changemakers: CHHAP Explores the Future of Innovation Asia's tech is not just gadgets and apps—it's a story of creative minds forging the future. From Tokyo's AI labs to Dhaka's startups, Asian tech changemakers are leading with groundbreaking concepts transforming lives and sectors.
It was a busy Friday afternoon at Mall of the Emirates when Reem spotted the perfect pair of designer sunglasses—only “Pay in 4” at checkout stood between her and a spontaneous splurge. With a few taps in the Tabby app, she split the AED 1,000 cost into four interest-free installments, knowing her salary wouldn’t stretch unfairly. For millions of Gulf shoppers like Reem, Tabby’s buy-now-pay-later model has transformed the thrill of discovery into manageable payments—no credit cards, no hidden fees, and fully Shariah-compliant.

It was a busy Friday afternoon at Mall of the Emirates when Reem spotted the perfect pair of designer sunglasses—only “Pay in 4” at checkout stood between her and a spontaneous splurge. With a few taps in the Tabby app, she split the AED 1,000 cost into four interest-free installments, knowing her salary wouldn’t stretch unfairly. For millions of Gulf shoppers like Reem, Tabby’s buy-now-pay-later model has transformed the thrill of discovery into manageable payments—no credit cards, no hidden fees, and fully Shariah-compliant.

It was a busy Friday afternoon at Mall of the Emirates when Reem spotted the perfect pair of designer sunglasses—only “Pay in 4” at checkout stood between her and a spontaneous splurge. With a few taps in the Tabby app, she split the AED 1,000 cost into four interest-free installments, knowing her salary wouldn’t stretch unfairly. For millions of Gulf shoppers like Reem, Tabby’s buy-now-pay-later model has transformed the thrill of discovery into manageable payments—no credit cards, no hidden fees, and fully Shariah-compliant.

It’s 8:15 PM in Dubai’s Jumeirah district when Fatima taps “Ride” in the Careem app. Sixty seconds later, a Captain arrives—smiling, professional, and armed with charging cables for her phone. As dusk deepens, Fatima navigates through a tapestry of services in the same interface: she’s scheduled groceries for tomorrow morning, settled her electricity bill via Careem Pay, and even booked a table at her favorite shawarma spot. What began as a simple ride-hailing service in 2012 has, by 2025, evolved into a full-blown “super app”—a digital butler for everyday life across West Asia.

It’s 8:15 PM in Dubai’s Jumeirah district when Fatima taps “Ride” in the Careem app. Sixty seconds later, a Captain arrives—smiling, professional, and armed with charging cables for her phone. As dusk deepens, Fatima navigates through a tapestry of services in the same interface: she’s scheduled groceries for tomorrow morning, settled her electricity bill via Careem Pay, and even booked a table at her favorite shawarma spot. What began as a simple ride-hailing service in 2012 has, by 2025, evolved into a full-blown “super app”—a digital butler for everyday life across West Asia.

It’s 8:15 PM in Dubai’s Jumeirah district when Fatima taps “Ride” in the Careem app. Sixty seconds later, a Captain arrives—smiling, professional, and armed with charging cables for her phone. As dusk deepens, Fatima navigates through a tapestry of services in the same interface: she’s scheduled groceries for tomorrow morning, settled her electricity bill via Careem Pay, and even booked a table at her favorite shawarma spot. What began as a simple ride-hailing service in 2012 has, by 2025, evolved into a full-blown “super app”—a digital butler for everyday life across West Asia.

When the first call came in on a chilly January night in 2016, it wasn’t from a high-profile investor or a government minister—it was from a woman in rural southern Jordan whose village clinic had closed three hours earlier. Holding her smartphone to her ear, she described her son’s persistent fever and asked, almost in a whisper, for medical advice. On the other end of the line, a licensed physician with Altibbi guided her through basic fever management, warned her which red-flag symptoms to watch, and reassured her that more help was available if needed. For that mother, hundreds of kilometers from Amman’s specialist centers, Altibbi’s 24/7 Arabic-language telemedicine service wasn’t just convenient—it was lifesaving.

When the first call came in on a chilly January night in 2016, it wasn’t from a high-profile investor or a government minister—it was from a woman in rural southern Jordan whose village clinic had closed three hours earlier. Holding her smartphone to her ear, she described her son’s persistent fever and asked, almost in a whisper, for medical advice. On the other end of the line, a licensed physician with Altibbi guided her through basic fever management, warned her which red-flag symptoms to watch, and reassured her that more help was available if needed. For that mother, hundreds of kilometers from Amman’s specialist centers, Altibbi’s 24/7 Arabic-language telemedicine service wasn’t just convenient—it was lifesaving.

When the first call came in on a chilly January night in 2016, it wasn’t from a high-profile investor or a government minister—it was from a woman in rural southern Jordan whose village clinic had closed three hours earlier. Holding her smartphone to her ear, she described her son’s persistent fever and asked, almost in a whisper, for medical advice. On the other end of the line, a licensed physician with Altibbi guided her through basic fever management, warned her which red-flag symptoms to watch, and reassured her that more help was available if needed. For that mother, hundreds of kilometers from Amman’s specialist centers, Altibbi’s 24/7 Arabic-language telemedicine service wasn’t just convenient—it was lifesaving.

It was just before dawn in November 2017 when the generators fell silent in Za’atari. For years, Syrian families in Jordan’s largest refugee camp had lived by the rhythm of rationed electricity—six to eight hours a day after sunset, paid for by UNHCR at a cost of over €450,000 monthly. Then, with the flip of a switch at the inauguration of a 12.9 MW solar photovoltaic plant—the largest ever built in a refugee setting—life in Za’atari changed. Suddenly, lights stayed on through dinner, food could be refrigerated, phones charged, and children had the power to finish homework by lamplight. What was once a landscape lit by diesel fumes now glowed softly under clean, silent sun power.

It was just before dawn in November 2017 when the generators fell silent in Za’atari. For years, Syrian families in Jordan’s largest refugee camp had lived by the rhythm of rationed electricity—six to eight hours a day after sunset, paid for by UNHCR at a cost of over €450,000 monthly. Then, with the flip of a switch at the inauguration of a 12.9 MW solar photovoltaic plant—the largest ever built in a refugee setting—life in Za’atari changed. Suddenly, lights stayed on through dinner, food could be refrigerated, phones charged, and children had the power to finish homework by lamplight. What was once a landscape lit by diesel fumes now glowed softly under clean, silent sun power.

It was just before dawn in November 2017 when the generators fell silent in Za’atari. For years, Syrian families in Jordan’s largest refugee camp had lived by the rhythm of rationed electricity—six to eight hours a day after sunset, paid for by UNHCR at a cost of over €450,000 monthly. Then, with the flip of a switch at the inauguration of a 12.9 MW solar photovoltaic plant—the largest ever built in a refugee setting—life in Za’atari changed. Suddenly, lights stayed on through dinner, food could be refrigerated, phones charged, and children had the power to finish homework by lamplight. What was once a landscape lit by diesel fumes now glowed softly under clean, silent sun power.

Raed al-Saleh was born in 1983 in Jisr ash-Shughur, a town in Syria’s northwestern Idlib Governorate that would soon become the epicenter of conflict. As a child, he witnessed the seeds of civil strife sprout around him—his hometown’s narrow streets and ancient stone bridges providing uneasy passage for both soldiers and refugees. Yet even amid escalating violence, al-Saleh found his calling in service to others, volunteering alongside local neighbors to pack relief parcels and douse fires sparked by errant shell fragments. That instinct to help survive on, eventually propelling him from those makeshift efforts into the formal ranks of Syria Civil Defence—better known to the world as the White Helmets.

Raed al-Saleh was born in 1983 in Jisr ash-Shughur, a town in Syria’s northwestern Idlib Governorate that would soon become the epicenter of conflict. As a child, he witnessed the seeds of civil strife sprout around him—his hometown’s narrow streets and ancient stone bridges providing uneasy passage for both soldiers and refugees. Yet even amid escalating violence, al-Saleh found his calling in service to others, volunteering alongside local neighbors to pack relief parcels and douse fires sparked by errant shell fragments. That instinct to help survive on, eventually propelling him from those makeshift efforts into the formal ranks of Syria Civil Defence—better known to the world as the White Helmets.

Raed al-Saleh was born in 1983 in Jisr ash-Shughur, a town in Syria’s northwestern Idlib Governorate that would soon become the epicenter of conflict. As a child, he witnessed the seeds of civil strife sprout around him—his hometown’s narrow streets and ancient stone bridges providing uneasy passage for both soldiers and refugees. Yet even amid escalating violence, al-Saleh found his calling in service to others, volunteering alongside local neighbors to pack relief parcels and douse fires sparked by errant shell fragments. That instinct to help survive on, eventually propelling him from those makeshift efforts into the formal ranks of Syria Civil Defence—better known to the world as the White Helmets.

Yury Melnichek’s journey begins under the pale light of a Belarusian winter, in a small apartment in Minsk where his earliest memories are of spinning through computer code rather than playground swings. Born in 1983, he would go on to study applied mathematics and informatics at Belarusian State University, graduating in 2005 with honors—and an insatiable curiosity about how software could reshape human experiences. Even then, he sensed that maps, video, and intelligence would be the frontiers of the coming decade.

Yury Melnichek’s journey begins under the pale light of a Belarusian winter, in a small apartment in Minsk where his earliest memories are of spinning through computer code rather than playground swings. Born in 1983, he would go on to study applied mathematics and informatics at Belarusian State University, graduating in 2005 with honors—and an insatiable curiosity about how software could reshape human experiences. Even then, he sensed that maps, video, and intelligence would be the frontiers of the coming decade.

Yury Melnichek’s journey begins under the pale light of a Belarusian winter, in a small apartment in Minsk where his earliest memories are of spinning through computer code rather than playground swings. Born in 1983, he would go on to study applied mathematics and informatics at Belarusian State University, graduating in 2005 with honors—and an insatiable curiosity about how software could reshape human experiences. Even then, he sensed that maps, video, and intelligence would be the frontiers of the coming decade.

She was born Anousheh Raissyan in 1966, under a sky she would one day cross—Mashhad, Iran, during the twilight of the Shah’s reign. Even as a child, she glanced upward with wonder, marveling at the stars she could not name. When the Iranian Revolution erupted in 1979, her family’s world shifted beneath her feet. Gunfire echoed through Tehran’s streets, and young Anousheh found solace in the night sky, dreaming of a future where she might touch the heavens herself.

She was born Anousheh Raissyan in 1966, under a sky she would one day cross—Mashhad, Iran, during the twilight of the Shah’s reign. Even as a child, she glanced upward with wonder, marveling at the stars she could not name. When the Iranian Revolution erupted in 1979, her family’s world shifted beneath her feet. Gunfire echoed through Tehran’s streets, and young Anousheh found solace in the night sky, dreaming of a future where she might touch the heavens herself.

She was born Anousheh Raissyan in 1966, under a sky she would one day cross—Mashhad, Iran, during the twilight of the Shah’s reign. Even as a child, she glanced upward with wonder, marveling at the stars she could not name. When the Iranian Revolution erupted in 1979, her family’s world shifted beneath her feet. Gunfire echoed through Tehran’s streets, and young Anousheh found solace in the night sky, dreaming of a future where she might touch the heavens herself.

In a country where mental health has long remained in the shadows of public discourse, Tawhida Shiropa has emerged as a powerful voice for awareness, empathy, and action. As the founder and CEO of Moner Bondhu, she has dedicated her life to bringing accessible, affordable, and culturally relevant mental health care to underserved communities in Bangladesh, especially garment workers, women, and young people.

In a country where mental health has long remained in the shadows of public discourse, Tawhida Shiropa has emerged as a powerful voice for awareness, empathy, and action. As the founder and CEO of Moner Bondhu, she has dedicated her life to bringing accessible, affordable, and culturally relevant mental health care to underserved communities in Bangladesh, especially garment workers, women, and young people.

In a country where mental health has long remained in the shadows of public discourse, Tawhida Shiropa has emerged as a powerful voice for awareness, empathy, and action. As the founder and CEO of Moner Bondhu, she has dedicated her life to bringing accessible, affordable, and culturally relevant mental health care to underserved communities in Bangladesh, especially garment workers, women, and young people.
