Went for a random walk around Dhaka during the 3 hour curfew break.
Mirpur Road
Rickshas initially rare commodity, could not find any empties.

Near our house, the flood refugee’s child was being held up by the mother as he took a s***. A liquid stream of light yellow forming a quick pool under him. He obviously has diarrhoea, as do many in the city. WASA pipes have broken at places and there is literally poisoned water being pumped into homes. ICDDR,B over-run with patients. The pavement is as good a place as any.

Near Kalabagan, a woman is giving a fiery, four engine, double blast jhari to her husband. Their four halfnaked children cowering near his feet. He looks completely cowed. Bangali naari ragle je dangerous jhaaj, durdondo pratap, I pray I never cross one of them.

Stop Sign
At Shukrabad, two police officers are idling and talking to a civillian. The civvy seems to be a friend. He is saying: “Bujhsen boier oi patha ta ultai gelo, kinthu oi patha tai abar hawa ultaiya feroth niya aise.” I want to stay and hear more of what he has to stay, but I really don’t want to idle near police today.

At Manik Mia, one of the armored police cars is open while the men rest outside. They seem relaxed. This is the first time I have seen the interior. Inside there are tall black seats like on a deluxe bus. They look quite comfortable although I imagine actually they are not. Imagine being inside that on a blistering hot day.

Poster
I was supposed to meet a friend. I am twenty minutes late. Because all cell phone networks were shut off as soon as curfew lifted (clever move, that one), no way to tell him I am late. Isn’t it interesting that the dependence we have developed on mobiles in last ten years is such that you can control populations just by toggling the on/off switch. I am sure people had informal modes of communication before mobiles that helped organize, but over-dependence on this device has made other channels withered. Now when we get no network, we are paralyzed. I heard a person complain they could not tell their parents they were ok, but how did people do it before?

Poor grameen/ak/warid/etc must be going nuts. Running all these ads with competing rates [1 taka bish poisha….amra ekhon 1 taka 15 poisha….zahi postpaid…20 ti FnF, jotho kushi khan..stella chole esheche dhaka’e…desh desh desh…montu’ke ektu search koro tho] and yet their networks are shutting down in a blink. Funnily enough with so many shops shuttered, those that have the grameen blue or banglalink orange are getting maximum exposure. But I don’t think this is what they had in mind.

Cricket
I finally meet my friend. He has been patiently waiting this whole time, in the time of no mobiles. But in this heat, he has a scarf around his neck.
“Kinthu thor golae gamcha keno? Ey gorome?”
“Na, amar chool lomba tho, abar jodi military dhore chool kete dei.”
“Are ota korbe keno?”
“January the tho korechilo.”
Ok, and I suppose with the two of us now getting on a motorcycle, we’ll be even more of a target.

But actually in the end no one bothers us. A few circles around Shangshad Bhavan (taking full advantage of empty streets to do a full throttle), then up to Rangs Bhavan (now fully dessicated and only with the skeleton standing).

People are walking and going about their business. Moving purposefully to get to their destination, eye on the clock. I suppose everyone got used to this crisis routine in Dhaka city, over the last one year. Now it returns.

Army on SatMasjid
At some point we go by Agora, a mad rush inside, and the gates are closed. Long lines of people at the cash machine. I go into another small department store, and the crush of people is unbelievable. Everyone moving very fast, all looking for essential items. I may be the only person who has come in for a luxury item like juice. One bidesh-feroth dhongi says to another, “Did you imagine you would ever see Bangladesh like this?” Shut up you idiot, I think to myself, this is not being staged for the benefit of your summer vacation. But I’m being unfair, that accent could just as easily be from Wills Little Flower as it could be from New Jersey. A boy starts pulling his mother, drawing her towards the chocolates, but her eyes are firmly fixed on the essentials. The line is too long, to hell with my Pran juice. As I walk out empty handed, I hear a voice yell, “bhai, sausage ache, sausage?”

sausage…Superstore gulo Bangali’r matha kheyeche.

Badamwala
We finally decide to come back to Sat Masjid Rd and survey the damage. Four Seasons burnt to a husk, Xindian, Café Kozmo attacked. But actually the damage not as widespread as I had feared. But how did they manage to burn Seasons so completely?

We park the bike and walk. Nothing going on, nothing to see. As we near BDR camp, a platoon of soldiers march past, in slow file. I don’t know ranks, but these seem very junior. I spot a Pahari/Chakma soldier among them. Hey, that’s not something you see every day. Possibly riot duty in Dhaka is the only work a Chakma soldier will be trusted with. Or am I being harsh. Do I have to bring politics into everything.

People have stopped walking, they wait for the soldiers to pass. Not so nonchalant after all. Everyone is a bit on edge. But so are the soldiers. For a moment I imagine they are as scared of us, as we of them. Is this what they imagined they would be doing, when they signed up?