The urinal chronicles of Dhaka

Every afternoon, as I set out for work, I relish a leisurely kilometre-long stroll from the metro station to my office.

It's my daily moment of zen, a chance to clear my mind, to bask in the usual hubbub of the city, and practise the ancient art of holding my breath.

Why hold my breath, you ask? Because two sacred points along my otherwise uncluttered footpath have been transformed into open-air urinals.

These spots seem to have earned the reverence of the city's pious pee-ple as a public utility.

Now, I'm no expert, but the Cambridge Dictionary tells me that a urinal is "a device, usually attached to a wall, into which men can urinate."

In Dhaka, however, that definition warrants a localised revision, "A public urinal is any reasonably hidden–or not–spot that nature and a man's bladder deem fit."

Walls are optional.

All you need is a vague semblance of cover, a slight incline for drainage, and a total disregard for everyone else's sensory experience.

You get bonus points if your activity coincides with rush hour, ensuring maximum visibility and minimal dignity.

Of course, I'd be remiss to place the blame solely on these brave men marking their territory.

Public toilets do exist, but let's be real–they are few and far between, and filthy enough to make a haunted house look inviting.

And, they charge a fee–pocket change for some, but a luxury for many. For a low-income worker, the Tk5 charged at urinals are better spent on chai than flushing their dignity away.

So, what's a desperate soul to do?

Faced with a bursting bladder and an urban jungle that offers no reprieve, the street corner becomes a sanctuary.

Meanwhile, it's the rest of us who pay the price. Every whiff is a bouquet of neglect, wafting up to remind us of the infrastructural chasm between what's needed and what's provided.

But instead of dwelling solely on the problem I tried figuring out some solutions!

Could we install odour-activated sprinklers at these hotspots? A gentle spray-back might deter even the most determined roadside urinators.

Or perhaps motion-activated speakers blaring recorded lectures on public decency? Nothing inspires self-reflection like a condescending voice booming, "Oi! This isn't a toilet!"  

Still, given how much we, as a culture, have evolved to ignore instructions, I'm hard-pressed to believe this might work.

For some of the more optimistic among us, there's always the dream of urban reform.

What if public restrooms were free, spotless, and strategically located?

What if they were maintained with the same enthusiasm that some people display when parking their cars on busy roads?

What if people actually used them?  

Until then, I'll keep holding my breath, trying not to get hit by incoming traffic as I avoid the "public urinal" hotspots by walking on the road.

It's all part of the charm of living in a city where every street corner is a reminder that humanity's greatest adversary might just be its bladder.

The following is a piece of humour and should be viewed as such