Lost and found: Remembering Dhaka
Dhaka is a juxtaposition of its old and new selves; its identity is forever etched on the pages of history as the city that brings people together
Sometimes, when I am stuck in traffic amidst the chaotic rush hour, I look around at the towering buildings seemingly jostling each other and see how, like humans, cities too are weighed down by the expectations placed on them.
Dhaka is like a canvas that accumulates an intricate tapestry of experiences. With decades, this canvas has evolved with contrasting strokes that depict the city's compelling blend of utopian aspirations and dystopian realities.
Walking through the bustling streets of Dhaka feels like a living, breathing storybook, and every thoroughfare is a stage where the diverse narratives of people living in this fast-paced metropolis unfold.
I have so many memories of growing up in Dhaka as a 90s kid, and despite the occasional political turmoil at that time, the city felt much simpler and more spacious and less crowded, allowing for more breathing space.
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The iconic red double-decker buses navigating the streets of Dhaka were a mesmerising sight to watch; additionally, the craze for Mimi chocolates and Mr Twist chips added to the unique and nostalgic essence of my memories of the late 90s and 2000s.
Dhaka is the hub of memories of its lost citizens, of its cultural ambiguity and otherness. It's a city that has learnt to rebuild, reinvent, and re-establish its identity from the ground up, all while shouldering the emotional burdens of its past.
Dhaka today, however, stands as the unwavering voice for millions of its oppressed citizens. It's not just a place but a representation of its people, those who take to the streets in defiance, advocating for their fundamental rights.
The spirit of Dhaka reverberates through the melody of 'Tirish bochor' sung by Haider Hossain, creating a powerful resonance as students march together in a display of solidarity for their rights.
In my post-colonial class, I came across a term called Orientalism (Pantheon Book, 1978) coined by Edward Said, an eminent postcolonial author. This concept of his refers to how "the other," or what is often called the Orient, is typically viewed through a Western lens—as a mysterious and backward region or body that needs to be civilised.
When I apply this theory to today's Dhaka, I have observed its evolving identity moving from the Orient to the occident. The city, which was once a symbol of the Orient under British colonial rule and was viewed as the other by West Pakistan, has now transformed into its role, adopting an internalised orientalist mindset, which plays out in many of its policies and social attitudes toward Indigenous communities and minority populations.
One such example would be the people of the Chittagong hill tracts, who are often perceived by Bengalis as exotic or peripheral. And this mindset is rooted in the othering process that orientalism promotes, seeing local cultures as different or outside the mainstream Bangladeshi identity.
This othering framework is also evident in the struggle of Dhaka's identity underneath the shadow of resistance, as the idealistic promises of change have often resulted in the same oppressive system, one where the elites enjoy the fruit of development while others are crushed under the rubble of rapid urbanisation.
This shift influences Dhaka's political and social fabric, echoing colonial patterns of exclusion and control, and yet my Dhaka is as resilient as its people. It has the power to defy all odds and welcome people of all castes, religions, and genders.
Even though the city appears to be wrestling with its ability to gracefully age with time—a struggle catapulted by ever-present pollutants, price hikes, recurring floods, and the excessive number of posters that obscure the beauty of the city—it has still managed to create a sense of home for its people.
When I delve into stories of partition and migration in South Asian literature, I often imagine cities as silent observers that were also impacted by their historical changes. Dhaka has witnessed the ebb and flow of its humans; with each political turmoil, the city too has been thrust into the crucible of change; it too had to battle the riots of hate and grapple with its burden of emotional turmoil with both fear and resilience.
In "The Shadow Lines" by Amitav Ghosh, the character of Thamma emerges as the poignant portrayal of a refugee who has lived through the diasporic journey of being forcibly uprooted because of her Hindu origin from her birthplace, Dhaka, then East Pakistan.
Her character represents all those people who had to migrate from a place they once called home and simultaneously come to terms with the fact that they might not ever come back to the land as its citizens.
Cities, like individuals, also undergo the difficult task of confronting the daunting task of leaving their humans behind; they too grapple back and forth between the alienation and acceptance from their native humans and of their adopted citizens, respectively.
Whenever I look out of the plane windows onto the landscape of the city, I feel a profound sense of belonging, a feeling that can seldom be described in words. This decade-old historical city has been called many things, from selfish to rude to unjust, but at the heart of this city lies a patient old Dhaka, whose roots are no longer able to hold onto the ground.
It continues to seek freedom, one that will give it hope to embrace its identity, free from the chains of past and present perceptions and ever-changing political narratives that do not define it. This Dhaka is tired and anxious but not beaten.
My Dhaka is a juxtaposition of its old and new selves; its identity is forever etched on the pages of history as the city that brings people together, a place that is alive in the hearts of countless individuals transcending borders, and its source of energy is the lives that the city harbours.
Sonan Tabindah is a contributor.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.
