The labyrinth of Dhaka’s roads

Renowned Bengali novelist Tarashankar Bandopadhyay ended his much acclaimed novel, Panchagram, hoping that roads would be well-built and smooth so that the future generations can walk to the future, building the villages and nations with ease. The novel was written back in 1944, but that has not materialised even today.

The roads have not been made smooth. It is nothing new for sudden potholes to pop up intermittently on apparently good roads in Dhaka. In fact, regular commuters in the capital would say they cannot traverse even two kilometres of road at a stretch without ruts and rough spots.

Even the daredevil motorcyclists fear picking up speed, given the pathetic state of the roads.

Sometimes, office commuters are jolted out of their doze or chitchat on the bus, as the bus driver slams on the brakes. What happened? They may shout at the driver angrily, but he has actually saved their lives. A deep hole had appeared on the road out of nowhere. It simply should not have been there! It wasn’t there even the day before!

“Hmmm,” quietly mutters a seasoned commuter, quite unmoved by the sudden jerk, “What’s there to fuss about so much? This is just a regular occurrence.” And he’s back to his snooze.

Likewise, walking on pavements can be considered a supernatural experience in the capital, maybe paranormal too! You have no idea from which of the 10 sides a biker would appear on the pavement with an ear shattering horn. It’s ‘lucky’ that Dhaka city is so full of noises that this sound is just a part of the deafening cacophony. As is the offending horn is not enough, the biker would even rebuke you for not hearing his horn and making way for him to zoom down the pavement rather than the roads. Pedestrians be damned!

It it’s not a biker blocking the roads, it’s construction site material. Then again, a slab of stone or concrete can come flying from above to hit persons. You may be extremely cautious or a daydreamer writing poems in your head, but nothing prepares you for the hazards on the pavement.

You will see another amazing thing: people crossing thoroughfares so languidly you might mistakenly think he is walking in the backyard of his village home. There are opposite pictures also. Some others make a 100-metre sprint in front speeding buses as if he will surely miss a medal if he doesn’t go to the other side of the road before the bus or private car passes by. Many persons will shout against that and yet do the very same as a team at the next turn of the road.

You will face another wonderful thing while walking on pavements in some areas of the capital city. Around three-feet high cement pillars are set up across the footpath at one foot intervals. The authorities have built those so the bikers can’t come up onto the pavements. But that’s only in ‘sacred’ places only of the exclusive elite. At other places, one can move as one wish. And the bikers smirk happily as the pillars gradually break and crumble, opening their way to the pavements once more.

At a few places of the pavement, there are rivulets, not of life-saving water though. Those are made by people who do not think twice about urinating in public. There is no shame for a person, even a suited one, to relieve his bladder in the presences of hundreds of passers-by. They too are spitting with little care for their surroundings.

Thousands of people flock to the capital ever year to earn their living, and strangely many of them even fall in love with this multifaceted city called Dhaka.