The New Nation - Internet Edition

Mohammed Nawazish

Years roll on and old memories continue to fade away. But the memory of my first acquaintance with Dhaka far back in 1948 when my father was posted to the newly created provincial secretariat lives on with a fair clarity. We came all the way from a sub-divisional town and for a sprightly boy of eight it was an occasion of thrill and adventure to be in such a 'large' town with waves of buildings and people. We were accommodated in a large house in Wari which had a huge compound with lush gardens and fruit bearing trees. Wari was an aristocratic area with rows of single one or two-storey well-maintained buildings adorned with luxuriant gardens and large trees. Metalled roads ran in parallel formation all converging on Madan Mohan Basak road (now Tipu Sultan road) leading to Nawabpur. The entire locality represented a serene and soothing ambience. The railway track to Narayanganj passed by Folder Street that was very close to our Wyre street residence. I often slipped out of the house to watch the whistling trains escaping the vigilant eyes of parents. Dhaka did not have any sanitation and sewerage facility. Obnoxious service latrines were used in most houses and the sweepers regularly cleared the latrines spreading horrible stench from their drum shaped bull carts. But part-time water supply to houses and roadside taps and power supply was regular though the concept of running water in bathrooms was still a distant vision. Streets were lighted with ordinary bulbs under simple shades on running poles. We stored water in a large cemented tank in the front yard and in buckets. The town by and large was clean and tidy.

Our grocery centre was Thatari bazaar. There were some more such big bazaars in the town of which I knew very little. But Nawabpur was definitely the Oxford Street of Dhaka that presented an attractive look with colourful shop lines. Victoria park (later Bahadur Shah park) was perhaps the town centre beyond which, as we were told, were the wholesale markets at Patuatuly, Islampur, Chawkbazaar and some other busy commercial centres we seldom visited. I remember having occasionally gone to Sadarghat on the Buriganga to have a taste of the famous 'Kulfi' and view the legendary cannon installed on the bund road. It was a panoramic view at Sadarghat, boats with sails on and small dinghies skimming over the blue rippling water under a soft river breeze, emerald green village outlines against the azure in the opposite horizon, small shops and hotels, people moving in no hurry many of whom being just casual walkers, it was a place of relaxation for the town folk, not the whirlpool of rude crowded turmoil of today.

Compared to other district headquarters in Bengal, Dhaka was all along a much larger and commercially active town. Even before the Mughals it was a busy trading hub. During 1948, the town limit virtually extended up to Fulbaria railway station as though the rail track from then Hatirpool (now demolished) to Gandaria via Fulbaria set up an informal boundary line. In fact, the town already expanded beyond the railway track and there were quite a few pockets of upscale old residential areas at Gopibagh, Purana Paltan, Azimpur, old Dhanmondi, Orphanage road and the like. The secretariat with one or two buildings and dozens of temporary sheds, the Curzon hall, High Court (old), medical college, race course and the red buildings in Ramna etc all lay in the extended suburb. These were mostly quiet sleepy areas aloof from the bustling town. The suburban extension was chiefly the result of the short-lived partition of Bengal in 1905. Immediately after the independence of British India, a large number of temporary barracks were constructed at Pallasey and Nilkhet to accommodate the bulging number of officials and refugees from India. We used to visit one of our grand mothers at Azimpur Sheikh Sahib Bazar and watch on way these barracks and the newly developed activity centres. My aunt lived in a house on Ramkrishna Mission road. The locality had a cool rural setting and we siblings and cousins used to play in the ritzy flowery lawns of the nearby Rose Garden palace.

Dhaka had narrow but metalled public roads; two-horse box coaches and rickshaws were the principal modes of transport. Cars were scarce, old American and British models were sometimes seen passing with an aura of concealed pride. I was then too young to know about the local inhabitants, their language and special dishes of kebabs and biryani and bakharkhani. My world actually revolved round Wari, St. Gregory's High School where I studied, Sheikh Sahib Bazaar and Ramkrishna Mission Road. Near our school was the Victoria park where hawkers and sales agents crowded with their merchandise and magicians displayed their tricks. The nearby O.K. restaurant with large glass panes and smart turbaned waiters was a piece of special wonder for me though I never ventured a closer look. Another place that attracted me most was the glass-cased showroom of Dienfa Motors located somewhere near the present Gulistan plaza. A cute sports car was displayed that made me sigh if I could own one some day.

Those were the days following a great national upheaval. We had to collect rice, oil and other eatables against ration cards. Even wheat breads were supplied against coupons. The rice was rotten with such a foul odour that we opted for hand-made bread instead. We collected wheat bread from one Humayun hotel somewhere between the rail track and Hatkhola road. My memory never fails when I tell about the marauding hordes of monkeys that came down every morning in separate groups to plunder fruits, vegetables and even food stuff from inside the houses. They were so fearless and free that we hid ourselves whenever a group was seen rampaging around. They cared little even the adult men and snatched things away from their hands. These primates in groups would be seen everywhere in the town. Each group had its leader, a huge robust and ferocious male who scared us even by its presence.

Acute accommodation problem encouraged the government to adopt a veiled policy of forced requisition of houses belonging to minority community. I heard this from elders but am not sure of the real situation and context. One night when we were fast asleep, we woke up hearing a loud outcry from our neighbours who belonged to the minority community. We huddled together to know what happened. By that time it was all silent. In the morning we came to know that the inmates of the house were forced to vacate the ground floor as that part had been requisitioned. They were lodged upstairs. We learned later that the non-Bengalee refugees spearheaded the nocturnal invasion. I was too young to know or inquire if entering one's house at that unearthly hour was legally right or wrong.

We had a short stay in Dhaka on that occasion as my father was transferred to a district. It was still shadowy in the pre-morning haze when the train slowly pulled out of Fulbaria. The parting was painful and we remained unusually calm as the town was slowly disappearing from view. Little did I know that it would be another seven years before I would come back to the same town to observe down the chain of eventful years its speedy transformation to a sparkling megalopolis of concrete mass with a clumsy cobweb of roads and lanes filled with thousands of turbulent vehicles and a reeling population touching the ten million mark. My small Dhaka is lost with the small boy but, then, change is life, change is progress.