Hai. Onig onig doh noh baad.

2nd Full Day in Dhaka.

Woke up to the monsoon. We met Sonet and the driver outside the hotel at 9am. Jumped right into the traffic mess of Sunday. I still get excited to see the chaos of the Dhaka. It has energy and life unlike any other city I've been too. I try to take a few pictures, but of course they'll only capture one dimension of the moment.



We drove deep into Old Dhaka. The streets narrowed. The ground isn’t paved. Huge puddles form from the rain.


First museum. Closed. Second stop was a salmony pink building. Ahsan Manzil Museum. Political mansion turned museum. We wandered through the hallways looking at portraits of politicians and poked our heads into the guest bedroom. Outside it was still raining, but we took pictures anyway.




Rain splattered in through the open windows, but it was too hot to keep them closed. The traffic was worse than L.A. during rush hour. Bumper to bumper, rickshaw to rickshaw. We didn’t move. I took the opportunity to take pictures.



We drove through the University of Dhaka campus. It was unlike any university campus I had ever visited. No neatly trimmed quads or crisp architecturally matching buildings. Soldiers with old rifles milling around, goats eating things, and children begging everywhere. We stopped at the memorial to martyrs who died protecting Bengali from Pakistan, who wanted to change the language to Urdu. We were flocked at all angles by begging children. I was in an energetic mood due to being cooped up in the van while the world was passing us by. So I shook the outstretched hands of the children. They tried to hide their giggles as they gave me their hands again hoping for a few taka. This time I took their hands and spun them around. I did this again and again. Children are children and love to play. Then they hung onto my arms and I tried to haul them all around the courtyard. When I was done playing I told them charro and reluctantly they left me alone (especially when the armed guard walked toward them).

It was food time. At the Star Hotel we ordered some kachhi biriyani and washed our hands. They gave us forks because we were foreigners, but we whipped out our right hands and dug in. Greasy rice and goat meat are usually things I don’t scoop up with my fingers, but I have to admit, it tasted better that way. We washed our hands before some firni, a rice pudding, which we did eat with a spoon.

After hours in traffic we arrived at the small mall. Exchanged dollars to taka. The Bangladeshi CD I bought cost more than Rustin’s Coldplay CD. I asked the guy at the counter why that would be. He told me frankly in flawless English that mine was authentic, but Rustin’s was pirated. Fair enough, I said, handing over the 60 taka (less than 1 US dollar)



Next, we stopped at a Hindu Temple. I had seen one before. We took off our shoes and wandered around awkwardly taking pictures.


Sonet didn't know too much about Hindu, so we ceased our incessant questioning. The rain pitter pattered outside.



My dad had suggested that I visit Aarong. Aarong is a store that provides local Bangladeshi artists a way to sell their products to a wider consumer base. Sonet was weary of it, saying it would cost more. And it did. And it was a four-story department store. I didn't find what I was looking for.

On our way to a big mall, we stopped for pictures of the Parliament. It was designed by Louis Kahn and every Bangladeshi person that we talked to said that we should visit it. After a few pictures of the geometric building, I almost talked my way into the heavily guarded complex. But the guards were unwilling. They said we needed to get permission from the American Embassy. Sonet gave us an idea of what was happening in Bangladeshi politics. Apparently the political leaders are very corrupt. They get rich by stealing from the people. Recently they were all arrested and are now in jail. But they won’t be there for long. Until they get out though, some army officials have taken office. That’s why security is a little tighter these days.

A little way down the road we stopped to walk through a park. People were out and about and strained their eyes to get a better view of us. In the middle of the park was an elaborate tomb of a former president. Kids ran up behind us, but I had learned my lesson from the memorial courtyard and ignored them.

We pulled up at the big mall. Why? Ok. I think that Bangladeshi women are beautiful and wear the most amazing clothes. They tend to be very brightly colored and flowing. Even before I got here, I was determined to buy some clothes. I was told that what I was after was a 3-piece outfit: pants (or trousers), a shirt and a scarf. We walked into the 8-story mall and I was blown away. Everything was modern. Escalators, shop after shop after shop of clothes, fountains, palm trees. I was overwhelmed with options. At each shop they had hundreds of clothes. The problem was that they sold the 3-piece outfit as a set. You couldn’t mix and match. So, I found that I liked the shirt of one outfit, but didn’t like the pants. After a while, I threw my hands up in defeat.

So we went to the food court for a snack. “All the girls love fushka” Sonet tells me. Bring it on. Out came little crispy shells with some kind of chickpeas-like food inside, covered in onions and chilis. We poured some sauce over it and it was awesome! I could have eaten them all day!!! This girl approves.

With my new found energy, I dive into shopping mode with new vigor. They pull out outfit after outfit and I shake my head at each one. Too glittery, too plain, the colors don’t match, to gaudy, too… But then- I see it. It’s pretty. And blue. I try it on. I like it. Bargain the price down to 1,700 taka. We waste 20 minutes while it is being altered.




In celebration, we go to the smaller mall near our guesthouse to smoke some shesha. Two apple flavor. That pretty much does me in because when I get back to the guesthouse, I fall fast asleep.