• By: RIYANKA
• Feb 25, 2025
• (1) Comments

5:30 PM in Dhaka, Bangladesh

5:30 PM in Dhaka, Bangladesh, was the time when noise and chaos were at their peak. Stepping out of the house, I walked down a narrow lane, passing by the Eidgah Masjid. The Maghrib azan echoed from vintage horn speakers – chonga, as they called them in Bangla, steel cones that amplified the prayer in a nostalgic, almost surreal way.

I kept walking, crossing the road from Shahjadpur and turning toward Gulshan. The azan blended into the honking of cars and the screech of rickshaws. Traffic was at a standstill, and office crowds flooded the streets, all heading home.

The lane ahead narrowed even more. On either side, hawkers sold everything, from fruits to phuchka (a popular street snack of crisp fried flour balls filled with spicy water). The crowd thickened. Cars were jammed, and there was hardly space to walk.

The honking grew louder, sharper, and more unbearable. Desperate to escape, I hopped on a rickshaw. “Gulshan, koto nebe?” (How much will you charge?) I asked, bracing myself for the reply. “Trish taka,” (Thirty Bangladeshi taka) the rickshaw puller said gruffly. I glanced at Google Maps – it was only 150 meters. A red line appeared on the screen, reminding me of the gridlock. Frustrated but no better option, I shoved my phone into my bag and waited.

Five minutes, ten minutes. The rickshaw didn’t move an inch. My phone rang. It was Jishu, my friend whom I was meeting in Gulshan. He was also stuck in traffic, and we agreed to change plans. The new destination was North End Café in Shahabuddin Ahmed Park. I paid the rickshaw puller, and he nodded grumpily.

I stepped down, weaving through the congested lane, dodging stuck BMWs and Mercedes that seemed just as helpless as I felt.

Google Maps showed 750 meters to the park, yet another red line. My headache started to creep in, and a dull buzz built up around my neck.

Dhaka’s infamous traffic felt alive, pulsating through my nerves. “They’re right, this has to be the worst in the world,” I muttered under my breath.

As I walked, the azan faded, and the sun dipped below the horizon. For someone like me, who loved chasing sunsets, the grey dusk felt unusually depressing. “Where are the colors? The pinks, the scarlets, the crimsons…” I mumbled to myself, distracted until I spotted an auto.

“Shahabuddin Ahmed Park jabe?” (Will you go to Shahabuddin Ahmed Park?) I asked the driver. He gestured for me to hop in. “Sho taka lagbe,” (I’ll charge 100 bucks) he said with a cheeky smile. We both knew it was overpriced, but I was in no mood to haggle. I climbed in, preparing myself for the bumpy ride ahead.

At a speed of 60 km per hr, he zipped through the chaos, moving left and right with one hand on the horn. He swerved onto pavements, almost about to hit a man on his cycle, and jolted the vehicle with every pothole. My stomach churned, and the headache sharpened, radiating down my neck and spine.

I felt nauseous. I thought if I should get down.

And with a sharp jerk, he finally stopped. “Pouche gachen, apa,” (We’ve reached, sister) he said, flashing a smile as he opened the tiny door. For a moment, I sat frozen, numb from the noise and motion. I handed him 100 taka, and he sped off, disappearing into the traffic.

“Why did you pay 100? That should’ve been 40!” my friend exclaimed as I reached the park gate. I smiled faintly, brushing off his protests.

We walked into Shahabuddin Ahmed Park, and the scene changed entirely. Tall trees surrounded a serene lake, birds chirping in the distance while finding their way home. The chaos of the streets dissolved. My headache faded as if the noise had never existed.

At a distance, I saw the warm lights of North End Café. We walked for another few minutes while I was completely lost in thought. We stepped inside, and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around me like a comforting hug. The stress of the journey melted away, as I knew I had good company and a café mocha to enjoy the rest of the evening.

(If you have some time, you can also read this beautiful article by Michael Hobbes: Welcome to the traffic capital of the world)