It’s been more than a decade since I have moved in Dhaka. Since then, I have spent only a few days away from Dhaka, and it has become such that I feel more comfortable at Dhaka than anywhere else. Which is ironic because there is so much about this city that irks me.

Every festival in Dhaka feels vibrant and full of life. The city embraces every celebration with warmth and enthusiasm. But Eid is different. It is a festival that calls people to be with their families, friends, and loved ones.

With Eid right around the corner, the rush of homebound people has begun. Regardless of your choice of transport, you will encounter a number of “characters” on your journey, and it’s not negotiable.

The word "Farash" means French and "ganj" means market, and hence, the name of the locality stands as a testimony of the French people and their businesses in Dhaka during the olden times.

Last Friday I realised something maddening: our once‑famous Bangalee addas -- those spirited gatherings that felt like cultural performances, a way of living -- now stand fractured and quiet.

Have you ever realised that we are slowly forgetting the essence of Dhaka, especially those regular things we once used to start our day with?

There are certain places in Dhaka that now exist less as actual locations and more as long, emotionally charged stories older generations refuse to stop telling. Aziz Super Market is one of them.

A curious detail regarding all this involves one tikiya-maker.

If you live in Dhaka and are not from around here, chances are you had to look for an apartment one time or another. Apartment hunting in Dhaka is a special kind of punishment.

My grandmother-in-law watched the cult Bangla cinema Shujan Shukhi eight times in the halls of Narayanganj, back when she lived in a wooden two-storied bungalow -- the downstairs serving as her husband’s gaddi, his office and business hub.

I found myself back on Bailey Road with my friends last weekend, after what felt like ages. Joining us was Anisul Haque, a friend’s better half and the celebrated writer who makes pop culture look effortlessly stylish.

Dhaka has a love-hate relationship with rain. The city desperately craves rain, yet remains poorly equipped to handle the downpour when it does come.

Before I start, let me acknowledge something our beloved Dhaka does with unsettling efficiency: it turns almost anything into a competition.

A tree toppled during the recent nor’wester is being cleared away from Ramna Park.***

Like the song “Summer Nights” from the ’80s blockbuster “Grease”, I keep humming my own parody these days: Summer lovin’, had me a headache.

The Liberation War Museum has recently hosted a special screening of the documentary “The 1971 War: In the Eyes of Pakistanis”, an emotional exploration of the 1971 genocide through the realisations and reactions of the Pakistani people.

For Lubna Marium, acclaimed dancer and choreographer, reviving her grandmother Rahat Ara Begum’s literary legacy has been a pilgrimage.

Now that the hullabaloo of Pahela Baishakh is over, the festival colours have yet to fade.

In 1930s colonial Dhaka, bed tea was the first act of waking life.

You must be reading the heading and thinking -- since when did Bangladesh quietly enter the Tesla-importing business, and more importantly, what does any of that have to do with Dhaka traffic?