Have we ever stopped to wonder when the ATM machines refill themselves? Or who stocks the shelves of our favourite stores before we walk in the morning?

Recently, I drove to Subal Das Lane in Lalbagh to try the latest breakfast craze that has captivated Dhaka in the metaverse: Siddiqui bhai’s Nihari.

Walk down the lanes of Old Dhaka today and it is hard to imagine that the city once revolved around a single building -- Dhaka Fort. Back in 1610, when Islam Khan, the Mughal subahdar of Bengal, shifted his capital here, the fort was the nerve centre of Mughal power.

As a painter, he was larger than life. Baseer entered art school not out of a passion for the creative field, but he was on a mission, a role he undertook as a sign of political allegiance to the leftist movement.

Before the sun rises over Dhaka’s Korail slum, many mothers set out early for a long day of work, carrying the unspoken worry of who will care for their children while they are away.

There are thousands of people in Dhaka, each living a different life. But a few things are constant for all. Apart from the unavoidable traffic and the signal at Bijoy Sarani, their love-hate relationship with rain unites most of them.

Recent tragedies in Bangladesh have brought to our attention the urgency to recognise the need for mental trauma healing.

Long before Dhaka became a noisy sprawl of rickshaws, traffic, and concrete, it was a quieter, more graceful place. One posing for a German man with a camera and a keen eye for elegance.

I have never been to the legendary Beauty Boarding in Shiris Das Lane, Bangla Bazar. I know, it is an unpardonable offense, and I should probably be denied my self-proclaimed title as a Dhaka-know-all.

There’s something about rain in Dhaka. It doesn’t come politely. It arrives in sheets, in sideways gusts, soaking your bag, your back, and your plans. But once you let go of the instinct to rush for shelter, there’s a certain honesty to it -- the kind that peels off layers. You notice the city differently when it’s wet and slow.

When you’re on the streets of Dhaka, perhaps idly sitting in the backseat of a vehicle, if you take a minute to stop doom-scrolling and stare out through the windows, you will more than likely see drama unfolding before your eyes!

The latest go-to place in Dhaka is “At the Table”, a food court at the crossroads of Moghbazar Mor and Eskaton, towards Bangla Motor. This intersection is one of the most chaotic and busiest in the city, making it an unlikely place for an upmarket food court.

Let’s put the spotlight on the city’s odd-jobbers and handymen -- people who take care of our household disasters.

What to do this monsoon, when Dhaka is in a shroud of either oppressive heat or unbearable humidity? Lest we forget the sudden showers, heavy rains, or a light, breezy drizzle? However, the unpredictability of the Dhaka monsoon should not be a killjoy. Instead, fill your weekend calendar with pleasurable activities if you know where the fun is.

Leaving the humid weather under the sweltering sun and entering the atrium full of chatter, noises of elevators and escalators, soft ambient music, and most importantly, the cool air with hints of perfume -- welcome to the Dhaka mall.

I once watched a documentary series featuring abandoned widows of the Hindu sect seeking refuge in Varanasi, India.

Before we delve into the story of the first motor car in Dhaka, it’s worth exploring an earlier question: When did four-wheelers first appear on the city’s roads?

Dhaka still surprises me; can you believe that? Born and brought up in this city, I think I am a true ambassador of the town -- a little eccentric, a tad bit politically volatile, and very angry for no good reason.

The backstreets of Baridhara Diplomatic Zone and Baridhara DOHS, known as Kalachandpur, are an energetic and vibrant neighbourhood that unfortunately suffers from an identity crisis.

Dhaka has its own noise. Along with it, it also has its own rush, distractions and plenty of dust. But if you pause for just a moment, you’ll see that this city also has its quiet pockets! Its little moments of stillness, almost like unsung poetry!