Sense & Insensibility
Can Dhaka learn a few things from Chittagong?
LET'S talk about Chittagong today for a change. Those who live there permanently may not perceive the unique character of the city, but those who go from the capital would agree that away from the madness that is Dhaka, Chittagong is as blissful as a sanctuary. Overstatement? Maybe. But you have to agree that it is calmer. It is cleaner. It has managed to retain most of its original features. On top of it all, it has warmth.
Regrettably, Dhaka lacks all these. Dhaka has no character, not anymore. Today it looks as ugly as gangrene on the body of one infected with skin disease. Today, Dhaka's air, water, and earth have turned into poison. But why is it so? What has gone wrong with Dhaka? Why has Dhaka lost its features, its uniqueness, its style, its flavour?
The answer is: Dhaka belongs to no one. That is why no one loves Dhaka. That is why everyone who comes from outside bites deep into its flesh, like a hungry hyena, and takes a slice off the body of Dhaka. They make it big in Dhaka and then go off to the US or elsewhere. Today, Dhaka is a sick city -- but who cares?
Ok, let's go back to Chittagong and see what's so special about this small city, at least in my eyes. A visit of a mere four days, touring all the major areas of the city, seeing the rain and sunshine coming almost simultaneously, seeing the wide road circles with the corners rounded off, hearing very little honking of unmannered drivers, experiencing almost no dust and dirt on the roads and finding only a few potholes there, made me wonder: am I in a city in Bangladesh?
There is more. The glaringly odd billboards surrounding the hills are not there anymore. Now, the hills look as sombre and yet as enchanting as before, except for some shops that the administration has allowed to come up at the foot, thereby spoiling the beauty to some extent. It is alleged that the DC Hill lost some of its beauty when some shops were built at the foot.
It happened because of underhand deals of some vested groups in the DC office. Will the respected DC please look into the matter and make sure that no one cuts an inch of the millennia-old hills any further. He should also remove the shops and fill the vacant space with earth. No one has the right to tamper with what God has given us. Thank you.
To be candid, I have noticed more order, discipline, and respect shown by motorists and passers-by to one another on the streets of Chittagong than what people show here in Dhaka. No one bumped against me or pushed me away with a rough shove of the shoulders as I walked the streets.
Even the local boys walk around or squat in popular spots like the circles of GEC More or Cheragi Pahar and elsewhere in a decent manner. I did not find anyone passing indecent remarks or making noises at girls as they passed by.
The roads of Chittagong seemed safer to walk by or ride by on a rickshaw. There are minibuses but not a single one was seen to be going at breakneck speed. They drove by in an orderly manner, and surprisingly, none looked bad enough to cause an accident any moment. Definitely, there was no mad racing to overtake one another as we regularly see on Dhaka roads.
Socially, as I met and talked with people from all walks of life, there was order and discipline, and people showed respect to the elders, even at times of disputes. As a result, even today many conflicts are settled through salish or arbitration. In the restaurants I did not notice any mastani attitude by young hoodlums like flexing of muscles or using abusive language.
A policeman, surprisingly, was respected by the jaywalkers and CNG drivers. Oh, talking of CNGs, I noticed that from Jubilee Road I could go to almost every important part of the city for Tk. 30. No driver misbehaved or argued with the passenger for extra money. They would not go on the meter rate but at the same time would not ask an absurd amount. They would even take a passenger a shorter distance for a mere twenty taka note!
I have to talk a little more Chittagong city roads as I have a few more points to make. I noticed that the construction of the roads and the materials used made the surface much stronger than what we see in Dhaka. As a result, even after days of incessant rain, Chittagong roads looked as good as before. How was it possible? In Dhaka, on the other hand, roads turn into death traps with numerous potholes and large cracks after a few inches of rain.
It seemed to me that very small gravels with better binding agent were used to construct the roads in Chittagong. But in Dhaka, we notice large pebbles are laid on the roads and a very thin patch of tar is used on top. Very naturally after one rain the pebbles lose the bonding, especially when heavy vehicles run over them. It is but an eyewash for road construction. So my suggestion is, the road engineers of Dhaka should go and learn a few tricks from their Chittagong counterparts. Or is it that road engineers of Chittagong are less greedy? Worth a little research indeed!
I don't know much about the law and order situation, especially what transpires late in the nights. But I have seen women and men going by CNG or cycle-rickshaw as late as 11:30 without looking too worried. I have been informed of a few cases of snatching and hijacking in the late and early hours, but many of the gangs have been apprehended by Rab and the police in recent times.
In many places in Chittagong, the past still clings on in sheer desperation. It seems like the Chittagong people do have respect for their past glory and heritage. And that is why they continue to preserve old buildings and heritage sites. And that is why they continue to fight for the old court building. They consider it a part of their life. I met Mr. Akhtar Kabir Chowdhury, advocate and special public prosecutor, Nari O Shishu Nirjatan Daman Tribunal-1. He told me how they have been fighting to preserve the old court buildings.
The quiet and clean ambience of Chittagong would tempt many to decide to live there on a permanent basis. I would not blame them. There is something in Chittagong that pulls one to it, just as Odysseus felt the pull from the island of the sirens on his journey to Ithaca after the Trojan War.
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