From the outside, it is easy to mistake Cox’s Bazar Railway Station for an airport. The giant curved canopy, supported by inclined columns, gives the glass building the look of a seashell. In front of the facade is a wide, round fountain with a large white oyster sculpture, a perfect reminder that I am in the popular beach town in southern Bangladesh.
Passengers arriving by battery- and gas-powered three-wheelers stream through double swing glass doors into the magnificent six-storey edifice. Made of marble and granite, the ground floor has a predominantly sandy tone. To the right is the lounge with rows of blue chairs arranged for tandem seating, while the curved ticket counter to the left has glass-panelled booths, with a flat-screen television hanging above each of them.
There is much more than I can see from the atrium. A directory board says the upper floors have shops, restaurants, night stay rooms, and a multipurpose hall, but those have not been opened yet. High above in the ceiling, where I have to crane my neck to look, natural light filters in through glass panels.
This place is undeniably grand and elegant, evoking an exceptionally modern feel. Yet, I am irresistibly drawn to the nostalgic charm of the classic British-era stations that sleek glass cannot provide.
If given the choice, I would promptly choose to spend an afternoon exploring the arched, red-brick buildings at Santahar or Lalmonirhat station instead of admiring the latest architectural splendours here in Cox’s Bazar.
But my liking does not change the fact that Cox’s Bazar station is a big tourist attraction in and of itself. Since its inauguration in November 2023, it has attracted a steady stream of visitors from far and near. It has also received a high degree of media hype and been repeatedly advertised as Bangladesh’s first iconic station.
In different corners of the station, people pose and smile for pictures and videos. Stepping on the terracotta-coloured, patterned platform after exiting the lounge, I see scattered passengers standing, chatting, and looking for their respective carriages of the Cox’s Bazar Express, which I will board to travel to Dhaka. The amount of baggage and the types of outfits indicate that most passengers are tourists.
The exterior of the Cox’s Bazar Express carriages is green, with red and white stripes along the top and the bottom. The stewards standing at the entrances are well-groomed in navy blue blazers, sky blue shirts, red ties, navy blue pants, and black loafers. One of them helps a young male passenger leaning against a carriage snap a photo.
Today is the first day of the Bengali month of Falgun (spring), which coincides with Valentine’s Day. The sun is bright but gentle, warming my face without making me sweat. The breeze, a mix of light winter chill and sweet warmth, feels pleasant.
At the end of the cold season, Bangladeshis welcome Falgun - which they call the king of seasons - with vibrant colours, lovely flowers, and traditional music. If I were in Dhaka’s Shahbagh area today, I would have seen a very lively atmosphere on the streets - women in yellow and red sarees with garlands around their heads, men in yellow and maroon punjabis with white pyjamas, and brisk business at flower shops. But there is no colour, no flower, and no merriment at the southernmost terminus of Bangladesh Railway, only an aura of departure.
The long whistle eventually sends the last of the wandering passengers scrambling for their carriage doors. I settle into my aisle seat, and my seatmate is a light-skinned youth with stubble on his face. Powered by locomotive 3023, the train starts rolling at 12:33pm, its wheels screeching while taking a sharp curve towards Ramu, which is known for its rich Buddhist heritage.
Cox’s Bazar is among the country’s prime tourist destinations, frequently chosen by newlyweds to spend their honeymoons and families with children to enjoy annual holidays. I first visited it as a university student in 2010 with three of my friends, and my parents financed the tour. We walked in the warm sand on the beach at midday, bathed in the saline water, had delicious pomfret, and watched the golden hues of spectacular sunsets over the Bay of Bengal.
Linking Cox’s Bazar by railway was not just about boosting tourism; it was part of the move to connect to the Trans-Asian Railway Network, which is an ambitious rail connectivity plan across Asia. The British had already built a metre-gauge line up to Chattogram’s Dohazari back in 1931. Then in 2018, Bangladesh Railway started extending the line to Cox’s Bazar with dual-gauge tracks under a mega project largely financed by the Asian Development Bank.
A few minutes into our journey, a female voice announces a long warning through the public address system about criminals snatching mobile phones from windows. Throwing stones at moving trains was once a widespread problem in Bangladesh, and the incidence has now decreased as a result of massive awareness campaigns and legal action. Though the two offences need to be tackled differently, it is good to see that the authorities are issuing on-board warnings, which is a crucial step.
The typical countryside landscape of humble tin-roofed houses, trees, and cropland slides by under the light blue sky. Some trees have a nice patchwork of green and yellow leaves. Brick kilns come into view after Ramu station, white smoke billowing from their chimneys.
A railway catering worker in a turquoise shirt with multiple pockets, black pants, and flip-flops walks down the aisle, pulling lunch boxes in a crate fastened with a piece of fabric. Only morog polao (chicken pilaf) priced at Tk220 is on the menu today. I choose to go without lunch as I do not have the appetite for such heavy food now.
Hawkers are not allowed on this premium train, which largely helps keep it clean. With its off-white walls and ceiling, grey and dark blue seats, and dark grey window curtains, the simplicity of my non-air-conditioned coach feels welcoming. When the curtain on our side flaps in the wind, my seatmate pushes it aside and secures it with the metal holdback on the wall.
As the train runs non-stop with just a brief stopover in Chittagong, I can only catch glimpses of the stations from the window. We have travelled past Ramu, Islamabad, and Dulahazara stations, and they have white footbridges with ramps and stairs built in a zigzag pattern. The footbridges and the platform shelters have vibrant red roofs.
The brown station buildings have sliding windows, the room names written above the doors on blue plates. The station names in large white Bengali letters contrast well against the black surfaces in the middle of the buildings. The overall look of the stations reflects contemporary railway development that prioritises class and accessibility.
While the route’s topographic diversity offers varying degrees of scenic beauty, it posed a massive challenge to civil works. Chittagong and Cox’s Bazar mostly sit on hills and coastal plains, which are already difficult terrains for railway construction. Combine them with forests, and you can imagine what an uphill battle it was for engineers.
Acquiring around 1,400 acres of land, including reserved forests, was a mammoth task. Then came another insurmountable challenge - obtaining special permission to cut trees in the reserved forests. Finally, 38 major bridges - including six special ones on the Matamuhuri, Sangu, and Bakkhali rivers - and more than 200 culverts had to be built.
The biggest attraction for passengers is the elephant overpass, constructed in the Chunati Wildlife Sanctuary area on the Lohagara-Harbang section to ensure a safe passage for Asian elephants. About 27 kilometres of the 103km line cut through the Chunati, Fashiakhali, and Medhakachhapia reserved forests, which are vital habitats for the elephants. This stretch contains several corridors that the giant creatures use to roam around.
Unpainted safety barriers suddenly appear along the tracks flanked by hillocks and dense vegetation, indicating we are approaching the overpass. Clutching their phones, many passengers stick their heads out of the windows, ready to capture the structure. The train chugs forward, simultaneously disappearing into and re-emerging from the short tunnel piece by piece.
Though the overpass is supposed to reroute elephants, anomalies have occurred. Last year, when an elephant came down onto the tracks at night, the locomotive master hit the emergency brakes and managed to scare it away by whistling repeatedly. Earlier in 2024, a young elephant succumbed to injuries after being struck by a train.
It has been more than two hours, and my seatmate has not used his phone even for 10 minutes, which is rare these days. He alternates between taking naps and watching the scenes outside. In contrast, the child in the aisle seat to my left has been playing a car racing game on the phone for a long time, his mother next to him gazing out the window with her hands clasped.
The train now trundles on the British-era Kalurghat Bridge, which is also used by light vehicles and pedestrians to cross the Karnaphuli River. My request to my seatmate to give me space to photograph it from the window works as a good icebreaker. He studies English at Notre Dame University Bangladesh and opens up more after learning that I am an alumnus of Notre Dame College.
Cox’s Bazar is his hometown, and he is returning to Dhaka after the 13th national election holiday and the weekend. He prefers train rides as he can avoid traffic jams. Lauding the quality of education at his university, he says it is worth the tuition fees.
Around half past three, the train pulls into Chittagong station. I get off and buy four bananas, round bread filled with fruit preserves, and fruit cake slices from a stall on the platform. A man uses a large broom to sweep away litter from the next platform that leads to the old station building, a wonderful relic from colonial times.
Local trains in Bangladesh are like bustling marketplaces, where talking to strangers is surprisingly easy. But the Cox’s Bazar Express feels like a dedicated quiet zone where everyone is busy in their own little world and talking to strangers is the last thing on their mind. The sliding doors of the Korean carriages remain closed during the journey, which further narrows the scope for socialising and fireside chats.
The wish to have such chats after departing from Chittagong takes me to the buffet car. It has two built-in tables, one on each side, along the windows for a total of six people, with four of the stools already occupied. I buy a 7up at the curved counter and ask elderly counterman Amir Hossain about business.
He says the election holiday slashed round-trip sales to around Tk30,000 from the usual figure of Tk150,000. In Ramadan, he predicts sales will fall further to as low as Tk20,000. It has been 36 years in the railway, and he still likes his job.
A bespectacled passenger sitting on one of the stools is having tea and chatting with a man beside him. I take the only empty stool in the row and ask him if he is from Chattogram. He says he is from Cox’s Bazar and remains silent.
“How was the election in your area? Did you vote?” I try politics because it almost always gets Bangladeshis talking.
It works. He enthusiastically describes the peaceful voting atmosphere, his experience of casting the ballot, and how his prediction about the BNP’s victory came true. He graduated a few years ago and had a job, but is now unemployed.
I delve deeper, enquiring about his love life and Valentine’s Day celebrations. With a shy smile, he gestures his reluctance to talk about the subject. I try with the other guy next to him, but to no avail.
In Bangladesh, it is not easy to freely discuss romantic love. Unlike the West, the expression of individual love and desire in this society is overwhelmingly dictated by social traditions, cultural norms, and religious values. You will find fiery love more in Bangladeshi cinemas, dramas, and novels than in everyday conversations.
Bangladesh’s family-oriented culture has traditionally emphasised arranged marriages, where love happens only after a man and a woman tie the knot. Unlike my parents’ generation, love marriages are common among youngsters, particularly in cities, but the idea of love itself remains sensitive. Talking about it with a stranger on a moving train makes it even more sensitive.
As the train speeds towards Feni, the yellow afternoon light streams through the closed windows of the buffet car. Far away, forested hills in the Sitakunda area overshadow the greenery of dense treelines in the midground. In a few hours, I will be in a megacity where the daily grind to support families is often the loudest expression of love rather than saying “I love you” on Valentine’s Day.