Dhaka is overwhelming on the ears. The continuous honking from infinite cars set the bass, and the sharp blasts from rickshaws lead up to the crescendo of ambulance sirens every few minutes - it's one track we have all grown used to.
But it wasn't always like this. If we try to remember, our city had many other distinct sounds that we could all relate to. Tunes which were so familiar that it took years for us to realise they aren't there today. Noises which are forever lost, and perhaps forgotten. Here are a few of the ones we miss the most.
Murgi Lagbe Murgiii!
This man may be the most distinctive of the bunch, using his booming voice to attract the attention of city dwellers. His call could be heard from a block away, and it would make you wonder how he always managed to hit the same wave length every time, every day of every week.
We all knew chickens were his merchandise, and his buyers were endless. He would dangle the birds on his hands, raising them in pride from the street in slow rotation, showcasing the product in front of his loyal customers waiting on their balconies.
Kaapor!
This man was a more business-minded fellow, for he was often seen cycling at a turtle's pace with a mobile store of apparel and garment merchandise. He knew his market well, which mostly comprised of housewives of the era, and catered to them efficiently with a wide range of limited options.
Bedsheets, pillowcases, sarees, lungis, kameezes - you name it, he had a pair stashed up somewhere on his ride.
Kagoj!
This man may be described as persistent. Generally a fellow assuming a poor attire, with a wicker basket on top of his head, his calls for business were more frequent and included smaller intervals between each. What made his demand different was the fact that he was not a seller by trade, but a buyer.
If you had a pile of old books, magazines, newspapers, bottles, containers or any form of paper or plastic for that matter, he would happily pay you to clear them out. The process was simple. The total amount of junk paper and plastic would be weighed, with a small price assigned on each gram. The more you give away, the more cash you would receive. To be precise, if you happen to run into him today, the rates are as little as Tk12 and Tk25 for each kilogram of paper and plastic, respectively.
Chai Lagbe Chaai!
This, mostly, was a woman. Her calls were sharp and narrow, as if her nose was held every time she wailed to establish her presence. Funnily enough, that's what eventually made her voice easily recognisable and distinctive; one which still remains not-so-easily forgotten.
The remaining ash of wood is referred to chai in Bengali, which was considered as the ultimate cleansing material back then. Chai was used by most households to scrape floors, shine out cooking containers and commonly, clean the external flesh of fish, among many other uses.
*Clink* Chabee *Clink*
Lost your keys? Need new ones made? Accidentally locked your doors? This man was your ultimate (home delivered) solution. His call was a combination of a high-pitched vocal along with a consistent clinging of banging metal keys.
You couldn't miss him, partly because of the earbud scraping noise he never failed to make, but also due to the fact that his kind still lives on in certain parts of the city.
Khejur rosh!
This man has been buried in the pages of history, and even in the era that we are speaking of, he could only be sighted during winter. Carrying two heavy pots suspended on a bamboo pole on the middle of his shoulders, his tradable commodity was the condensed juice of dates; a highly popular item during that specific season.
Torkarii!
What makes this man unique was mobility, for the vegetables he used to sell were indeed a common item at local bazaars. He rode a cycling van with his goods juggling on the wooden cart behind him, strained under as many fresh vegetables as he could cram on it.
At times, he would also be spotted carrying fruits - a worthy combination to his portfolio.
Dhaar!
His attire gave off a more sinister vibe, considering he carried a blade and a round contraption used to sharpen them. This man's livelihood was made on making kitchen appliances more efficient, and was a common sight right before (and during) Eid-Ul-Azha.
Keep your ears open, and you might just come across a rare tradesman upholding a long lost culture the coming Eid.