You know how in the movies, people pack their bags and head to the city with stars in their eyes, chasing their dreams with a banging music score?
Yeah, I thought that was going to be me when I moved to Dhaka. But instead of the soundtrack of my life playing in the background, it was the sound of constant obnoxious honking, courtesy of Dhaka traffic, that greeted me. Glamorous.
After spending a few years in this chaotic wonderland, as both a student and a working woman, I can tell you one thing. Dhaka is nothing if not … interesting.
Good? Bad? Hard to say. It's kind of like a reality show, the kind where you laugh, cry, and wonder why on earth you signed up in the first place.
There have been more moments than I’d like to admit where I’ve questioned my life decisions. Most of these moments happen in traffic because, really, what else is there to do when you’re stuck in gridlock for hours except reflecting on all the decisions that brought you to this point?
Living in Dhaka is tough for most, but you know what's tougher? Coming home to an empty room. All those Pinterest boards about having your own space? It might look cozy. It's still lonely, and annoying with a landlady that will bug you at every turn.
Thankfully, some of us luck out and have roommates who double as our childhood best friends, so there’s that. Because let me tell you, if I was truly alone, this story would have a much darker tone.
Now, let’s not forget Dhaka’s redeeming qualities. BFC. Honestly, BFC is the greatest thing to have ever happened to me in this city. That juicy, spicy chicken? Literal perfection. It makes all the chaos seem worth it for about five minutes, until I realize I’m once again broke.
But if you take BFC out of the equation, the food scene here is … well, disappointing. Sure, there are fancy places with glossy menus, but it’s mostly a sad tale of expensive dinners and lingering hunger.
The real tragedy? Eating out is basically the only entertainment Dhaka has to offer unless you're going for some expensive activity like laser tag or go-karting.
You’d think Dhaka would have more affordable fun, but nah, it is pricey. And while I could blow my hard-earned money on shooting neon lasers at strangers, why would I when I could just get my friends to play my DIY games for free? Dhaka doesn’t appreciate my genius enough.
The real adventure, though, is commuting in the city. Thank god I got over the childhood bike accident because now I have to rely on bikes to go around the city.
My favourite part? When the bikers decide to live out their “Dhoom Machale” fantasies and speed up so fast that I’m pretty sure my soul leaves my body for the time being.
I’m one of the lucky ones. Aside from BFC, it's my friends who make this city tolerable
But what really keeps my heart racing is late-night travel. It’s become a norm for me, but I’ll never fully relax. There was that one time when it was raining hard, past midnight, and I was stranded with no CNG or Uber willing to stop. In the end, I had no choice but to hop on a bike with a random guy, and as I clutched onto him for dear life, all I could think was how ironic it was that I had to rely on a man to save me from … other men. The streets of Dhaka have a sense of humour, and it’s dark.
Every night out alone still comes with its own set of paranoid scenarios. I’ve mastered the art of chanting Dua Yunus in my head while convincing myself it’ll all be fine. Not exactly how I pictured my city adventures going, but hey, at least I’m alive and kicking.
Then there’s the people. Ah, Dhaka people. It’s a city with way too many connections. Everybody knows everybody, and somehow, everyone has the ability to get on your nerves. Yet, every now and then, someone stumbles into your life and turns your world upside down, giving you the best winter of your life. They are just like Dhaka’s electricity in the summer. Inconsistent and unreliable.
But hey, I’m one of the lucky ones. Aside from BFC, it's my friends who make this city tolerable. A part of me tried to love Dhaka because they loved it.
Back in my university days, you could find me at Ghatpar, lounging around with friends for hours, doing nothing but talking and playing 3-6-9. Fast forward to now, and I’m just sitting in front of an office desktop, staring at the pile of work I have left. Quite the glow-up, right?
Still, is it worth surviving on microwaved frozen food, missing out on mom's cooking, and questioning the meaning of life every time I heat up yet another packet of instant noodles? I'm not sure.
Success? Dreams? What even are those? Am I supposed to suffer through all this for some distant promise of “making it?” And even if I do “make it,” will it feel worth it? Who knows.
Dhaka may have its quirks -- expensive food, reckless drivers, confusing people, and the constant battle of feeling like a lone wolf in a crowd -- but it is a ride.
And if all else fails, there’s always BFC.
Sk Mustarin Muskan Mortuza is a sub-editor at Dhaka Tribune.