The news spread fast – the lawyer in the area had just bought a new car. By the way, the word “new” back in the mid 80s meant reconditioned, not brand new. “It has an air-conditioner,” marveled those who went to see the white Toyota.
Material possessions always separate the few from the masses, and the lawyer was basking in becoming a member of the privileged few.
Owning a car was indeed a massive social boost back then. Well, things haven’t changed that much. But now, no one will go to look in amazement at an Asian car. A BMW from the earlier series is often looked at with disdain. So, unless one has something exotic to show off, the public won’t flock to appreciate.
No worries though, there are Jaguars and the latest Land Rovers in the market. The price tag can be the entire life savings of a very lucky middle class man, or it can be the negligible “money to burn” of a top wealthy dog. Dhaka has changed!
Sitting in one of the many trendy lounges of the city, while going through the cosmopolitan menu featuring iced coffee and a variety of cheese cakes, this writer remembered the indigenous burger of the past which were sold in confectioneries.
Bet most of the modern readers don’t know what a typical Dhaka confectionery looked like.
Amidst the ultra-stylish fast food hangouts, the shops that sold soft butter buns, pastries, and burgers in plastic packets garnished with large green chillies seem so back-dated.
At high school, the boy wearing the Casio black plastic belt watch was the “cool,” fashionable person.
The same went for those who managed to buy a pair of Hara jeans or Nike trainers.
Honestly speaking, the best place to buy denim was the Gulistan second-hand market, better known as the Nixon market, changing its name with the new guy at the White House. So, in the 80s it was known as the Reagan market where all sorts of denim like Edwin, Lee, and Wrangler were available.
Buying something second-hand was nothing shameful – if someone was lucky, a foreign note could be found in a jacket or a trouser. The possibility of a serendipitous find superseded feelings of hesitation.
Back then, entertainment meant watching BTV and getting the West Bengal channel Durdarshan. Someone started receiving Durdarshan by putting a metal plate on his roof and voila, a race began to buy all sorts of stainless steel cooking utensils to put on top of the roofs to get the foreign channel.
Very few had VCRs because it cost more than a lakh. The house in any area that had a VCR was open to the public. Usually, a movie had two screenings – one for the household people and the other for the people of the area.
One favourite pastime was to listen to dialogue tapes of Sholay and other Amitabh films!
This was also the era of the Middle East employment boom, and those coming back brought video players and large silver coloured cassette players (called changers).
Soon, the market got flooded with VCPs – much cheaper than VCRs – and the brands Funai and JVC still come to mind.
A well-organised commercial VCR screening operation began in old Dhaka’s Thataribazar, where, for Tk10, a person could watch one general movie plus an adult film or “blue” (pronounced bulu) movie, as it was called then.
Porn is now a recognised industry, though in the 80s everything related to it was hush hush.
Cinema halls did brisk business as Bangla films almost always had a full house. Tickets for movies usually sold on the black market, while theatre halls proudly wrote “shitatop niyontrito” (air-conditioned) to attract cinema goers.
No one heard of dotted condoms let alone flavoured ones – Raja, the local brand, ruled until Panther came to the market. Advertising was discreet as parents became uneasy when birth control commercials came on TV.
I still remember that a student in my class was punished severely because he was copying a rather suggestive line from a contraceptive commercial called “Joy foam tablet.”
Going out to eat meant dining at the local Chinese restaurant and ordering the same stuff over and over again: Corn soup, beef with chillies, fried chicken, and beef with vegetables. No one heard of sushi or wasabi!
Politics was obviously a hot topic, though unlike now, politicians hardly put making a quick buck as the top priority. A politician was someone who was sunburnt, wore ordinary clothes, hung out at the tea stalls, was a brilliant orator, and spoke flawless Bangla and impressive English.
Young student politicians spent their free time reading, not ogling at scantily dressed women gyrating to “Nagin nagin” at a five star hotel.
Libation was always local hooch; single malt was a dream in a James Hadley Chase novel!
Summer holidays meant going to the village to eat mangoes and jackfruits. Winter evenings were spent at fairs or going to the stadium to watch international football matches of the President’s Cup.
Those of us who grew up in Bangladesh as her generation ’71, often become nostalgic thinking of the past. But the fact of life is that nothing remains static – maybe if we were taken back to the 80s now, we would feel out of place.
Though life back then had its share of imperfections, the money factor was not the most important issue – human relations were not formed by cold-hearted calculations, and in judging a person, social status was not the sole deciding factor.
The laid–back, leisurely life of the 80s is gone. With all the changes to make our lives more comfortable, we have only opened a Pandora’s Box.
There’s indeed truth in the saying: “Days gone by always seem better!” Close your eyes and visualise: Tiger masks, Bonalim chocolates, white BATA school sneakers, walkmans, Hiramon, “Jodi Kichu Mone Na Koren,” and Pilu Momtaz.
