We were born here and will die here…
Abir Abdullah
BANGLADESH

The narrow alleys welcome the warmth of the evening sun. The buildings stacked heavily on either side of the road are very old. The bricks are probably sixty, seventy, some even a hundred years old. In these plaster-less walls lies the old history of Old Dhaka.

Even the ghosts from medieval castles will shy away from these buildings. The beams, floors, even the walls creak as you stumble along the path trying to find your way through pitch-black staircases, where the slightest hint of light is more precious than anything else in the world. “We’re afraid the building could collapse on us at any time,” said Mr. Roy, a Hindu, 45 years old. “I was born here and will probably die here. Only God can tell.”

Some are still struggling with their forefathers' professions. Some have sold the little bit of land they had, and have left for India. Others are entangled in the web of the “Enemy Property Act”.

Family members increased, but the size of the land didn't. The desire to “be together” forced them to take risks. A storey was added to these dilapidated buildings. Much later, maybe another. The hundred-year old bricks and mortar did not keep their promise. Jayanta Nag, bright and mischievous, became history as the walls collapsed, and he was buried under.

As is usual in our country, the turbulence created among higher government officials due to the Shankhari Bazaar disaster has since died down. The will of those in higher-up positions to `resist' ordinary peoples initiatives for making their lives secure, is stronger.