The Story of the Dirty Black Road
Contrary to all that can be defined as the reality around me, I do believe in miracles. Call me naïve, delusional or just plain silly, but when you see a really grotesque problem actually being solved in none other than our beloved but impossible-to-live-in Dhaka city, it is akin to divine intervention.
Let me elucidate. For the last decade or so, I have often taken the unconventional route. No no, I am not being pompous; I mean it quite literally. I'm talking about a strange and convoluted journey through the back alleys of Tejgaon that lead to Karwan Bazar. It is meant to be a short cut which my ingenious driver has discovered. But sometimes this short cut has been just the opposite of that – long, ugly and perilous.
It would begin as we would turn to a road on the left instead of taking the Shat Rastar Mor, entering into the strange vortex of a back road that served more as a parking lot for trucks than a path for vehicles to go anywhere. So braving the rows of menacing trucks on both sides of the road which had now become a sliver, we would stumble on along with our fellow adventurers in rickshaws, cars, buses, pickups, cycle vans or most unwisely, on foot. The 'road' would be caked with layers and layers of thick, black slime – an odious mixture of mud and assorted garbage blended into a smelly, nauseating texture. You could see the truck wheels soaked in this stinking liquid that coated the entire road. Trying out one's journalistic curiosity in such a place would be unwise but once in a while it would be impossible not meet the hostile, leering eyes of a truck driver and his friends – a look of mockery for daring to cross their territory. You could imagine all kinds of horrible things that could happen, if your car broke down, if your car accidentally hit one of the thugs zigzagging their way through the traffic, or if someone just didn't like your face. If you were lucky you could cross this precarious route in twenty minutes, only to be stuck in some crazy gridlock near the Karwan Bazar rail gate that, if crossed, could be your gateway to freedom. You would be gripped by paralytic fright when you realise that your vehicle was right on the tracks, sandwiched by a collage of rickshaws, vans, trucks, and an indecisive three wheeled 'CNG' – while the bell to alert an incoming train rings ominously. While your heart pounded like a hunted rabbit, the gridlock would untangle somehow and you would have been spared your precious life by a matter of a few seconds.
I decided a few months ago that I would not go through that unsavoury, albeit often faster, route, no matter how late I got to work. So I began taking the 'normal' VIP road that made going to the office an unpredictable escapade – it could be anywhere between half an hour to two hours, depending on whether you were going on that road before or after a VIP was due to pass through. On hartal days or say, right after iftar, the same journey will take as little as ten minutes.
By now most of you have probably fallen asleep at this excruciating digression – but do know that it is crucial to know the antecedents of this story to comprehend the significance of its conclusion.
Moving along, about four days ago, my driver announced to me that that this unbelievably unattractive route had been transformed beyond recognition. The roads had been cleared of all the 'kachra' (grime) and there were only one row of trucks parked, leaving most of the road completely free! This I had to see to believe, knowing his penchant for exaggeration. So the next day, instead of taking that tedious, straightforward VIP road which at least allowed me to nap peacefully without worrying about getting murdered or mugged, I took that nefarious path again.
I was openmouthed with shock. It was true. Apart from a few trucks lined on one side, the entire road was free. I could actually read the political graffiti on the wall. But most amazing was the fact that, that viscous layer of black slime was gone! I could never imagine anything being able to scrape out so many years of neglect.
My eyes were almost popping out of their sockets to see Dhaka City Corporation (DCC) workers carrying brand new fluorescent lights for the street lamps and fixing them on. In other parts they were scooping up garbage and clearing away the remains of the dried up grimy film. What a sight for sore eyes this was! A disgusting hellhole of a road actually being cleaned by the DCC. Could it be that the mayor was finally being able to do something for this city and its hapless dwellers?
People who don't know this city may accuse me of hyperbole or of going over the top for something that should be routine work for the City Corporation officials. But for a Dhaka dweller who has seen years and years of complete apathy from the DCC authorities regarding the dilapidated, dirty, degenerative state of the roads, the cleaning up of a road captured by a nexus of truck owners and made almost unusable because of piling garbage, is as good as a miracle.
The writer is Deputy Editor, Editorial & Op-ed, The Daily Star.
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