Memories of Old Dhaka: Thoughts After Visiting Pogose School

Last summer, my wife informed me that she was planning to take some of her students to Bangladesh. "Interesting!" I remarked, and went back to the newspaper story I was reading about a new archeological discovery in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt, an area we visited a few years ago. I am not sure if it was my apparent lack of interest in her project, or my total immersion in my new passion, Egyptology, that prompted her next remark. "Well, if you join us, you will be able to travel in Bangladesh almost for free." That added attraction obviously tipped the scales for me. So, in January 2010, I joined a group of graduate and undergraduate Social Work students from an American university to spend two weeks on a study tour of Bangladesh. Since the study tour was part of a university curriculum, and earned those enrolled in it three credits towards their respective degrees, the itinerary and program were very rigorous and demanding, I must add. We visited some of the major NGOs in Dhaka and met with people from all walks of life in the Sundarbans, the Chittagong Hill Tracts and Cox's Bazar. On the last full day of the tour, Dharitri, our local tour collaborator, had arranged for a Heritage Walk, a two-mile sojourn through Old Dhaka, starting at Sutrapur, along BK Das Road to Shyambazar, and ending at Ahsan Manzil. Our guides, Taimur and Humaira, architects who lead an organization known as Urban Study Group, had volunteered for this special occasion. So, on this beautiful Friday morning of 15 January, this wonderful pair spent more than four hours giving us one of the most fascinating accounts of the history of Dhaka and offering us a crash course on the architectural features of the old town. Towards the end of this walk, while we were proceeding towards Shankhari Bazaar, one of Taimur's assistants, Faruk, led us to Pogose School. I had casually mentioned to him earlier that I had gone to Pogose School and he, being a Pogose School alumnus himself, strongly recommended that we peek into the school. As we entered through the gate, I could not take my eyes off the two-story elongated brick building facing us, where many, many years ago, I would sit down on a wooden bench and spend hours chatting with my classmates Dinu, Ghias, and Bazlu. Looking back
This was my first visit to Pogose School in more than forty-five years. My four brothers and I attended Pogose School for almost a year when I was enrolled in Class VII. I was twelve years old then and my family had just moved to Dhaka from Barisal. After the move, we lived for a few months in Azimpur Colony and subsequently found accommodation in one of the newly constructed government apartments in Eskaton Gardens. Finding a suitable school for his five school-going sons proved to be a daunting task for my father since the transfer order came at the end of the school year. Fortunately, he was able to convince the then Headmaster of Pogose School, Mr. Fazlul Haque, who took pity on my father and agreed to admit all of us without any admission test. One reason my poor father was happy that we all got into Pogose School was that the school was located within walking distance of his office, the Dhaka District Judges Court at Victoria Park. However, arranging the trip from home to Pogose School, which was located in the old city, while we lived in the new city, was a major undertaking every day for my father. He did not own a car then, and auto-rickshaws were our primary means of transport. Unfortunately, no auto-rickshaw driver would take six passengers, i.e., one adult and five children; and even if we were lucky enough to find one, the six of us could not fit into its cab even if some of us sat on each other's laps. So, right away, we had a major logistical challenge that needed to be resolved. The solution to this "transportation fix" was reached through a process of trial and error. We resolved right away that my three younger brothers, Bacchu, Swapan and Ratan were too young to go to school on their own. Since we had just moved back to Dhaka from my father's multiple tours of duty that government servants had to undertake during their service yearsin the case of my father to Karachi, Mymensingh and Barisal before returning to Dhaka--even the older ones, my elder brother, Shadani, and I, were just getting used to the Dhaka roads and gradually becoming familiar with the public transport system and geography, and picking up the street sense necessary for navigating a modern city. We soon learned, even in those days when life was far less complicated, that there were many hazards lurking on the roads and in the neighborhoods where we lived that posed a threat to unescorted children, particularly what used to be put under the catch-all category, "chheley dhora". Both Shadani and I were from an early age comfortable going to school on our own, and were independent in getting around in the city. This, odd as it might appear, I attribute to the years in the mofussil towns. In both Mymensingh and Barisal, where we spent four early years during my father's stints there, we were able to go to school on our own, and we spent a great deal of time exploring the respective towns and the outlying areas virtually all by ourselves without any adult supervision. During the process of solving the "transportation fix", my father wanted one of his older sons, either me or Shadani, to travel with him in the auto rickshaw to keep the younger ones from falling off of one end of the open cab as he held the other end. But, that also meant that either Shadani or I had to go to school separately from the group going in the auto-rickshaw and I volunteered for that role. The ride to school
When we were living in Azimpur, the bus trip to Sadarghat was pretty straightforward, except for the fact that the ride was very bumpy and the buses were always crowded. The route between New Market (where I'd catch the bus in front of Eden College) and Sadarghat had a direct service, and it went through Islampur and Chawk Bazar. Only old narrow buses plied this route, and since I frequently sat at the front of the bus, on seats reserved for women and children (the "Ladies Seat"), I had to inhale the diesel fumes originating from the engine located a few feet away, causing me to fall sick on a couple of occasions. The journey through the old city was unexciting, except for the frequent stops the bus had to make as it attempted to negotiate the narrow roads in that part of Dhaka, and the heavy pedestrian traffic competing with rickshaws, bicycles, bullock carts, and motor vehicles in the congested sections of the old city. After we moved to Eskatan, a few months after the school year started, it became my daily routine to make the long trip from Eskatan to Sadarghat and back, by bus. I would get on the bus from Maghbazar or New Eskatan and change at Gulistan to catch another bus traveling along Nawabpur Road to Sadarghat. The first leg would be done on a bus run by the East Pakistan Road Transport Corporation (EPRTC) which was cheaper to ride than a private bus because the government bus offered school-going children a discount. I would get eight annas (half a rupee) from my father for the round trip. The ride from Maghbazar to Gulistan cost one anna, and the ride from Gulistan to Victoria Park, the stop before Sadarghat, where I usually got off, would cost me one and a half annas. However, sometimes the bus from Gulistan to Nawabpur would be late or over-crowded, and in those situations, I soon mastered the trick of walking the distance from Gulistan to the school. The trip each way would take anywhere from an hour to 90 minutes. The EPRTC bus took a longer time since it did not take the shortest route from Maghbazar to Gulistan. From the Maghbazar Chourasta it travelled east taking the Outer Circular Road and when it reached Malibagh it would turn south and go through Shanti Nagar, before turning west at Kakrail to go past Ramna Park. The private buses took a shorter route, and made a right turn at Maghbazar to go past Holy Family Hospital, Ramna Thana and Tip Top Mosque before making a right turn on Inner Circular Road. To our chagrin, the private buses did not give a student discount, and a half anna was big money for a twelve year old with no pocket allowances. I often had to make a difficult choice between taking the private bus which cost more, but saved time, and then save money by walking from Gulistan to the school using up the time gained. The trade-off between saving time and my allowance was real, and the thrill of this decision-making process added an extra edge to my daily routine. As I look back, I can see walking had its other advantages too. Nawabpur Road was a colorful place, with shops lining its entire length, and various processions criss-crossing the area almost daily. The road-side peddlers, ferriwalas, selling the best jhal muri, cane juice, and pickled amra, boroi, and chalta were an added attraction. Every penny I could save from my conveyance allowance would go towards tasting the delectable fares offered, and would also provide energy and nourishment needed for the walk. Typically, on my way back from school, I would walk at a leisurely pace, sampling the various goods on display on the sidewalk, getting a drink, and tasting the street-side food. For entertainment, there was the ubiquitous "band party" accompanying a wedding or to publicize a newly-released movie. Later in life, as I grew older and even nowadays on my trips back home, I have always enjoyed eating and tasting food and snacks from roadside vendors. While I have always been advised to stay away from them for health and sanitary reasons, I have never had a problem with these tasty but questionable edibles. On reflection, I attribute my strong stomach to the conditioning that it underwent during the Gulistan to Sadarghat walk. I will admit though that I was not totally oblivious to the hazards that a young boy faced even in those days: I would particularly mention three that I was conscious of and tried my best to guard against: child kidnapping, motor traffic in Nawabpur Road, and the possibility of germs and other bacteria that might be ingested with the food and drink bought from the sidewalk vendors. Notwithstanding the arduous nature of my daily trek, and the various distractions the colorful Nawabpur Road offered, I always made an effort to be at school on time. The reason I was anxious not to miss the first period was my Bangla literature class which met in the first period on three days a week. My Bangla teacher, who had just joined the school faculty after finishing his Master's from Dhaka University, was a very energetic and friendly person named Nazrul Islam. Later in life, when I had the privilege of also having Prof. Abdullah Abu Sayeed as my Bangla professor in Dhaka College, I would see many similarities between these two individuals. When I first met them, they both were young, humorous, and made the class very interesting by interjecting references to historical events and allusions to world literature during their lectures. As a twelve year boy with interest in movies, sports, and other disciplines outside the classroom, the Bangla class in Class VII at Pogose School offered me the chance to listen to a good speaker with an intellectual bent. Because of my own curious nature, I found this first period class interesting enough to always put in an extra effort be in school on time. Cutting Classes After Tiffin
Oddly enough, I also remember my eight months at Pogose School for the adventure I experienced each day not only in getting to school on time, and back, but also for the opportunity I created for myself to cut classes after the lunch break, the Tiffin Time. I found out soon from the other kids that if I could produce a letter signed by a parent requesting early discharge, the Headmaster's Office was willing to approve these applications. I am not sure after all these years the factors that motivated me in the first place to forge these petitions. However, not all the signatures were forged though. On at least one occasion, I pampered my uncle to give his autograph on a blank piece of paper, which I then was able to convert into a petition by writing a leave application with his signature at the bottom of the sheet. The urge to cut classes arose from two favorable circumstances: the location of many cinema halls within walking distance, and the regular show of good classical Hindi movies in those theatres. Although I was very young then, I read "Ghoroa" regularly and had just discovered the big stars of those days: Dilip Kumar, Raj Kapoor, Nargis, and others. When I heard that Daag, in which Dilip Kumar played the role of a jilted lover, was coming to RoopMahal, I marshaled all the resources at my disposal to see a matinee show. The shows ran from 3 to 5:30 and I figured that if I could get out of school at 2 PM I could see the movie and be home before sunset. Once this scheme worked the first time, I became addicted. Soon, reruns of all the classics such as Aaan, Andaaz, and Barsaat started to be announced and I made going to movies once in a while an exciting component of my school-day activities. The cinema hall Mukul was on Nawabpur Road right before Victoria Park, and the bus route would take us past Mukul with its well-decorated marquee at the entrance and walls pasted with big posters announcing forthcoming features. As days passed, I became even more enchanted and devoted to Indian cinema and movie-going. Needless to say, my little adventures went undetected by both the school authorities and my parents. Besides Mukul, other cinema halls within walking distance were Lion, Roop Mahal, Nagar Mahal, Nishat, Shabistan, Azad, Star and Moon. Another characteristic of my class in Pogose School I remember very well was its diversity. It is worth remembering that this was a time before the India Pakistan War of 1965, and Hindus and Muslims were living in harmony in Old Dhaka. My classmates were evenly divided between Hindu and Muslim students, and I remember being as excited during the different Puja Parban ceremonies as Eid, Muharram, or Shab-e-Barat. The Pujas, especially the Durga Puja, when the Devi would be taken to Sadar Ghat for immersion was an exciting time for all of us in the class. I still remember that my fellow students were discussing, in the aftermath of the Sino-Indian War of 1962, how India was rebuilding its Army under Gen. J.N. Choudhury, the new C-in-C, and we were more sympathetic to India than to China. For me, the diversity in the school was not an entirely new experience. We had just moved to Dhaka from Barisal and Mymensingh, where the Pujas were one of the best occasions when my brothers and I had a great time. Finale
Coming back to the present, during our Heritage Walk, which happened on a Friday, the school was closed but there was a cricket match in progress when we reached the school. The school playground, which did not have a shard of grass then and now, appeared to have changed very little in forty five years. I was not sure before we entered the school premises whether the buildings and grounds would look very different or would show the signs of age. I was somewhat surprised that if anything, the buildings not only looked the same as I had seen them many years ago, but also had put on a very bright and colorful appearance. The main building which houses the administrative offices, including the Headmaster's Office, seemed to have been freshly painted and gave me considerable pleasure both because it gave me the reassurance that the school was well taken care off, and also because I could show it off to the guests. "I went to this school", I proudly pointed out to them. I don't remember now whether we had any science class in Class VII, other than the General Science class which was a common feature of the middle school curriculum, but we joined a bunch of high school students, onlookers, and cricket fans in purchasing "sun glasses" for ten taka to watch the solar eclipse that was in progress. Thus, our short visit to the school provided a rare opportunity to brush up our understanding of lunar and solar eclipses. Dr. Abdullah Shibli is an economist and IT professional based in Boston, Massachusetts, USA. He taught Economics at Dhaka University, and has worked at Harvard University and the World Bank. He is also Managing Partner of NAS Enterprises, LLC, an international consulting firm.