A Girl Driving around Dhaka at Midnight

It'd probably be considered "defiant act" that I have had midnight trips around Dhaka as a girl. There is something about my city which creates a craving in my heart to explore the desolate tarmac roads when they are taking a rest from all the commotion that has become a part of our lives. The crumbling walls, the rusting iron, the cracked paints – everything hold myriad memories that Dhaka has endured over time.

Flummoxing are the activities that go on as late as 3 am; little children in groups collecting plastic bottles and other sellable items from litter at a time when they should be sound asleep. The mere sight of these children whose childhoods are being robbed by poverty tells me what we take for granted every day.

I have seen people sleeping on the pavement in Arambagh and women cooking on low fire by the road. Some women sit wearily under the dimly lit lamp posts of the city and count the money they had earned from begging throughout the day. In Gulshan, there is usually this group of young boys who like to race their cars after midnight, playing loud hip-hop music that combines with the cacophony of the engines and cuts through the tranquillity. I have also seen them speeding on the Airport Road until their car turns upside down and they are fortunate enough to crawl out of the window uninjured – laughing off the accident while I find myself questioning their sanity.

One of the biggest challenges of driving after midnight in Dhaka is ensuring one's safety, especially if one is female. From robbers to rapists, there is a big list of potentially dangerous people you could encounter. I have always brought along a trustworthy company of people with me, and we have avoided restaurants that stay open during the late hours. Is it crazy that I have carried sticks and practiced karate moves so I would always be prepared for any awful situation?

Often, you may spot drug abusers, obscured by bushes, injecting needles into their arms. Dhaka in the wee hours is all the things your parents warn you about; it's also places that induce soothing memories.  The air feels fresh, devoid of the harsh pollutants of traffic during the day; our ears spared from the constant, obnoxious honking of vehicles. And as the chilly air gives you goose bumps, you will find yourself staring at the shivering street dwellers with gamchha or plastic bags covering their bodies, and wonder how you ever could be so selfish and ungrateful. 

Zarin Rayhana is a self-aggrandizing ambivert who ponders over philosophical epiphanies during rainy evenings and waits for her crush to jump straight out of her favourite novel. Treat her with novel suggestions at [email protected].