The Story of Md. Jahangir Alam

My name is Md. Jahangir Alam. I came to Dhaka with visions for my long-term future, a career, stability, opportunities. But step in this city feels like a trade-off here. I left behind not just Rajshahi University, but the institution where I received my degree, the profound peace, greeneries and pure air of my youth, too. I left behind my beloved wife, parents and family, my companion in life and the familiar rhythms of life in the rural areas. Here in Dhaka, I feel as though I’m merely surviving, not living. 

Every morning starts in my rented, bare room. There is no gas line, I cook with electric rice cooker, if they’re so inclined to give me electricity. There's no Wi-Fi to connect with the world easily; I simply rely on mobile data. The toilet I use is shared with others. I sleep on a mattress on the floor in a room by myself, and when I wake in the morning, the city feels strange, aloof, rushed and rough-edged. The things feel that I’m writing a love letter to apocalypse.

But even in this rough life, my thoughts are often drifts to dream. I picture myself rousing in a humble, but welcoming flat not a posh joint, but one full of love and laughter. My wife, my mom, my father, my kids would be there, and we’d cook breakfast together in a little kitchen where the sunlight came in on our faces. On weekends I would take them and our future children to the nearest park if only Dhaka had more parks and let them run on green grass, breathing clean air.

I fantasize about evenings when I might be able to return home to sit with my wife over a cup of tea on a little balcony teeming with potted plants and watch the sun set over a cleaner skyline. I would like to wake up Friday mornings to Jumu'ah prayers at a silent mosque and eat warm family meals, with fresh vegetables from a clean market nearby. I envision reading books, playing with my kid, maybe even planting a small rooftop garden together. To me, these things are not luxuries they are human needs, small gladness’s, precious peace.

But as things are, Dhaka has little of that peace to give me. Streets are strewn with garbage, drains remain open, the air is full of dust and smoke. The streets are packed with public transport, and a one-hour commute begins to seem like a test of patience and physical endurance. Why must it be this hard?

And thus I can only offer a few simple prayers, with the hope of better days following. Let Dhaka breathe again. We need to plant more trees, not just in elite areas but throughout all our neighborhoods. Keep the drains clean and responsibly dispose of waste. Establish safe and accessible parks and walking paths. Invest in shared low-income worker housing and restroom facilities. Supply gas, internet, and fundamental utilities to all. Organize public transport such that it is safe and on time.

Above all else, design this city not only for business, but for families. Construct communities, not just towers.

I still hold out hope that one day, I will reside with my family somewhere love and solace aren’t continually pummeled by chaos. In a place where Dhaka is no longer a prison, but a home. Until that time, I will continue to dream and pray for a better city, a better life.