The Story of Ruma Akter
My name is Ruma Akter. I am 45 years old and live in a small rented house behind the slum area in Mohammadpur. Every day, I travel by bus to my office in Mohakhali DOHS, where I work at a private company. The journey is exhausting, but what makes it worse is the constant exposure to pollution—something I was unaware of until my health started deteriorating.
Dhaka’s air is thick with dust, smoke, and toxic fumes. The moment I step outside, I can feel the heaviness in my chest. The buses I take are always overcrowded, and the air inside feels even worse than outside—stale, filled with sweat, and the stench of exhaust. My throat burns, and my eyes water every day. Sometimes, I get home with a throbbing headache that doesn’t go away even after resting.
My area in Mohammadpur is no better. The narrow lanes are filled with garbage, and the open drains emit a foul smell. During monsoon, the stagnant water becomes a breeding ground for mosquitoes, and the stench is unbearable. The nearby brick kilns and constant construction work add to the dust pollution, making it hard to breathe.
Apart from air pollution, noise pollution is another menace. From dawn till midnight, the honking of buses, rickshaws, and cars never stops. My home is close to a busy road, and the sound of vehicles blaring their horns at all hours makes it impossible to concentrate or sleep peacefully. My ears often ring at night, and I wake up feeling more tired than before.
The water supply in my area is unreliable, and even when we get water, it smells strange. Many people here rely on tube wells, but the groundwater is contaminated due to poor waste management and industrial runoff. I often suffer from stomach aches, and my neighbors complain of skin rashes. Sometimes, I have to buy bottled water for drinking, which is an added expense on my modest salary.
Living in such conditions is mentally draining. The constant noise, the foul smells, the fear of getting sick—it all weighs on me. Sometimes, I feel trapped, with no escape from the chaos of Dhaka. My only solace is the small garden I’ve started, where I grow a few flowers and herbs. Those few moments of greenery help me forget the pollution, even if just for a little while.
I wear a mask, try to avoid polluted areas, and drink filtered water, but these are temporary solutions. The real change must come from stricter laws against pollution, better waste management, and more green spaces in the city. Until then, people like me will continue to suffer, our health silently eroding in Dhaka’s toxic environment.
I hope one day this city becomes livable—not just for the rich, but for people like me who struggle every day just to breathe.
