‘A tale of two cities’ By Milia Ali EVERY city has a pulse of its own. It’s difficult to articulate, in tangible terms, what constitutes this pulse — is it a visual image that persists in the mind or an impression created by our experiences? The touristic attractions for most major cities happen to be the landscape or landmark monuments. However, once you visit a place what hits you is the overall ambiance and rhythm created by its people. The energy transmitted by the inhabitants makes a city vibrant or lethargic, happy or sad. It’s also true that not just people but happenings and associations impact the way we relate to a city. For me, Kolkata, where I was visiting recently, will always remain special. In my early teens I was awestruck by Kolkata’s cultural vibrancy and thrilled by the concerts and events that provided me my first glimpse of the rich artistic heritage of Bengal. It was there that I met prominent art, music and literary figures. What impressed me most was the humility and warmth of these artists. It seemed that Kolkata’s unpretentious character, through osmosis, had influenced its citizens to be reticent! There are some who might have reservations about my upbeat assessment of this old and somewhat decrepit metropolis. I have often heard friends complain about the squalour, the dilapidated structures and the fumes emitted by the vintage taxis of Kolkata. It has been labeled the city of slums — but also the city of joy. Is it then a question of perception? Objectively speaking, Kolkata is unique in its history and the stories that it can share are countless. Founded in the late 16th century, it was initially ruled by the Nawabs of Murshidabad, and gradually became the base for the East India Company and later the capital of the British Raj. It was also the hub of the Bengali Renaissance Movement that was followed by the emergence of the Brahmo Samaj. The amazing thing is that Kolkata has not discarded its past and leapfrogged into a city of high rises and shopping malls. A walk through the heart of the city can still give a casual tourist a flavour of the old grandeur. Personally, I will always view Kolkata through the prism of an insecure young girl who found comfort in its warm embrace during Bangladesh’s War of Liberation in 1971. At this dark and difficult period of my life Kolkata’s generous people threw open their homes full of sunny windows for my fellow refugees and me. I can never forget strangers encouraging us to continue our fight for freedom despite the inconveniences created by the influx of refuges in their hometown. Friends included us in family celebrations and shared their happiness as if it was a communal gift. For me, Kolkata will always be a reservoir of humanity. It is also the city where we, a small group of Bangladeshis, first hoisted the flag of our new-found nation singing Shonar Bangla with tears of joy and anticipation… As my flight approached Dhaka at the end of the recent trip, I peered out of the window. All that was visible was a concrete jungle of buildings and architecturally threatened neighbourhoods. I was filled with a sense of sadness for the lost splendor of the “Garden City” that was once my hometown. A warm, comforting urban town where flaming red flowers welcomed spring and mango and jackfruit trees shaded the quaint streets lined with modest but welcoming homes. This was the Dhaka I came home to in 1972 from my exile! Today, each time I drive through the congested streets of the city, I can’t help but wonder: “What have we done to you, Dhaka? The Rajuk and developers’ mafia have clawed out your flesh and destroyed your soul. And we, the citizens, have colluded with them because of our greed to profit from your scarce resources.” Old Dhaka, with its history of the Sena kings and the Nawabs, is lost and new Dhaka is just a conglomeration of off-the-shelf apartment blocks and shopping centres wrapped around unwieldy traffic bottlenecks. The city’s geography has been recalibrated so that it now consists of pockets of economically stratified neighbourhoods without a nerve center connecting the population. Consequently, Dhaka has lost its friendly and nurturing environment and one seldom encounters smiling faces or compassionate words from passersby. During one of my sluggish taxi rides in Kolkata, I noticed a poster that read: “Give one hour a day to your nation.” Can we give one hour a week to Dhaka? And reflect on how we can repair the damage we have caused by our thoughtless, unplanned and greedy actions that some term as “development?”
Posted on: Mon, 22 Jul 2013 09:30:06 +0000
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