Dhaka city. Some loathe it. Some hate it. Some have a love-hate relationship with it. Some have no other choice but to remain in it.
Dhaka. The city of dreams, of possibilities, of magic, of black magic, of shattered souls, of impossible goals.
Dhaka. I love thee.
Dhaka breathes life into me. Every morning the race to work, battling traffic and pollution, mesmerises me. I sit and stare at the patience of people, I am awed by their determination and resilience. I am taken aback by the amount of physical energy and emotional spirit these warriors spend for just a few thousand taka at the end of every grueling, never-ending month.
Dhaka. The concrete giants with their grey, washed away walls tell a story of every middle class dweller of this magic land. They might just fall down in seconds during an earthquake but for now- sky is the limit. They stand tall, might and proud till a June monsoon comes and shakes their very foundations.
Dhaka. Your limited sky I try to get a glimpse of- between meetings and phone calls or sometimes simply from the washroom window at office. You are blue, you are yellow and sometimes a petrifying dark. You are moody, you are cranky but you are joy- the 6 seasons of Bangladesh is a different painting in Dhaka.

Dhaka. I love you the way you love me back. Like that first love that happened to me 7 years ago. Innocent, risky- ready for a heartbreak. Dear Dhaka, I lose my breath over you like I lost my breath over that innocent first love.



Picture & words by me :)