A tale of two cities

MILIA ALI

EVERY city has a pulse of its own. Its 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.
Its 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 Kolkatas
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
Kolkatas 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 Bangladeshs War of Liberation in 1971.
At this dark and difficult period of my life Kolkatas
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 cant 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 citys 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?

The writer is a renowned Rabindra Sangeet

exponent and a former employee of the
World Bank. E-mail:
shiftingimages@gmail.com