Life, liberty, and the pursuit of rickshaw art

When I came to Bangladesh for the first time in 2007, I was captivated by the rickshaws.  They reminded me of the way that the kids in my neighborhood used to decorate our bikes for the annual Independence Day “parade” (i.e. kids on decorated bikes riding together) every year—just as colorful, just as gaudy, and definitely as colorful.  I read that you could go down to old Dhaka and buy rickshaw art.  I decided that this was the gift that I would get my friends back home.  First, I had to find it.  Luckily the driver that was with me knew where we could go, so I was able to pick out a few pieces to take with me.

When I stopped through London to spend a few days with Ruthie, she loved the pieces so much that I left the one that I’d purchased for our mutual friend Mike, who kept promising to come to visit her, in her care, for her to enjoy until he actually got out there to claim it himself (that was in March 2010).

So Ruthie had it in her head that we were going to buy more rickshaw art.  My Bengali friends scratched their heads at me a little bit when I told them this, and said that I could take her to Jatra, a high end socially conscious store up here in Gulshan.  “No way,” I said, “Ruthie wants to full experience!  I’m taking her to bicycle street.”

Easier said than done, but I tried not to let my confidence waver noticeably in front of them.  I actually had no idea where said street was; I’d gone before in a car, and other than knowing that it was near a park (which is not particularly helpful), I couldn’t remember anything else about its location.  As is my usual philosophy, I decided I’d worry about it when we had time to go.

That time was after lunch with the Urban Study Group tour.  I asked Mr. Taimur where we could buy rickshaw art.  “Bangsal,” he said, “Just take a rickshaw from here.”  This is why I don’t plan—I get lucky too often.  Ruthie and I hop in a rickshaw and off we go through the chaotic streets.  We weave our way to a section of town with motorcycle accessories, helmets; pretty much anything you could want, minus the motorcycle itself.  Then we’re in the children’s bicycle section, and then we’re……well, the rickshaw driver turns around to ask me exactly where I want to go.  I decide it’s time to continue the mission by foot.  So I get out.  And motion him to join me behind the rickshaw.  “Ami eta ekte lagbe” (I want one of this).  “Acche koi?”  (Where do they have them?) .  He gives me a look, as do the ten guys that have gathered around us in ten seconds we’ve been stopped.  I repeat myself.  They say, “Nai” (there is none).  “Yeah right.”  “Ami eta lagbe.  Koi?”  (I need this.  Where?).  Finally they point in the direction we came from and say, “shoja” (straight).  That’s enough for me.  We set off walking that way, back through motorcycle accessory city.  Our rickshaw driver, who in his yellow Brazil shirt is pretty easy to spot, tracks us for a while, and I keep laughing and saying “tik acche” (no problem) because he has this perplexed look on his face like he’s semi-responsible for our fool’s errand.  After a little while, I find another stopped rickshaw that has the art on the back—I pull it back a little bit so that I can show it to some shopkeepers.  “Eta acche?” (do you have this?)  “No.”  “acche koi?” (where do they have it?).  They point to a perpendicular street.  Super!  We are getting warm, I can sense it.  These are tiny shops—the entrances are about 5 ft wide and they are 10 ft deep; and crammed full of inventory.  Eventually I spot a few pieces of rickshaw art.  I leave Ruthie there to browse their selection while I investigate what else is there—having been through the motorcycle section, I figured we had now entered the rickshaw accessory section and there would be plenty of stores with these things.  I’m right, and a few minutes later, I collect Ruthie, who is opting not to get the fluorescent scenes of people getting shot or landscape scenes that look like they were spraypainted by a third grader.  Across the street we find a place with a much deeper selection, and Ruthie gets a good assortment to take with her.  I just get the guy’s card; you never know when you need a rickshaw art guy.  Who knows; I’ve been told that a lot of embassy staff buy a full rickshaw when they go.  If I were to do that, I’d certainly want some custom made art to go on it.  Turquoise blue dolphins or something like that.

Next on our “itinerary” is Dhaka University; I’ve decided that while Ruthie can skip Lalbagh (the Red Fort), since I did on my first two trips to the city, Dhaka University is a must, given its place in Bangladesh’s history, and the fact that I just like the vibe there.  We walk for a bit; I remember how to say which direction, so probably ask for directions more often than not just to be able to point and say aggressively, “University kon dikke?” every time we get to an intersection.  We do pause so that I can introduce Ruthie to the sugar cane drink on the streets that I find pretty tasty. 

Azucar!!!!

That holds us over until we get to Dhaka University.  We sit in front of the TSC (Teacher Student Center, but you’ll have better luck just saying “TSC”), looking at one of the monuments commemorating the heroism of the Liberation War.  Dhaka University was the epicenter of the movement for Independence, so when the Pakistani Army came to squelch the rebellion, they were particularly brutal in their targeting of professors and students. Reminders of the sacrifices made for freedom are numerous around the University grounds.

It’s only for the reason that I allow Ruthie to modify our itinerary.  For a museum, no less.  The National Museum is sort of a “all you can eat” array of natural history, culture, art, and history, so it’s tough to do in one setting.  The history from the war for Liberation is up on the 4^th floor, so when I had been before, I had run out of my fairly limited supply of museum steam before getting there.  So I agree that we can spend 60 minutes in the museum, with a focus on the modern history section.  Ruthie accepts my offer, and with a minor detour into the art section, where Ruthie explains to me all sorts of allusions and art history context things that I didn’t know, we concentrate on the photos and articles from the War in 1971.  If Ruthie had two more days to spend in Dhaka, I’d take her to the Liberation War Museum for sure, because it’s an incredibly well organized, in-depth look 20^th century history of India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh.  But  not the kind of place where one could just pop in for an hour and emerge to just carry on their day—more akin to how you’d think about scheduling time for a concentration camp or the genocide museum.

Dhaka University

When 60 minutes are up, Ruthie and I go outside.  We’re eventually headed to my girl friend Mitu’s house, but going to stop by Aarong first to get Ruthie some local clothes.  Aarong is a line of clothes, household items, shoes, accessories, etc. that’s part of BRAC’s effort to create livelihood for marginalized women.  It’s just opened its third location, but I of course have selected the one in Dhanmondi for our purposes.  It’s hopping today; there are a lot of people out shopping.  I spend a few minutes going through the scarves, grab a purse to replace the one I lost recently, and then settle myself down on a bench tucked in the corner to wait for Ruthie to tire herself out.    The combination of Bangladesh prices (coming from London) and the fact that she’s not been shopping in a while means that this could be a marathon.  Luckily I’ve got the copy of On the Road that she brought for unnamed friend, so I am quite happy to be left to my own devices.

There’s so much more to tell, but if I keep writing, we are going to miss our plane to Cox’s Bazar, and then I will be in trouble.  And I’ll have nothing interesting to write about.  So, check out the pictures and/or send me an email if after reading all this, you still want to hear MORE :)  Apologies that my efforts to live real life interfere with my abilities to write about real life....the irony......