Caught in the Rain

Today I worked out the window at work and saw some very dark and ominous clouds. I knew the monsoon raid was soon about to start and would last a while. As work was about to end in 45 min or so, I decided to call it a day early and try and book it home before it started coming down. I knew if I could make it on a rickshaw by the time it started, I would be as I could just pop the top up and wrap up in the plastic tarp they give you and stay mostly dry.

I was 2 minutes too late...

Just as I was coming to the main intersection where I catch my rickshaw, it started coming down heavier, and just as I was crossing the street the torrents began to fall. I made it across the street, took a bounding leap over a massive puddle (much to the excitement of the men around me) and went and hid in the doorway to a store with about 50 other ppl.

It was actually kind of peaceful. Everyone was in too much of a rush to stair at me, and the people huddling with me must have felt a sense of comradery and didn’t act weird either. Since I was a little exposed on an end a nice man in the middle offered me his umbrella to use as well, which was very nice. It was kind of nice looking out on the crazy of Gulshan 1 circle, normally a bustle of cars, buses, rickshaws, CNGs, walkers, children, beggars, street salesmen and sometimes goats. Had quieted down to cars rushing hither-thither and the random person bolting to a point of better shelter.  The rain blowing patterns and waves on the puddles formed from the rain earlier in the morning. It was nice to be a part of something, yet be removed from the chaos.

So often while here in Dhaka I am rushing somewhere. Rushing to work, rushing away from the staring eyes, rushing to the store before dark, rushing to the nearest CNG or rickshaw, rushing across the road to miss the traffic. I never take a moment while outside to look up from the uneven, muddy and treacherous ground and look around me.

Dhaka is not beautiful; it could not even be mistaken as a pleasant place to live. It is hard, it is brutal, it is ugly. Everyday life here is work.

But for a moment looking out from my little protected cave, forced to take a quiet moment to look around I saw a side of Dhaka I had never seen before. It was similar to seeing a person, who always acts tough and obtuse, suddenly break down and show a sensitive side. It was unexpected, surprising, and an event that makes you like them more. Dhaka is still ugly, definitely still hard, but I feel as though I have now seen the beating heart to a body of people.

Soon the rain let up a little, and I made a bolt for the rickshaw corner. I climbed in and cuddled up with a plastic tarp as my rickshawalla made his way through the muddy and half flooded streets as the rain picked up force again. I eventually made it home safe in sound, albeit quite a bit wet. It was a remarkably wonderful ride home however. I’m glad I got caught in that rain.