In Those Days, Eid Would Arrive Flying the Flags of Joy
Graphics: Agamir Somoy
In the sixties and seventies, Eid used to arrive in Dhaka city by weaving through countless narrow alleys that spread out like veins, flying the shimmering flags of pure joy. Our gathered groups, our white panjabis and pajamas soaked in the warm fragrance of attar, and the delicious aroma of polao and meat wafting from closely packed houses painted those special days in completely different colors.
During the time I am writing about, this city had not yet spread out so powerfully in all directions. Its houses hadn't started dreaming of touching the sky, the walls hadn't grown tall, and the streets were not overflowing with crowds. In those quiet days, Eid would arrive dressed in festive clothes to tell stories of special happiness. Back then, numerous small fairs were held across both the new and old parts of Dhaka. The massive road in Fakirerpool that now breathes down the neck of Motijheel had not even been built before the Liberation War.
Beside the dirt road, a giant water tank with a massive iron structure had just reared its head. An Eid fair used to be held right there. Sellers would wait for us with clay dolls neatly arranged in baskets. Ducks painted with delicate brushstrokes, nodding old men, horses, elephants, tigers, astronauts in peculiar outfits—what wasn't available at that fair! Even back then, the fair sold murali (sweet flour sticks), small sandesh coated in sugar, and jalebis. When we went to the fair in groups of friends, we only held a few coins tightly in our hands. Sometimes, those gripped coins would get wet with sweat. Breathless moments would pass as we endlessly debated what to buy and what to leave behind. The continuous whirring sound of the wooden carousel would intensify the joy of Eid in our hearts.
As we grew a bit older, different troupes started coming to this city to showcase circuses on Eid day. In the evening, a lively circus show would commence right under a canvas tent. These circuses were organized in the vacant spaces of the expanding city outside Old Dhaka. Music would blare from microphones, and colorful paper pennants would flutter. Regular announcements about various stunts would be made over the loudspeakers. In the evening, those arrangements felt wrapped in a cloak of forbidden mystery to us. Yet, the intense attraction made our minds completely unwilling to accept any restrictions. The bright circus lights, the knife-throwing acts, and the daredevil risks of motorcycles in the 'Well of Death' would effortlessly draw us under the tent.
Back then, taking rickshaw rides around this city was an essential part of Eid's joy. Our pockets never saw too much money. The few coins or notes received as salami after elder greetings would be spent entirely on rickshaw rides. Roaming around different neighborhoods on a rickshaw in the empty city was a major luxury of our Eid. Of course, saving up money to watch a newly released movie in the afternoon remains a cherished memory of those Eid days even today.
The definition of happiness changes over time. The way Eid days once flowed through this city like a festival remains framed within the heart. Memories live on behind a gray curtain. Today, the structure of celebration and joy in this city has transformed itself. It has taken on new colors and new melodies. Yet, the melody of Eid's joy from a city left behind, along with the laughter and tears of so many gains and losses, plays before the eyes like a movie. Eid arrives with happiness and the day eventually fades away. But that warm fragrance of attar, the lighthearted days spent in groups, and the delightful arrangements of food continue to play a captivating flute deep within the soul.
