How a power outage led to an unplanned musical evening

Trapped in a stifling room during load shedding, I stepped out with a single goal: escape the heat and find fried snacks. Instead of a routine errand, a simple craving unexpectedly led me to live classical music and an unforgettable night.

The electricity went out one evening, and I had no noble intention of going out to enjoy some culture. I was melting in the heat, slightly irritated, and already tired of sitting around waiting for the fan to come back to life.

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Load shedding does that to a man. Staying home begins to feel like a punishment, even when you have nowhere particular to be. The room gets stuffy, the Wi-Fi gives up, and you realise that time really does slow down when lights are out, watching your phone battery as if it were the last surviving light source in the city.

I decided to go out.

Partly to escape the heat, but mostly because I was craving pakoras. That was the entire plan. Find somewhere comfortable, order a plate, sit under a working fan or air conditioner, and wait for the electricity to return.

That craving took me to Tarka. Once inside, I found that a Sarangi and Tabla performance was taking place on Friday night.

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This was not something I had looked up beforehand. I had not dressed for a cultural evening or convinced anyone to come along. I had arrived in the slightly disorganised state of a man driven out of his own home by a power cut and into a restaurant by fried food.

Still, it was a rather nice thing to walk into.

The décor at Tarka had an ethnic-chic feel, but it wasn’t trying too hard to announce it. The South Asian touches sat comfortably within the space, and the ambience was relaxed. Nothing felt too stiff or ceremonial. You could listen to the music properly or let it sit in the background while you ate. Both seemed acceptable.

The Sarangi and tabla worked surprisingly well in that setting. There were still the ordinary sounds of a restaurant around them. People were talking, cutlery touched plates, and orders were being taken. The room did not transform into a concert hall, and that was probably why I enjoyed it. The music belonged to the evening without demanding that everything else stop for it.

My pakoras arrived, which remained important. I may have stumbled into a cultural night, but I had not forgotten why I left home in the first place. Sitting there with something hot and fried in front of me, listening to live classical music, I realised the night had become far better than the one I had reluctantly walked out of.

There is a tendency to think of culture as something to be planned. We hear of an event, check the date and the traffic, ask who else is going and more often than not decide that it sounds like too much effort. Even a nice evening can feel like a chore in Dhaka.

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This was not like that. I hadn’t committed to anything. I had simply walked in and stayed.

I will not exaggerate and say the performance changed me. I did not leave with a sudden understanding of ragas, nor did I spend the night searching for Sarangi albums. It was simply enjoyable. For a while, I had nowhere else to be, nothing urgent to do and no reason to stare at my phone.

That was enough.

By the time I headed home, the electricity had returned. The fan was spinning again, the Wi-Fi was back, and the evening could have resumed as if nothing had happened. Except I had eaten my pakoras and listened to a Sarangi and tabla performance I never knew was taking place.

For once, load shedding had improved my plans. I would not go as far as thanking it, though.