Non-fiction
Flâneuring in Barisal
Flâneur: The term flâneur comes from the French verb flâner, which means "to stroll". A flâneur is thus a person who walks the city in order to experience it. The term was popularized by Baudelaire, the French man of letters. (Wikipedia)
One of the fondest memories of my childhood, and from growing up in Bangladesh, was the adventurous life I led in Barisal. My father, a judge in the East Pakistan Judicial Service, was transferred to Barisal from Mymensingh, where he landed with my mother and six sons, aged from one to ten. During the first few months in Barisal my family moved from one temporary accommodation to another (why, if you ask, it's a very long story), and we all tried to adjust the best we could, thanks to my parents who both were very flexible and easy-going. Once we had all settled in, going to school and comfortable in our neighborhood, Shadani, my older brother, and I started exploring the various "paras" and started discovering the many charms of this exotic mofussil town.
My first impression of Barisal was formed on a mid-afternoon as we stood on the deck under the blazing sun in mid-summer, holding the railing as the steamer approached Barisal river port and tried to ease its way to moor next to the jetty. My brothers and I were very happy and excited to finally arrive at our new station, almost twenty four hours after we left Mymensingh where my father had been posted for almost three years. I recall that the journey from Mymensingh to Barisal was long, first by train from Mymensingh to Narayanganj with a two-hour break at the Dhaka railway station at Fulbaria--where we were met by my maternal uncle and his family, and my Nanoo--and then by a paddle steamer operated by Pakistan River Steamers from Narayanganj to Barisal.
Barisal town is located on the Kirtankhola river, which plays a vital role in the town's cultural and social life as well as its economic well-being. When we lived in Barisal, the two sides of this river presented a study in contrastthis side was built up and humming with economic activity while the other side was not developed and looked green with paddy fields. We frequently went to the river bank to see the activities on the river and the riverine beauty--large and small boats crossing the river carrying passengers, animals, produce, and other merchandise, or on its way to river ports further down in Jhalakathi and Swarupkathi. For the first few months after we moved to Barisal, I did not know much about life on the other side of the river, nor did I find it worthwhile to explore since there was a lot to discover in Barisal town itself, and the river traffic. The Kirtankhola was a pretty wide river, with lots of motor launches, country boats ("goyna"), motorboats, and other vehicles passing through the town. A few months after we took up residence at Gorachand Sheel Road, the month of Ramadan came, and I decided to fast for the entire month (I actually missed three "rozas" that year). Because there was no school and the days were long and hot, I would go to the Barisal steamer ghat, and spend a few hours there almost every day, usually by myself. A steamer ghat for a ten year old had many attractions: watching the passengers get on and off, the kulis balancing multiple layers of luggage and boxes on their head, walking and exploring the jetty, or just sitting or standing near the edge facing the river watching the aquatic traffic.
But the area on the other side of the river, known as Kauaar Char, gradually started to come into focus, and after we moved to a house, poetically named Annapurna Bhavan, on Jordan Road, a few minutes from the river bank, Kauaar Char came more and more into my consciousness. What was it like in Kauaar Char? What was it like crossing the river? How deep was the river in case a boat got hit by a bigger boat or capsized?
Obviously, there are many other charms of Barisal town which the town folk proudly considered to be the Venice of Bangladesh because of the many canals, locally known as khals, which crisscross the town. When we first went to Barisal in the 1960s, I a ten-year old, the banks of the Kirtankhola and the khals were particularly attractive to me. But I also took joy in just walking, flâneuring without knowing the meaning of the word, along Sadar Road, over Najirer Pool, and then cutting through Kaunia to visit BM College. I also discovered an alternative route through Aleykanda to BM College campus, to visit my classmate Selim who lived there. During these walks I tracked down a philately shop in Rahmatpur (I had just started to collect stamps) as well as tried for the first time the delectable street food known as "goolgula". I also started collecting empty cigarette packets from the roads and the streetside trash which we traded with my friends and used as currency for a street game known as "dega".
The first house we stayed in, located in Kaunia, had a wide canal flowing through its backyard. Soon we realized that you couldn't go from one section of the town to another without crossing a canal or two. Some of these were twenty to thirty feet wide and very deep, and many of themBhadar Khal, for example--had interesting legends and myths attached to them. Others, the feeder canals, were not as wide or deep, but still thrilled us so much, meaning my brothers and I, that we would almost every day spend an hour or so playing on the banks, watching the boats whiz by or observing the water flow.
We lived in three different houses within a short span of eighteen months, and in each of them we had a khal passing through our backyard. In the previous town where we lived, Mymensingh, the river Brahmaputra ran past the edge of the town, but we did not go near the river too much except for an occasional walk. In Barisal, however, we were never far from the river or the khals. All our visitors from Dhaka came by river since in those days there were no other means of communication. So we would go to the steamer ghat to receive or see them off. My father's office, where we had lunch after we first arrived, was near the river, and we'd pass that area almost every day. Our schools--the Zilla School for Shadani and I and Probhati School for the younger oneswere within walking distance of the river. After we had settled in, my class friends and I would hang out at the steamer ghat or at the market near the river. I was only ten years old, but I felt comfortable enough in Barisal to go to the steamer ghat, to various sections of the town, or just walk around on my own without any fear or worries. My friend Al-Helaly and I frequently went to Jagdeesh Theatre to see movies, and since I never had any money, he always paid for my tickets too, which cost only six poishas for children who were considered the same as "Ladies" since we sat in the ladies' section.
The streets and the neighborhoods were full of hidden treasures for me. I would often walk along the river, keeping an eye on boats and launches, as well as casting glances at Kauaar Char hoping to learn more about this enigmatic "land". During one of these walks I found myself at the Baptist Mission School of which I had only heard from Salimuzzaman, who also lived on Jordan Road.
It was finally Naushad and Gudu, who lived on Jordan Road in a big two-story brick house across from us, and had become Shadani's and my fast friends, who suggested that we try and cross the river to take a peek at Kauaar Char. They informed us that three other boys from our street were also interested and the "kheya" cost only two poishas. So without informing our parents, one afternoon we met up in front of Shojol's house (a few houses down from ours), and proceeded towards the river bank. I am not sure how many of us in the team knew how to swim, but I did not. However, the strength of the team was reassuring, and even if I was a little scared on our first crossing, I soon overcame it as the boatman steered with a steady hand. Soon we were on the other side, and had to decide what to do next. Since we were already on the other side, and had spent our precious allowance to get there, the consensus decision was to keep moving. We saw some other people who had crossed the river with us walk on a country road inland, farther from the river bank. And we joined them.
As we walked away from the river, we soon passed through rich paddy cultivation, but also saw small roadside shops, and little clusters of houses. It gradually started dawning on me that Kauaar Char, even though it was called a char, and might have been a char land many years ago, was now a fully settled and populated farm land. As we walked further inland, we came upon a little bazaar, and stopped by a shack to buy some candy and my favorite "goolgula". I was reassured that the goolgula on Kauaar Char was as tasty as the ones that I ate from the shacks on Sadar Road.
We went back to Kauaar Char a few more times, and although not much was happening there to draw us there, the changing landscape after the rice harvest, and the thrill of crossing the big river on a small boat and walking on the dusty road must have been strong enough to keep us going back to this barren land. My impressions of Kauaar Char have stayed with me, and always come back to me with a sweet longing whenever I read a story about river life, or think about Barisal. Lasting friendships were forged during those trips: with my brother Shadani, with the brothers Naushad and Gudu, and my Zilla School classmates Al-Helaly, Faisal, Kamran, and Shojol. Later, in high school, when I read the short story, "Meghnaye Koto Jol", I found a kinship with the protagonist of the story who drowned on a stormy night while trying to discover the depth of the river Meghna in a small boat similar to the ones we used to cross the Kirtankhola.
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