Three under paths and one poet

Afsan Chowdhury writes for DOT
Last week I walked through the pedestrian under path opposite to Kaoran Bazar and saw scenes common everywhere. Daytime under passes are more respectable and clean but at night the real character peeps out just as people when asleep can never hide their souls. It’s actually not very dirty –shocked happily- and perhaps in the mild Dhaka’s winter, no beggars. People busily walking up and down and though its so tiny compared to the major under paths of the world, I felt an odd pride. After all it’s ours.
Toronto:Toronto is one of the most livable cities of the world, pleasant, inexpensive, clean and inclusive. Just about everyone can find their space in this somewhat sparsely populated city. It’s got an immigrant population greater than any other cities. And you can see them all in the subways and under pass.
Those subways are like a world of their own, a mini world of people and voices that are awesome. I think the best global ethnic, geography class can be held in such places. They also have shops of many kinds, convenience booths really, many run by immigrants. Most of them, almost all ladies, are a sunny lot but a few are sad. Perhaps they miss home.
I once met a young girl from Jaffna, Sri Lanka, who was standing outside in the open space outside the subway watching a snow rain fall in absolute wonder. Snow rains are that actually, rainwater falling but with it soft snow also falls. To our Asian eyes, they are truly amazing sight to behold.
I asked her, “have you not seen a snow rain before. ?” . She shook her head. “ I am a Tamil and been here for 5 years as a refugee. I have been working underground all the time. I never get off from the shop. I have never seen one before.” As she talked , she never turned towards me. As if the sight was so precious, she didn’t want to waste a single second watching it.
Moscow : Moscow’s fabled under pass or subways are truly huge in scale. But I remember them as places of refuge from the bone chilling early March weather when I was once there. Yet one of the most shocking experience I had was when I was prevented from entering it by a Bangladeshi friend accompanying me. He kept on making excuses not to go in, looking very flustered as I almost collapsed from the cold. Finally after almost 15 he walked me in. We said nothing as we travelled, nothing as we boarded a cold cold bus to the hotel I was staying in.
The mystery of his behavior was solved the next day. he was very apologetic. “ I could not go in because my Professor’s wife was begging inside from the passangers. The salary keeps them going for a week and I and other pay his bills. Obviously it’s not enough. If she had seen me begging, she would have killed herself.”
This was the time when Yeltsin was in power and the Soviet Union had collapsed. People with pension and salary were totally devastated and I saw the cruelties of a system gone wrong in the worst possible way.
The bundled up poet and the free flowing musician
As we are getting out of the Kaoran Bazar under pass, I saw several people who were totally bundled with rags, sacks etc lying on the ground. As I passed one by I was astounded to hear that he was spouting poetry, not sure original or just reciting a favourite poem. But poetry it was, full of surreal and sexual imageries. As I smiled and walked on, I remembered the man in Toronto who with his guitar was singing “Give me love, more love”.
It all happens in the underpass.
Afsan Chowdhury is a journalist, a media professional, a researcher, a social activist.