Life in the afternoon in Dhaka is lived on the rooftops. Children play cricket, or kick a ball around, or fly kites. Young men contemplate, wander silently, at the very edge of the precipice. Mothers watch carefully as their sons run around. Groups of girls show their faces for the only time in the day they are given the freedom.
The rooftops float about next to each other like flowers on a lake. Separated by inches, the drop between them are six or seven floors. There is a strange mixture of danger, of safety, of loneliness, and of a deep restful calm.
This all plays out under the darkening deep red of the sub continental sun. The prayers of the nearby Mosque shimmers and floats out, as everyone slowly wanders back down to the confines of their little apartments, of their lives intertwined tightly with each other. The rooftop gardens settle into a vast silence.
Posted 2 years ago
