Don't get me wrong, I am all for the main roads and fancy streets, at least some claim to be in Dhaka or elsewhere but alleys and lanes and by-lanes are a class apart. And few cities have such wonderful "golis" as they call it like Dhaka has. I am an addict of this strange delicacy.

I grew up in this city-Tikatuli, Magbazar, Jigatla, Mohammadpur, Lalmatia, Niketan, etc and know them all. The neighborhoods are like a relative or a friend. They remain familiar even if you haven't met them in years. And suddenly you see them and all the years disappear, just like my city.

I am a rickshaw person. Not only can I reach where I want at an affordable rate, I also get a sightseeing tour with a good conversation with the puller thrown in for free. When BRAC University was in Mohakhali, I had to plough through main street traffic jams, not much fun.

Now the campus is in Merul Badda and I travel through the deepest intestines of this city to reach my destination. The alley, the sub-alleys and the mystifying dead ends all figure in this journey, passing through and to a strange fascinating world.

The small house

On the way to Merul, once the Hatirjheel zone ends, the scenery starts to change. The shops are not so disciplined, all kinds of haphazard constructions lie smiling. There is a semi fancy looking kebab shop but with a slightly decrepit jelebi shop next to it. And then there is more.

As the rickshaw enters the Daroga Bari lane one enters another Dhaka. The Daroga Bari itself is a good symbol of this mysterious alley dominated world. Where the price of the land is several crores per katha, there is only a tin shed in there in which none of the owners live, just some caretakers. Why? No answer.

But why not build a house in a city where everyone builds? Why did you leave the property worth billions just like that? No answer and that's good. Any question can be asked inside the alley world but not all answers are available nor is sought. It adds flavor to the tea served in the alleys.

Yet not an inch of land is spared in the alley world. One, two, three, ten floors, all built up. Some of the houses are modern with mirror decorated walls. And then suddenly there are rows of tin roofed dark hovels. Who lives here? Tenants? Owners? But why live here? Why not sell, become rich and move out?

I asked people about them but got no answer. Why not build? Ownership disputes, forced possession, curses? Silence.

The corner house

The corner house has three corners, so worn, ramshackle and dirty, but two large ACs adorn the wall. Why live in a mangy narrow, building when you can afford fancy ACs? On the other side of the road, a shockingly smart eight -storied building with a developer's sign board glares loudly from the top. Who are they who live so deep in an alley but in a smart tall building? Why not on the main road?

Sometimes when returning from class at night, on foot or in a rickshaw, I only see the light of the homes through the windows, not the residents. The kingdom of shadows reigns in the dark. Do real people live in those apartments?

At night, residents are not seen in the Merul Badda lanes. The houses stand next to each other silently, as if queuing to buy cheap essentials from a municipal truck. Who are they?

Another city, another time

Coffee shops are also there in the alley, but there are more puree-shingara shops, snacks lie heaped in aluminum dish trays, people arrive, eat, pick up and leave. No one goes back empty handed. Some shops have sign boards, some none. No need as everyone knows everyone. I once asked, 'What do you need to do to set up a shop'? "The man nonchalantly said, 'People know people, you need to know people...'.

Maybe that's the real thing, now. People can be seen living in a half -built house and then suddenly a huge fancy car rushes out from the gate into the alley. Why would the rich live here? Think of the hassle a car faces, think of the dingy street, think of so many things but no answers are added at the end.

I think this is another city and the city of Dhaka comes here to rest a bit before returning back to the main road. Another city lives inside the alley.

One night as I was returning home at night, all I saw were shades. The sound of rickshaw bells, CNG headlights, shop lights were all blurred into one. It seemed I was walking in another time.

It was as if time had come to rest here.... time, life history. The alley is like a matriarch who wraps herself around everyone and everything, surviving by the strength of the collective embrace.