Dhaka’s love hate relationship with rain

There are thousands of people in Dhaka, each living a different life. But a few things are constant for all. Apart from the unavoidable traffic and the signal at Bijoy Sarani, their love-hate relationship with rain unites most of them.

There are those who say they love rain and identify themselves as pluviophiles, a term I had to look up and now have many questions about. Do they have a club? Do they gather on weekends and soak in the rain and mud together? What do they do in winter? I am curious.

On the other hand, the average Dhaka resident will identify themselves as anything but. Our relationship with rain is far more complex.

For example, on Friday mornings, I find myself sitting with a cup of tea and wishing for rain. "May it rain as hard as it can," I say to no one in particular, staring out the window. Yet this same me was hoping for a dry afternoon this past Friday because I wanted to meet some friends.

Call me whatever you want -- a hypocrite, a narcissist, or any other name you can think of -- but I know exactly what I am: just a regular Dhaka resident.

While most people enjoy the white noise of continuous rainfall, the cool weather it brings at night, and the tempting feeling of peaceful slumber while tucked under a sheet as it rains cats and dogs, they also loathe getting wet in office attire. It's bad enough having to get all suited and booted for work; it's unbearable getting drenched in that state. Even worse if you are carrying important documents.

I enjoy the sentiment of khichuri bilash like the next person during these rainy days. In fact, I look forward to mota chaler khichuri with aubergine fry, but I cannot bear the feeling of wet shoes as I struggle to get home. Sometimes I wonder if the opportunity cost of khichuri versus getting soaked in the streets is even fair.

Like any other Dhaka resident, I love waking up to see the drizzling rain and the fresh air it brings. Fresh air is a rare commodity in this city, after all. But the next moment, I start nursing a temper because it will be a herculean task to get to work. The rickshaw-pullers will become dictators, the CNGs will be as rare as a meteor shower, and buses will become inhospitable.

Photo: Prabir Das

The idea of stepping into waterlogged roads that might contain hidden holes -- and water as dark as the eyeliner of a goth teen -- is disgusting. But it's a deed we cannot escape in this city.

Like most people, I love watching the rain from a higher floor because it offers a peaceful landscape that is refreshing and has a natural charm. But my annoyance returns quickly, because the number of umbrellas I have lost in the last three months is unhealthy. It feels like I am in a toxic relationship with my umbrella, and it leaves at the first chance it gets.

What's even more annoying is the mud. It does wash away if it rains heavily, but if it only drizzles, the capital becomes a muddy mess. And it does not help that I am a fast walker. I am no Jackson Pollock, but the back of my trousers often looks like an abstract canvas after a walk on Dhaka streets.

So, if you ask me, or the average Dhaka resident, whether we love or hate rain, the answer will be far from simple.

Let's just say it's complicated and leave it at that.