This is a story of a few evenings, coffee, girlfriends, Dhaka city at night, and a cool breeze. But more than that, it’s a story of those few moments where I stole my freedom from the world.
We have established a ritual in our friend groups. We go for a coffee after every hangout. Coffees are expensive and we are forever broken. But the cosy coffee shop, smell of roasted coffee beans, warmth of the coffee cup; they remind us of comfort and belonging.
We sit beside the windows, keep looking at the busy city, people coming and going. Some are waiting, some are chatting. We watch those short clips from their lives. We talk about life, nostalgia, and the uncertain future. Between the chaos, we find some silence between us to take breath. Our friendship has reached such a stage where silence doesn’t feel absurd. And then we look at our watch, it’s time to go home. Until the next time.
I remember the first night at Rangamati on our department tour. We were roaming around the lanes at night. We weren’t scared of anything. It’s sad that we needed to find freedom far away from our hometown.
I remember coming back from the office on an uber. There’s gentle breeze and I was enjoying the beauty of the city at night. They say that if you don’t see this city at night, you actually don’t know the real Dhaka. But it’s a forbidden place for us. But that night, even for a few moments, I stole my freedom. It’s hard earned freedom. I needed to get out of my house, attend an office which is far away from my place and get tired of the work. I paid the price for my freedom.
This city is becoming ineligible to live in day by day. This city is a witness to the rising and falling of our lives. This city still has some unique beauty during each season and different times in the day. But this city has always behaved a little harshly towards us, to me.
That’s why, I need to steal my freedom from here and there, from moment to moment with a cup of coffee in a coffee shop with my girls enjoying the silence between us.