Buriganga Express: Inside Dhaka’s floating commute

When I stepped into one of the small wooden boats on the Buriganga for the first time, I was taken aback by how familiar the chaos felt. The boats collided, bumped, and glided past one another with a rhythm that reminded me more of buses squeezing through a Dhaka traffic jam than anything nautical.  

"It's rare to find someone in Old Dhaka who hasn't stepped onto these boats," Sabbir Ahmed, a local passenger, told me, knowing that it was my first time. He was right. Around Sadarghat and the surrounding areas, these sampans are known as the 'local buses' or, as people fondly call them, the 'Buriganga Express.'      

The nickname is not accidental. Though they do not have engines, the boatmen row with such speed and precision that it feels like a bus ride across water. Each boat has a small cockpit-like seat for the boatman, and the stopping system is even more remarkable; the oars double as hydraulic brakes, skilfully pressed against the river to slow the craft down.  

Photo: TBS

"While moving or braking, the boats bump into one another in such a way that it feels like a scene straight out of 'Pirates of the Caribbean'," Sabbir said.   

For just Tk10, these boats take you across the Buriganga's dark-coloured waters. If you are lucky, your destination lies directly on the opposite bank. If not, you endure the acrid stench of the river until you disembark. Still, queues of wooden boats tied neatly together with ropes resemble a bus stand, albeit without steel frames or concrete shelters.

Stretching back centuries

The Buriganga boats are not a modern convenience. Their heritage stretches back to the Mughal era, when Dhaka's waterways were the city's arteries. Even today, these boats remain essential.

To an outsider, the idea of crossing a wide, crowded river in a small wooden boat without an engine may seem intimidating. In Japan and Malaysia, similar boats are used for leisure in parks or ponds, but rarely as transport.

So many sampans float along the Buriganga at any given moment that they resemble leaves drifting across the surface of a tree-shadowed pond. Big launches, cargo vessels, and fishing boats crowd the river as well.

Yet amidst the heavy traffic, these small boats persist, slipping between larger vessels with agility.

Lifeblood of Dhaka

The Buriganga itself has long been called the lifeblood of the capital. Flowing southeast before merging into the mighty Ganges Delta, it once carried the very course of the Ganges until shifts in the river's path left it detached — 'Buriganga' literally meaning 'Old Ganges' in Bengali.

Today, however, its legacy is shadowed by pollution. Industrial and household waste pour into its waters, suffocating life beneath.

If the river has changed, so too has the life of the boatmen. At Sadarghat, they swarm around new arrivals, eager to secure a fare.

These are often older men, whose muscles are tested daily against both current and competition. "These men are really talented and fast with their boats," Sabbir remarked. "They navigate the boats just like the cycle-rickshaw drivers manoeuvre through chaotic traffic in the city."

Our boatman is Mohammad Afjal, who has rowed these waters for three decades. "I am 55 years old. I have been doing this for the last 30 years. My father used to do this before me, then after he passed away, I took over," he said.

But the profession is more of a burden than a means of earning for him. He said, "Before, this was a good source of income, but now I barely earn enough to sustain my life. When I started, the river water was not as dirty as it is now; it used to be cleaner."

"I do this because I cannot do anything else, and I have expertise in this. You have to be very experienced to row boats here. As you see, there are huge launches and ferries going all the time. If the boatman is not experienced, then he will be the reason for many deaths," he added.

"This river is very dangerous. I do it just to sustain life. Accidents happen very often. The big launches cannot break instantly, so it is actually totally up to us to ensure safety and distance. We get five to 10 trips a day. If lucky, maybe more. We get Tk10 from each passenger."

Every day, one or two boats reportedly capsize. Sometimes lives are lost. Afjal knows these risks better than anyone, but necessity leaves no alternative.

For passengers, the boats are both a convenience and a hazard. Adnan Jamil, a businessman who lives across the river, is one of Afjal's regular passengers. "The bridge is a bit far from both my home and my shop. Crossing by boat is convenient and cheap. There is no alternative, actually, because you cannot build a bridge on the launch terminal. So as long as the terminal stays, we will use the boats. Yes, a bit dangerous, but nothing extreme," Jamil noted.

Photo: TBS

For others, the danger is not abstract. Tilak Saha, who commutes daily with his bicycle, recalled, "I do this every day. My home is almost three kilometres from the ghat, so I use a cycle to get there, then cross the river and ride another kilometre to my work. It is time-saving and easy."

"Yes, I have been in an accident before where my boat collided with a launch. My boat drowned, and I swam to safety. It was a horrible experience. But what else can I do? It can happen to anyone," Tilak added.

Despite these risks, people pour onto the boats all the time. Rush hour is particularly frenetic, with thousands needing to cross at once. Wooden decks force passengers to sit cross-legged, often uncomfortably, especially for those unaccustomed. Yet, for a city of more than 20 million, the sampans remain irreplaceable.

Fisherman Sacchu Bepari expressed his loss, "The river used to be our lifeline, but now it has nothing. Now the river is overflown with sucker fish. These fish have grown so much in numbers that all the other types of fish have been driven away. Ninety per cent of the time, our nets only catch these fish. Sucker fish are useless; they cannot be eaten or used. The only thing that can be done with this fish is to make animal food for cats and dogs."

Behind the whirl of activity at Sadarghat stands one figure of relative authority: the station master, Sahah Alam. He keeps track of whose boat is next, ensures a semblance of order, and deploys rescue boats when accidents occur.

Photo: TBS

"Someone has to look after this. I see to it that there is order among the boatmen and everyone gets their fair share of passengers. There are boatmen who often try to take more passengers than their boat can handle, which can cause accidents. I am in charge of stopping that and ensuring safety. I distribute passengers evenly among them," Alam said.

"We could use government support. As you can see, the platforms we are using are not that strong; they may collapse. So I urge the government to build better ramps for us," he urged.

His plea reflects the fragile infrastructure that underpins this entire system.

Standing at Sadarghat, surrounded by launches belching smoke, cargo ships waiting for repair, and ferries darting across the current, the word 'chaos' comes easily. Yet, as I watched Afjal row away with his passengers, I realised there was also something very much in order about it. Like Dhaka itself, the 'Buriganga Express' survives on improvisation, resilience, and relentless movement.

The boats may be small — no more than wooden leaves upon a vast, polluted river. But they remain indispensable, carrying centuries of history, countless livelihoods, and accommodating the daily lives of thousands.