Rewinding time: DVDs, cassettes and a keeper of memories in Sylhet

It was the year 2009. I was in the fifth grade, barely 10 years old. It was an era of absolute splendour for CDs, DVDs and music cassettes in our neighbourhood. 

On every street corner in our ward, small shops rented out CDs and DVDs of English, Bangla and Hindi films — both contemporary releases and those from a long, romanticised yesteryear. Music cassettes as well — some new, some old — were sold and traded with a kind of reverence. 

Arguments over who would get to borrow or keep a coveted disc were commonplace. I too have such an anecdote: I was in a fierce, playful struggle with two older children over who got to take home the DVD of Russell Crowe's Gladiator. In the end, much to my delight, I prevailed. 

Yet in our current epoch of digital supremacy, the mere notion of CDs, DVDs or music cassettes existing anywhere seems like folly. Yet I chanced upon a hidden gem in Zindabazar, Sylhet — a treasure trove that transported me back 15 years in an instant. 

Situated on the second floor of Latif Centre, at shop number 218, is 'DVD Gallery', run by Tarek Ahmed. The moment I entered, a surge of childhood memories washed over me, as though I had stepped into a time machine. 

There, in soft light and stillness, sat meticulously arranged audio and video CDs, DVDs and even old music cassettes — like silent guardians of a bygone era.

"Oh, the '90s," Tarek remarked as he greeted me, with a reluctant smile. It was during that decade that the cassette‑CD‑DVD trade was at its peak. Every new film or album release meant crowds thronging to the shop; finding a cassette felt like a festival, a celebration, a communal gathering. 

But those tides of time have shifted, and the habits of people too have modernised. Mobile phones, YouTube, USB drives — they have all pushed aside the physical media that was once king. Yet, at DVD Gallery, those relics are still treasured, still waiting patiently for someone to dust them off and let them sing again.

From '12 Angry Men' to Arnold Schwarzenegger's 'Terminator'; from 'To Kill a Mockingbird' to Tom Cruise's 'Mission: Impossible'; from James Bond adventures to 'Pulp Fiction' and the Batman trilogy — film history lay lovingly stacked across shelves. 

Bollywood classics also had their place: Shah Rukh Khan's 'Deewana', Salman Khan's 'Ham Dil De Chuke Sanam', or the luminous charm of Irfan Khan, Amitabh Bachchan, and Mithun Chakraborty's 'Disco Dancer'. Bangla cinema too, with stars like Manna, Salman Shah, and Razzak, found a proud display.

When I turned towards the music section and a thousand voices from the past greeted me. 

Photo: TBS

Manna Dey, Hemanta Mukhopadhyay, Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle — all the golden voices of yesteryear — standing side by side with modern maestros such as Habib, Mila, Asif, and Khalid. Not to neglect the children or the gamer at heart, an animation and games section showcased 'Ben 10', 'Godzilla', 'Doraemon', even 'FIFA 12', 'FIFA 13', and 'Call of Duty'. What more could one ask for, if one wished to wander again through the gardens of their youth?

In the 1990s, the shop was run by Tarek's maternal uncle, Liton Ahmed. In 2002, the mantle passed to Tarek. Back then, the shop was considerably larger, and CDs, cassettes, and DVDs flourished not only here but in neighbouring stores too. 

Time, however, spares none. Many have pulled down their shutters, changed professions, or simply given up — but Tarek remains steadfast.

He maintains stock worth more than Tk1 lakh. Roughly every two months, he orders about Tk10,000 worth of new cassettes from Dhaka. The CDs, he says, he crafts himself, while the DVDs he has made for him by a trusted supplier in Dhaka, who supplies them on order. 

But who are the buyers of these relics in this digital age? 

"Transactions may be fewer," he said, "but they have not ceased entirely. Particularly among Sylheti expatriates in London, the appetite for cassettes and CDs still endures. When they come back home, they often pick up 15 to 20 cassettes at once. They love their favourite singers' cassettes, DVDs of Quranic recitation or Bangla ghazals — these items remain on top of their wish list. Arrivals from June to August bring more of this nostalgic pilgrimage — those months see the highest influx of customers."

But profit is not exactly soaring. Tarek confided in me that costs have risen significantly. A DVD that once sold for Tk60 now goes for Tk90; a video CD once priced at Tk50 now fetches Tk150. 

Many customers come simply to listen — those elderly patrons for whom the cassette player in an old car or at home still holds magic. 

"My regular customers are mostly older than the young. They come intermittently, searching for beloved songs, artists, and tapes from the past," Tarek said. There is a sense of ritual to these meetings: they pick up a cassette, run the fingers over its label, flip it into their device, and close their eyes as memory floods their senses.

Tarek recounted that around 2005, they used to sell cassettes worth Tk1 lakh in a single day. Customers queued even before the shop's doors opened. During Eid, the shop would hum all night with eager buyers. Possessing a newly acquired cassette felt like winning a race back then, "Who collected first? Who listened first?" It was a joyous contest of discovery. Meanwhile, the expatriates from London would gleefully snag 20 cassettes for £20, since one cassette there cost that much.

Asked which era Tarek thinks is the best — the old or the present, he responded without hesitation, "Certainly the old era." His reasoning was heartfelt, "Back then, when phones and the internet weren't in every hand, we could guide what people watched. If someone asked for a particular genre of DVD or CD, we could understand their intent. We didn't give minors what was inappropriate. Now? Everyone has a phone and internet. People watch whatever they want, wherever. It's difficult to guide, and harm can come in so many ways."

Photo: TBS

Despite it being 2025, messages and phone calls still arrive at his shop requesting specific CDs or DVDs; he serves them, shipping items by courier across the country. 

But recently, he discovered something disheartening: Some customers buy a DVD for Tk70–90, then list the same item on Facebook Marketplace for a much higher price — often for Tk550. 

"I hadn't known about it at first," he lamented. "People take advantage, really. What can I say? There are folks who collect, who are passionate. Facebook resellers target precisely that group."

Before I left, one remark of Tarek struck me with melancholy. 

He said, with a certain heaviness, that he does not plan to keep this venture going for much longer. One day, he may pack everything into sacks and depart for abroad. 

"When I shut down the business," he said, "all these CDs and cassettes — I'll pack them into bags. There's no other way. All that remains after sales, I will throw them away." 

At that moment, the impulse to hand him my business card was irresistible. I urged him, "Before you dispose of anything, please call me first. I'll try to take whatever remains." I don't know if he will call — but the thought warmed my heart.