A walk to remember
From Mirpur to Bijoy Sarani, I walked 13 kilometres through a city alive with euphoria
I woke up to my father shouting—apparently, the mobile network was down again. With no broadband or dish at our new Mirpur home, mobile internet was our only lifeline. Now even that is gone. Anxiety kicked in. The one-point demand had been roaring across the country for days. Was this the calm before another storm?
Around 1pm, Mohsin, my team head, called: "The army chief will speak at 2." Half an hour later, the internet flickered back. Social media exploded—"Hasina resigned!"
By 2pm, when no CNGs were in sight, I decided to walk to my office, 13 kilometres away. Unrealistic? Sure. But I needed to see the city with my own eyes.
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The streets felt electric. From toddlers clutching flags to women in red and green saris, everyone was out. People hugged strangers like old friends. Sweet shops handed out free treats. Graffitied protest walls had turned into selfie backdrops. Loud music blared. It was pure euphoria.
Crowds marched towards Shahbagh, some on motorbikes, others on rickshaws commandeered for victory rides. Loudspeakers roared chants of freedom. News flew fast: Gonobhaban, Parliament, the PM's office—all raided. Returning crowds held "souvenirs" aloft, greeted with wild cheers.
By Bijoy Sarani, I met two friends. Work was forgotten. We drifted to the military museum, where a crowd tried to topple Sheikh Mujibur Rahman's statue. By sunset, I was at the PM's office, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with jubilant citizens.
No CNGs. No rickshaws. Just feet pounding Dhaka's streets. After hours of walking—Cantonment, Kalshi—I finally begged a rickshaw puller to take me home. My fitness app later mocked me: 13 kilometres walked.
I never reached work. Instead, I walked through history.
