There were two flights that evening from Bangkok International Airport to the Indian subcontinent. The first, to Calcutta, was clearly going to be full of tourists from Europe, America, Australasia, and Japan. There were lines of backpackers at the check-in counters and the talk was of ashrams, drugs, ayurvedic medicine, cheap hotels, half-digested notions of eroticism, and expected hassles. The second flight, to Dhaka, was a much more subdued affair. Aside from myself and two, rather low-key Czech businessmen, all the other passengers were Bengalis returning home, many carrying huge bundles of taped packages of goods, presumably for later resale.

The flight was not without incident. Upon takeoff the captain asked the cabin crew to prepare for landing, soon apologized and amended himself saying he would, "Leave no stone unturned to make our flight enjoyable". One passenger seemed determined to test the limits of the captain's benevolence by exploring the aisles during liftoff and had to be physically restrained by a crew member. "Not to worry, sir. he is only a madman. It can't be helped", a fellow passenger reassured in explanation.

Bangladesh is clearly not a prime destination on the international travel circuit. Born in a bloody war for independence in 1971, it has become emblematic of a certain type of despairing hopelessness. Severe overcrowding, horrendous cyclones, accompanying floods and famines, and a polarized political system in which students shoot each other are just some of the elements that has given the country its unenviable reputation as an 'international basket case' and has caused tourists to stay away.

To deny that the above problems do not exist is in some sense to deny the obvious but it is by no means the whole story. To dwell exclusively on the negative would be a serious mistake. The culture is both ancient and vibrant. It was the first country I'd been to in which I was approached by people and given samples of their poetry. The importance of poets in what is in many ways an aural society, soon became apparent.

Other less secure political entities usually have pictures displaying the growling visage of the leader of the moment in every shop and office. In Bangladesh you do see ones here and there of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the country's founder, but you also notice many of those of Rabindranath Tagore and Nazrul Islam, both revered poets. The national anthem is based on a Tagore poem, 'Golden Bengal'. One day, a Bangladeshi English language daily, The Independent carried a surprising item, "Artistes Blockade Road". It seemed that these 'artistes' were so upset that they needed to take to the streets. They were, in fact, demanding the building of a cultural theater. Culture is a very serious business here.

The Bangladeshi people I met were very hospitable, gracious, and polite. Invitations to houses were frequent. Within two hours of arriving at a northern city, Mymensingh, I was giving out awards at a high school sports meet, had two invitations to meals, and was requested to participate in the Amar Ekushe ceremony the coming evening. Amar Ekushe is the National Day of Mourning, commemorating the deaths of students in 1952 over an Urdu-only language policy instituted by political leaders based in what was then West Pakistan. My part involved placing flowers next to a monolith at the city's town hall. Thousands from the city, as well as local dignitaries, were there and doing this as well, but I was told that photographs of myself were the ones that appeared in local papers over the next few days.

As for poverty, yes, it can overwhelm the eyes and numb the senses at times but progress is being made, and is as much the result of local energy and activity as of international aid. Bangladesh is clearly a study in contrasts and Dhaka is an excellent place for visitors to begin.

The capital has grown from perhaps 1 million people to closer to 10 million in the last 30 years, a phenomenal expansion. The result to the visible eye is chaos, which after longish spells is places like super-organized and regimented Japan, can seen oddly relaxing. Transportation is an incongruent melange of old and new: hand-pulled carts, horse coaches, rickshaws, bicycles, buses, and Nissans. Bicycle rickshaws predominate in Central and Old Dhaka. Indeed, the city is home to the world's largest rickshaw fleet. The 300,000 or so of these contraptions that prowl the streets are gaudily painted in elaborate motifs indicative of popular culture. Film stars, futuristic cities, humanized animals, and even Saddam Hussein add color to the city's transport.

Traffic jams, or rather rickshaw jams, are common. Severe jolts and overturnings lead to arguments and often fistfights. Police, if around, will then intervene and adjudicate, or demand a 'fee'. Intervention sometimes involves, as I saw outside Dhaka University, a unique way of dealing with offense. An offending rickshaw driver had his hair pulled, his face slapped, and was made to perform ten deep knee squats in front of a crowd. When I asked a student, "Why did the police make him do that exercise; what's the point?", I was corrected, "That wasn't exercise at all. That was punishment"!

Dhaka is most definitely not a city of Walmarts, Takashimayas, or other such emporia, as these would not only be out of place, but also destructive in terms of employment. The whole city, particularly the older parts, seems a maze of streets and lanes with small shops, tradesmen, and bustling commercial activity. The impression is of a great number of specialized enterprises, slowly inching forward. Need a rickshaw of your own? Go to Bicycle Street and depending on your bargaining ability and how much decoration your require to impress your customers, a new one could set you back 11,000 taka (¥20,000). Separate streets and quarters exist for textiles, shoes, electronics, nails, sheet metal, furniture, in fact almost anything imaginable.

Still there is the poverty. Noxious substances flow along the streets and sidewalks. Beggars are everywhere. While some are 'professionals' controlled by mastans (syndicate chiefs) who collect much of the largesse for themselves, many, if not most, are genuine, products of an overburdened society subjected to repeated natural disasters. Sadly, they are often women with children, abandoned by their men in a society where male dominance can and does take cruel turns. Young rag pickers can be seen digging in the garbage heaps, and newspaper stories appear which contain horrific tales-children kidnapped and drugged, then sold into slavery in the Middle East. Sometimes, they escape. One Bangladeshi man spoke of the begging situation saying, "I could easily hand out 10,000 taka in a day, giving one or two taka to each beggar, but I could not do that the next day or the day after that. The problem is much too big. What can you do"?

The city possesses historical monuments from both the Mughal and British eras, though not as many as in the more favored centers of Imperial rule. Lalbagh Fort, meant to be the center of Mughal rule in the region, is situated in old Dhaka, and pictured on the 100 taka note. It is a good place to spend an hour or so. Construction took place between 1677 and 1684, but wasn't completed due to the death of the local ruler's daughter Pari Babi (it was considered an inauspicious omen to continue). Her tomb is located in the courtyard and there is also a small museum on the grounds.

More impressive than Lalbagh Fort, I thought, were the many rajbaris (lord's palaces) located throughout the countryside. Similar socially, and sometimes architecturally, to English country estates, these often ornately decorated structures were the seats of local power until Partition when their occupants fled or were killed. Built by Hindu landowners and tax collectors known as zamindars, these residences dot the countryside, though many have by now crumbled into ruins.

Interesting examples are at Sonargaon, east of Dhaka, and once terminus to the Grand Trunk Road that stretched across the continent. This rajbari, built in 1901 and known as Sadarbari, has an ornate exterior design, and features a museum within its walls. In rather good condition for a rajbari, it is well worth a visit, except for one part of the compound that struck me as a wonderful place to meet wasps. Other interesting rajbari are at Mymensingh and especially at Muktagacha, 12 km from Mymensingh. There the residence once covered a large expanse but is now mostly in ruin. It has a haunting 'end of empire' atmosphere. In the waning moments of daylight, the new occupants, groups of squatters, could be seen quietly setting little fires with which to cook their evening meals.

The received wisdom about Bangladesh's overcrowding (population density is almost three times that of Japan) is certainly applicable to the cities but less evident in the countryside. Here, there are numerous villages, but even more fields, giving the illusion, and perhaps at least partial reality, of a less hurried and less precarious existence. Life here revolves around seasonal rhythms, and there are several of these. When I mentioned to one Bangladeshi that Japanese will occasionally postulate a cultural superiority based on a contrived aesthetic determined by the 'four seasons', he laughed and jokingly retorted, "Well, if they really do think that, then our culture should be that much better than theirs because we have six seasons".

Those who think that Bangladesh is not worth a visit are cheating themselves of a chance to visit a place that is well off the beaten path. Those who have given the country up as a lost cause are mistaken and should brush up on their history. Bengal was once the richest part of the British Empire and one of the wealthiest places on earth. Part of the drama concerning the American Revolution had to do with the issue of tea imported from Bengal. The province certainly suffered under outside rule. Its flourishing textile business was destroyed by the British who preferred to see an export industry develop in Manchester. The province was divided in two by the British, a usual divide-and rule technique. An artificial famine in the World War II years (boats that could've delivered rice were impounded in case the Japanese advanced) killed millions and left scars that have yet to heal. Money earned from exports during Bangladesh's years as East Pakistan, went to develop West Pakistan. Undoing the effects of these negatives will take quite a long time.

Bangladesh is a society of contrasts as well as one in transition. As an independent nation it is a relative newcomer. As a cultural entity its pedigree is unmistakable. It is a place of hope, energy, and despair. Since the battle between hope and despair will determine much of world history and development into the 21st century, Bangladesh is an excellent place to see the battle first-hand.

*no republication without the permission of the copyright holder (RH)