Charukola’s unsung hero: Sentu and his animal friends

Dhaka has its own noise. Along with it, it also has its own rush, distractions and plenty of dust. But if you pause for just a moment, you'll see that this city also has its quiet pockets! Its little moments of stillness, almost like unsung poetry!

Confused? Let me explain.

Right outside the boundary walls of Charukola, under a canopy of dust-filtered polythene, sits one of those quiet moments. A man, not surrounded by crowds, but by creatures of the quiet -- birds, squirrels, stray cats, and the occasional bold rodent. They all gather around him like old friends.

The man's name is Mohammad Kamal Hossain Sentu. Middle-aged and modestly dressed, Sentu can also be seen wearing what might just be the warmest smile in all of Dhaka.

You could walk past him without even noticing. He doesn't shout for customers or wave his hands like most vendors do. His tiny street-side stall is a curious mix of small treasures: black-laced pendants, handmade rings, and braided bracelets. Pretty things? Sure. But that's not why we're here today. We're here to talk about the kindness he spreads, not the things he sells!

Because the real story isn't hanging from his stall. It's alive!

Every day, without fail, tiny paws and fluttering wings find their way to Sentu. Squirrels dart down from trees, sparrows flutter nearby, starlings whistle, and even shy rodents peek out from cracks in the pavement. All it takes is the soft rustling of a bread packet in his hand -- and the little ones come to him.

"I do my business for my family," Sentu says, his eyes twinkling beneath the tiredness of years. "But I feed these little souls for myself."

While people forget, Sentu believes, and his band of merry animal friends remember him.

In a city that never pauses, where concrete consumes greenery and kindness, Sentu sits patiently with a plastic bottle of water and a pocketful of crumbs, offering safety to the smallest, most overlooked hearts of Dhaka.

His journey here has been anything but gentle.

Born and raised in Dhaka, Sentu's life has been a patchwork of grit and survival. Back in 2000, he owned a small stationery shop. Before that, he laboured in the tannery factories of Hazaribagh -- a place where the air itself bites back. He also once sold toys near Science Lab, and for a while, he filled gas cylinders on the streets. He's even sold ghungroos in Dhanmondi, Farmgate, and Science Lab, walking through alleys and markets with bags full of sound and hope.

"I did everything I could, for my family -- my wife and my two children," he says.

But nothing was steady. Life slipped and stung; jobs faded like the ink on old receipts. Yet, through it all, Sentu never let go of his warmth. The fact that he is still on his feet motivates him every day!

For the last 12-13 years, he has been stationed outside Charukola. His small stall is unassuming, but each pendant tells a story. Some bear interesting designs. Others look like they belong in forgotten fairy tales.

"Each piece has a meaning," he says. "I don't just sell things. I offer stories."

And yet, it's his story that seems to pull people in. Not the struggle, but the stillness -- the way he kneels down when a bird limps towards him, the way he smiles when a squirrel perches on the railing to nibble his offerings.

Strangers often stop to take photos, to ask questions. But for Sentu, it's never been about attention.

"Animals don't speak. But they feel. That's enough," says Sentu.

There are no awards on his wall. Just a small man, seated on the edge of one of Dhaka's busiest cultural spots, teaching with every crumb what it means to care -- gently, consistently and without expecting anything in return.