I recently saw this 'Bring back the para culture!' post on someone's social media handle and couldn't be happier. If you are unaware, para in Bangla translates to residential community. Yes, the community togetherness and kinship of our childhood days are not present in today's contemporary Dhaka hoods, and it would do us a lot of good if this were to be revived, especially given the current atmosphere.

I do not want to dwell on the reasons as to why or when we have become such unfriendly neighbours. Instead, I want to laud the camaraderie we all accidentally stumbled upon, from the night when there was no state authority in place.

Lawlessness was at its pinnacle that night; I woke when I heard an announcement being broadcasted from masjid megaphones. People were frantically posting on their social media platforms that many sectors in Uttara were being looted and ransacked by dakoits.

I could hear faint sirens, gunshots, and people screaming. From my veranda, I saw our lanky night guard with a wooden plank that does not even make for a decent stick, blowing his whistle in coded intervals to alert fellow guards on other by-lanes. These actions were happening in split seconds when the lane became filled with young and old, boys, girls, men, and women; they came down onto the streets to protect their community, come what may.

Rahim, a house guard, took out his cycle and was riding through all his friends' houses, who themselves are also house guards, to alert and wake them up. Everyone had some sort of a stick, machete, or rod with them. This crazy old lady on the street even came out with her umbrella. Even though there was tension all around, I could feel a sense of good cheer in the air, that feeling of unity.

Photo: Collected

I met two young boys in my building, whom I had never seen before. The brothers were so quick-witted and brave; they got their beef-handling knives and had their college bags in front of them as shields. With the slightest noise, they were running up and down the lane and checking on adjoining ones, and all the time, their mother was asking them to come back.

My ground-floor neighbour is a banker, and my sixth-floor neighbour, who is an animal lover, was giving biscuits to street dogs because they were also guarding their territory. It took 20 years of living in the same building to finally meet my neighbours.

The young teenage night guard was relieved to see that he had help from the people he relentlessly guarded all this time, and Rahim came back again, this time carrying water bottles in his cycle baskets. Everyone was helping each other with news, emergency numbers, and other on-the-spot support.

We were all there in the streets till the first light of dawn broke out. This vigil has been going on for a few days now, and today, the community guards and area house guards decided to cook a picnic on the road at the end of the night to celebrate this togetherness and community bond.

This feeling, and sense of protection continue in every part of Dhaka. The entire city is pulling all-nighters and having a ball while at it. Dhaka is a crazy kind of fun city; we know how to make light of all dark situations and give them a happy spin.  We are a resilient lot.