Just the other day a truck laden with iron rods was lumbering ahead of us, as we were heading home in the middle of the night after work. The entire journey was freaking me out. I held my 15-month-old son tight against my chest.

Those thin, long, sharp objects were pointed at us and I was imagining throughout that anytime they would get loose and fling towards us. Farther up the road, we sped past the truck and I could breathe normally.

Such a scene is not unusual in a nighttime Dhaka. Every time I come across a truck full of heavy or sharp objects thus exposed, I foresee the danger we might get into. But then I calm myself remembering a prophecy from an astrologer that I would live long and won't die until all my teeth came off.

Though I have not yet lost any, nighttime travel in the city challenges my trust in that fortuneteller when I see devils lurking in every corner.

Often people get stuck in knots of vehicles coming in each other's way at intersections in the absence of traffic police. Then a courageous man -- a “messiah” --  from among them steps in and helps others out of the deadlock.

Dhaka during the day is no less adventurous. It is just that we all are supermen and women who brush aside all the “threats” life in Dhaka is tied to and move on.

In the morning when vehicles vie for getting past one another, guardians jaywalk across the roads grabbing school-goers by their arms as if they are in a “slow-forward” motion watching the world running by. Buses, rickshaws, bikes, cycles and humans all moving in their own rhythm but rarely bumping into each other; ours must be the world's best drivers.

Another thing that amazes me is people's sheer belief in luck. I guess the motorcycle inventor introduced the pillion behind the driving seat for one person only. But never mind if you see three, even four, pillion passengers on one bike.

What a bonding! They want to be together at all times and face everything together.

How reckless it is when parents ride on a motorcycle with one toddler and an infant in the mother's arms. Once I felt like calling out a mother to hold her toddler tight as the kid fell asleep with his head leaning downward. But then I thought the better of it. My calling her out would draw the biker's attention, and may result in an accident. So I found myself praying instead that they reach their destination safe.

Youths, irrespective of their familial status, enjoy an even higher scale of adrenaline rush in Dhaka. Since they are the muscle power of our political parties, rules violators and illegal grabbers, they feel they are “on top of the city”. As they leave their political rallies, they run through the middle of the road, shout, chase each other on foot or motorbike and take selfies on flyovers that do not even have any pavement. Often one feels pity for them.

But the kids of the rich who, just to push the needle of the speedometer, drive their luxury vehicles with utter disregard to others' safety, deserve sympathy.

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