WELCOME TO THE DESERT

The storm that never ends, well, why did it ever have to begin?

As the motorcycle I was riding snaked through traffic, for the umpteenth time this month, the unthinkable happened. I understand that it's not unthinkable if it keeps happening but I was surprised by it nonetheless, when the cacophony of Dhaka's 34 billion motor vehicles was outdone in its hazardous existence by something else. You can only see it as a haze, or maybe see little specs of it if you follow the outline of the headlights the aforementioned motor vehicles emit when the sun goes into premature hiding. The dust is there and when you're surrounded by it, it's hard to remember a time before it. Your beard reminds you of the better days though, because when you get home and touch it after a day spent outdoors, you're surprised to realise that it's been replaced by some coarse synthetic fibre during the course of the day.

The point is, wear a mask or something.

– Azmin Azran, Sandman, SHOUT