Uttarbanga 0.1 — Part 1 | উত্তরবঙ্গ ০.১ | প্রথম পর্ব

20 January 2023

January 2023. Our 3rd year, 2nd term finals were in full swing. The moment one exam ended, everyone's mind drifted to one thing — a trip. That anticipation was the only thing keeping us focused through weeks of exams. Bandarban, Chittagong, Cox's Bazar via Alikadam, Saint Martin's Island, even Sylhet — all were on the table. But I had been to all of them. I was waiting for something different. The biting January cold made me think of the north — I had never set foot in Uttarbanga, and this felt like the right time. I drafted a rough plan myself, scrolling through Google Maps. Having several friends from the north in our group made the route planning easy. The motto was simple — explore all day, sleep at a friend's home at night. The trip ended in Kurigram as planned, then extended to Jamalpur and Mymensingh, making it complete.

Exams finished on the 19th. By the 20th we were on the Shimanto Express. This was only my second time on a western-route train. Niloy had warned me — he had once seen a cow board this very train. The original plan was to get off at Parbatipur and catch the Panchagarh Express to start from the very top of the country, but a two-hour delay forced us to rethink. On the platform, deep in conversation, the delay hardly registered. An hour into the journey the train's reputation became very real — it shook along both axes like a century-old bullock cart. We played cards, talked, and watched dawn break through the window.

Saidpur — this upazila of Nilphamari is arguably the economic capital of the north, home to the country's only agricultural EPZ. We arrived at half past eight. Fahim's home was walking distance from the station, our first base camp. We freshened up to the sound of breakfast being called. Roti with vegetables, chicken, beef, and kheer to finish. Fahim's mother's cooking was extraordinary — that preparation of beef was something I had never tasted before. Every time I eat her cooking I feel genuinely fortunate.

Our group: myself, Fahim, Shuvro, Meftahul, Rashed bondhu, Niloy, Rifat and Azmain. Azmain headed home early since no one was at his place. The rest of us boarded a local bus to Dinajpur.

We arrived around half past noon. Stepping off the bus, two labourers were locked in a colourful argument — their vocabulary impressive enough that Rashed quietly updated his own collection. The auto-rickshaws were barely functional. First stop: Rajbari, an old Hindu temple complex. Beside it, Sukhsagar pond — where I witnessed something arresting: a small snake had caught a medium-sized tilapia, both fighting with everything they had. Then Ramsagar National Park — a large pond surrounded by green, ideal for family outings if the authorities cared for it, which they evidently did not.

Kantajew Temple was next — a name I had read about my whole life. Seeing it in person was something else entirely. An 18th-century three-storey Hindu temple covered in terracotta work — fired clay carved with scenes of daily life and mythology from centuries past. Nearby stood Nayabad Mosque, and the peaceful coexistence of these two structures in the same neighbourhood said something important: conflict is not our inheritance, coexistence is.

Two districts in one day made one thing clear — this is agricultural country. Rice, maize, potato, sugarcane, onion, lychee, mango orchards. And something I had never seen before: jute sacks tied over cattle to keep them warm in the winter.

Hajee Mohammad Danesh Science and Technology University had a well-kept, attractive campus — though our journey there was interrupted when Fahim's stomach declared an emergency just short of the gas station, barely in time. Over jilapi we traded opinions about people from different parts of the country. Around quarter to eight we boarded another local bus back to Saidpur. I was dozing so deeply on the engine box that the driver warned me twice not to fall off.

Back at Fahim's, Mitoma's screamer against Leicester on the television lifted my mood immediately — I had just added him to my FPL squad that week. Dinner was another masterclass from Fahim's mother: beef two ways, mutton, roast chicken, tikka, fried rui fish, aubergine fry, and several chutneys. We pushed back from the table only to find his father appearing with a plate of sweets.