In the last few years, a new expression has been born and it's been floating around the internet sphere of Bangladesh. "Nagin Dance"—is how it is said and the origin is old Bengali fantasy cinema where a tribe of snake people lives alongside humans and the snake people can turn into humans or snakes at will. However, when a special sort of flute is played, they are compelled to dance and turn from human to snake. Nagini is a fictional snake-queen and her dance is generally dubbed as Nagin dance. Curiously, in the internet sphere, Nagin dance simply means exaggerated enthusiasm, often unnecessary, showy, and derived from ulterior motives. One can do "nagin dance" to extort expensive gifts from their parents, hence nagin dance is nagging, crying, shouting or all at once. One can do "nagin dance" when they gain something, like a seat at a high-table.
There is an ongoing nagin dance anent the newly opened Padma bridge.
The bridge is marketed as something grand, the national wet dream, there is no water in the Padma, only love juice flows there. Yet it was a necessity for the whole of southern Bangladesh. It is my right to have the brige built there,it cannot be a dream. I dream about Bangladesh being solvent, a developed country—with better medical and educational institutions and systems. I dream about Bangladesh joining space exploration. Lead in scientific experiments. Eradicate religious extremism and corruption. I know almost all Bangladeshis hold these dreams dear. And it takes such a cunning mind to convince a nation that a simple bridge, too, can be a dream—this is how repressed and deprived we are.
Yet I am happy it's been built. As early as I can remember, I have been traveling from southern Bangladesh to Dhaka, crossing the Padma river for the last 25 years. Some people may enjoy a trip by launch or ferry but to me, it's naught but a nuisance. You have to get off the bus, walk half a kilometer, and get on the launch, where you may not get a seat to land your arse on as the sorry-ass bus corporations that operate on this route are too shabby to arrange private launches—and after you get off the launch, dealing with a crowd of hundreds of people, eager to topple you as they rush to get off the launch, you have to walk half a kilo again and then you get on the bus on the other side. Now if you have luggage with you, you will carry them all the while. If you can't swim, well, you're on your own.
It's a huge relief for me that I don't have to get off the bus anymore in midway. Better bus corporations are opening shops in this part as well. I'm feeling a sort of happiness that cannot be explained politically, from any perspective. I know the cost, I know how much this meager bridge is going to be milked. Hive people complain about milking, they have not even gazed upon what true milking is. They have no idea at all. Yet I feel calm and content—I no longer have to cross the river with my life in my hands. Little wins matter.
P.S. — The photo is taken by me a few years back on a ferry, crossing the river Padma.
