Tangents
The Chawk <i>Iftar Market </i>
Dhaka's Chawk Iftar Market. Photo: Ihtisham Kabir
On a normal day, this area bustles with the hustle of wholesale business. But this afternoon's pulsating energy of Chawk Bazar has a different reason: the Chawk Iftar Market is here again. Within minutes of arriving here, I have received (and given) more pushes and shoves than I do in a whole year on Dhaka streets. The sky is overcast, but the heat from cooking and jostling shoppers quickly drenches me in sweat. I estimate several hundred Iftar vendors are on the main street of Chawk Bazar. Customers pour in on this first day of Ramzan: thousands have come to collect Iftar favourites from this market. The range of choices surely tempts even the most jaded. There is Halim, many types of Kabab (shutli, chicken, sheek, boti, shami, jali), roast legs of lamb, potato chops, egg chops, jilapis, juices, bel shorbot, muri, faluda, chick peas, and numerous fruits. Then there is the intriguing “Boro baper polai khai” (elder father's son eats.) It is a mix of muri, chick peas, boneless chicken pieces, potatoes and chicken livers. Several vendors are selling it, each displaying a poster claiming to be the original. I query about the market and am directed to Mr. Rafiq Palwan. He is an ex wrestling champion who has made a hobby of selling Iftar here for years. His offerings include a dozen types of fried items including samosas, shingaras, various chops and peyajus. I ask him when the market starts and ends. “I get here at about 1pm, right after Zohr prayers, to set things up. The market starts at about two. We pack up and go home before Maghreb, just before sunset, so we can break fast and eat Iftar with family,” he replies. “How old is the market?” I ask. “I am sixty five and it was here long before I was born,” he replies. Others give similar, slightly vague answers: “from British days” or “long before 1971.” Most vendors impress me as old-timers. I talk to another vendor, Mr.Fazlul Huq, selling dates and fruits. I point to his spot, about 6 square feet smack in the middle of the road. “Do you have to pay rent for this?” “Absolutely not - no one pays rent for Iftar market!” he says, outraged. “Then how do you know someone else will not take your spot tomorrow?” I ask. “Because I have been selling here for twenty years, and this is my spot,” he says sternly. Noticing movement under a busy table of snacks, I stoop to check. Underneath, behind the table cloth, sit three men, out of sight. They are rolling dough with rolling pins, making samosas. When they fill a basket, it is passed to the other side where a large cauldron bubbling with oil awaits. The crowd starts thinning after the Asr azan. Customers with full Iftar bags leave with happy faces. Uncertain shoppers must decide while there is food left. I, too, decide to call it a day.
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