The Unspoken Rules of Apartment Living in Dhaka

"This building is my child. Every time they drill a hole to hang a picture, they are drilling a hole in my heart. Why do they need a TV on the wall? Put it on the floor!"

You live in a house where you can't hang anything. You buy those expensive double-sided sticky tapes to hold up a mirror. Two days later, the mirror crashed at 3 AM, waking up the building. Now you have 7 years of bad luck, and you have to hide the chip in the floor tiles from the landlord.

If you live in Dhaka, you don’t just live in a city; you live in a vertical village. Whether you are in a posh complex in Gulshan or a crammed building in Mirpur, the experience of being a "tenant" is a universal bond that unites us all. 

If you live in Dhaka, you don’t just live in a city; you live in a vertical village. Whether you are in a posh complex in Gulshan or a crammed building in Mirpur, the experience of being a "tenant" is a universal bond that unites us all.

The Lift Social Dilemma

The elevator, or lift (as we strictly call it), is the most socially awkward 4x4 feet of real estate in Dhaka, a vertical torture chamber where your mirror is your only friend. It is safe to say that by doing the mandatory mirror check, you can save those 45 seconds of awkward interaction with everyone in the building. If you survive the guilt, you still have to face the "Generator Gap," that terrifying ten-second void of pitch blackness during load shedding, where you contemplate your mortality before the backup kicks in. Of course, this entire drama only happens if you are lucky enough to ride it at all, since the landlord loves to shut the power off randomly to "save energy," forcing you to climb six flights of stairs. 

The Motor Panic

“Just as you lather up with shampoo, the tap gasps its last breath. For the umpteenth time, you have failed to read the mind of the landlord and find out that sweet time when he decides to turn off the water pump.” Now you are left with two options—either screaming at the top of your lungs, "UNCLE MOTOR CHAREN!" at the bewildered darwan, or accepting that "Uncle" is simply testing your spirit. Then you heave a sigh and rinse your soapy hair with the cold contents of the "emergency bucket," because in the end it doesn’t even matter. Because water is gold, and you have accepted him as your well-wisher who saves you water bills by turning off the water pump at random hours.

Roof AKA the Area 51 

The roof is effectively the building’s Area 51—a highly restricted zone where access is denied to common civilians, and you need a diplomatic passport to enter. The landlord is upfront, protecting his "alien life forms," usually known as his precious aloe vera plants. Getting your hands on the key requires passing a high-level security interrogation by Aunty.

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Gate Lock Curfew

The 11 PM curfew is the landlord’s golden rule because he believes nothing good happens in Dhaka after dark. If you are five minutes late because of Mohakhali traffic, you are officially a suspicious character. You arrive to find the gate bolted and the guard pretending to be in a deep coma. Now you are left with two options: 1. Calling your friend at the ungodly hours of night and checking if you could stay over for the night. 2. Gently tapping a coin against the metal gate, trying to make a sound loud enough to wake the guard but quiet enough so the landlord on the second floor doesn’t hear you.

Living in a Dhaka apartment is chaotic. It’s noisy, there’s dust everywhere, and the lift is always stuck on the 7th floor when you’re in a rush. But there is a strange comfort in it. It’s the shared annoyance of the generator noise and the collective joy when the "gas is back!"