Changed is the roadsides, interior, fashion. Mobile phone replaced yellow envelope. Toiletries have changed, and so the ornaments, and even, the book cover, banking, entertainment, car model, get-up, coffee mug, social gathering etc.—everything related to our life—along with that changing the colors. This very city Dhaka, which was once of the same height to that of other districts, its siblings, has also changed, eventually, has got intensely dense with its ever increasing population with a size beyond its capacity, and thus made a distance to green, and turned into an huge unplanned city.
Here night comes after a day; people live in facet of colors that always change its ratio within, of which not all are healthy and desired. Since the sunrise until sunset, a detail of internal and external colors of living and non-living stuff that play in Dhaka is impossible to portray. Even then color signifies life, so an attention to the colors means the adherence and sensitivity to the nature and ecology.
How many colors exist is perhaps beyond imagination. How many colors people need in life is also questionable, or what color in what proportion reaches the extreme level of aesthetic is also subject to individual taste. Or can it be said that things could be different than the present setting, anyway, like other things or matters, aesthetics have varying ideologies, outlooks, and social, cultural and economic significance.
Is it possible to draw a generalized detail of colors, which are exposed in the life and aesthetics of Dhaka, both in Old and New Dhaka? Could there be any study that Dhaka people live with and in? Or which color is the maximum in extent or in ratio, or which is the lowest? The assessment is as unnecessary as impossible. No more assessment, query or doubts in this regard, let us have an attempt to realize the colors of the capital.
Perhaps the bright shopping malls, fast foods, auditoriums, theatres, schools-colleges-universities, offices, footpath, slums, factories are the main determinants of the color of Dhaka.
If one goes on a rooftop of a high-rise building, he will obviously fall into thirst for particularly green, you might find a little bit of green around university or a few areas somewhere else, but never adequate. The memoire of green doesn’t take too long to get faded in the commuters who come here from across the country.
Art Galleries take new colors every week, the artists talk in color. Rickshaws—the monotonous butterflies—carry extravagantly colorful picture of the Bengali movie stars. Everyday the young people are adopting newer style, newer colors, and following graceful manikins in each level at the shopping malls.
The things that once were believed to be cliché, faded up—the young are awarding those substantial space in their getup as dress or ornaments—adjust fine as fashionable, and trendy, at the same time they are pretty comfortable with acute colors, and even the they are simply adding color to those which once their predecessors were used to use. The colorful and colored dailies are coming out every morning.
We have festivals, but the seasons are not well felt in the city, but red letter days in the calendar, particular flowers in the garden and parks, events of media and firms reminds us the festivals, then the women make the spring visible in the streets, and the first day of Bengali year exposition of all the intense color with such a composition. When a gloomy girl stands beside the window in the room in a rainy day, who knows whether her tears mingled with the rain washes all the colors of the city. The city finds warmth in the deep colors in winter. We observe February 21, a day to mourn collectively with black, and we observe other historic days with different colors. Those days are more colorful than other days.
Densely constructed white buildings all around the city make a grey tone. Crows are black. Black is its smoke, and so is the water of the river, Buriganga or any ditch. The colonial offices are red. Bright billboard tortured with colors, the sequential yellow, green and red at the signal or police wearing the color of the state. Color is meaningless in jam. Either moonlit or dark night, sodium lights are consistent to mislead your eyes to detect colors.
There are colors in every object. Somebody makes color, somebody spreads it, and somebody gets colored. So the man with grey hair can remain ever-green. Somebody reflects in colors outside, somebody doesn’t. Numerous people lives here, poverty makes it clumsy as colors of the rich and the poor are not the same at all.
So the colors are not a few—very same to other places. The ratio may differ. The environmentalists say, Dhaka has no ecological balance, so normally it has a reflection in the whole color setting—colors reflects its imbalance. Moreover, the black texts are inept to draw the whole scenario, aren’t they?