Rocking Metal Box

As the sun began to set, the small boarding boats by the ghat seemed to sink into a strange, mysterious play of light and shadow. These four two-storied boats stood silently, sheltering the lives of people who had made them home. I suddenly learned how inexpensive it was to stay here! Just 100 taka for a small room. And if one prefers, a night can be spent on a shared bed for only 50 taka. A place like this, right inside the city—and yet I had no idea it existed.
As I walked on, I saw the narrow rooms inside the boarding boats. The padlocked doors seemed to hide a story behind each one. I climbed to the roof, where a few people were chatting away. I sat among them and started listening. Saidul Bhai, the longtime manager of the boarding, has been here for 17 years. He left once but had to return. His room is at the far end. The soft orange light of evening wraps around it, as if time itself pauses there.
In the middle of the chat, Anwar Bhai said he had stayed here three times—and still feels like coming back. His stories made us laugh. Shahadat Bhai’s story was different—he lost everything to river erosion and came to this boarding for shelter. Now he spends his days lying down, resting.
Each of them has their own story. Some come to stay, some to escape, and some just to take a break. I found myself wondering—why have I come here? Am I trying to find myself among these people? Or is there some other strange answer?