The skyline of Dhaka knows no rules. The buildings follow an almost-there similar pattern whose differences somehow give the city’s skyline its unique character. A silent cloud of haze and smog hangs over the buildings that give the horizon a permanent grayish tint. Blue and gray and white and gold all mingle all throughout the day for the fleeting eyes of someone who cares to sneak a peek from the dedication of looking straight ahead.
Between these colors, almost every morning I see a plane taking off. It rises off the top of tall apartment building, or appears out of nowhere from behind a cloud. Usually the planes would swing a wide arc and head west, or north, or towards some unknown, and in my mind, exciting destination. I follow it from my place in the traffic for as long as I can, watching it sink in between clouds and rise higher and higher. I try to guess the type of plane, if possible the airliner and the destination.
There is nothing I love better than the beginning of a journey. Even if it is tedious at best and includes boring stop overs and cramped leg space and weird seat neighbors. The start of a journey, for me, is the best part of a journey.
Like many others I too would like to pack up and see all there is to see. I will get on planes, and I will look down and compare the cities from thousands of feet in the air. It would get dreary and annoying and the hassle through baggage claims and long hauls would just not seem worth it anymore. Then I’ll tell myself, one day I looked up and saw a plane. And now I’m flying..