The Diary Game-Winter Nights at Hatirjheel

How are you all? I hope you are all doing well. With the cold weather all around, I don't feel like asking who is good and who is bad anymore. How can I? I am exhausted from working so hard in the cold. Still, sometimes I have to prioritize my own interests. And one of the places I like the most is this platform. Because this is the only place I can share everything that is on my mind with you. That's why I have come to you today.

We walked slowly along the paved pathways, enjoying the open space and the absence of chaos. The lights from the bridges and surrounding buildings reflected like goldLast winter, I had the chance to visit one of Dhaka’s most captivating urban spots — Hatirjheel. Though I had visited the area before, this time felt different. Maybe it was the chill in the air, or maybe the way the city lights shimmered on the calm water, but something about that winter night at Hatirjheel touched my soul. Dhaka, a city always buzzing with life, feels like it never truly sleeps. Yet, on winter nights, there’s a certain quietness that blankets parts of the city. Hatirjheel, in particular, transforms into a peaceful haven after sunset. That night, wrapped in cozy winter clothes, I made my way there with a small group of close friends.

As we approached the area, the familiar sound of traffic began to fade, replaced by the soothing hum of flowing water and occasional laughter from nearby visitors. The air was crisp, fresh, and carried a slight hint of mist. The sky above was a dark canvas, lit with stars and the occasional flash of passing headlights across the bridges. Hatirjheel at night was a different world — calm, beautiful, and somehow more alive in its stillness.

en threads across the black water, gently rippling whenever a boat passed by. It felt like the water held onto the city’s dreams — reflecting not just the skyline but also the hopes, fatigue, and stories of its people. The bridges, arching gracefully, stood like guardians watching over the still lake, their lights forming halos that danced across the surface. The trees on either side of the path swayed slightly in the cold breeze. Occasionally, a soft gust would send a shiver down our spines, reminding us of the season’s presence — but never enough to chase us away. The beauty of Hatirjheel in winter was irresistible.

After some time walking and taking photos, hunger began to whisper. But what’s a winter evening without some delicious street food and a hot cup of tea? We found a local vendor nearby selling bel puri — a popular spicy and tangy snack made of puffed rice, onions, green chilies, tamarind sauce, and secret spices. Just watching the vendor prepare it was a show in itself — the quick tosses, the rhythmic chopping, the final shake of lemon juice over the mix. The moment we took the first bite, our senses came alive. The crunch of the puffed rice, the sharp kick of green chili, the sweetness of tamarind, and the freshness of the coriander — it was a burst of flavor in every bite. The chill of the winter air made it even better. Somehow, spicy food tastes best when your fingers are cold and your breath forms small clouds in the air.

Along with the bel puri, we treated ourselves to steaming cups of lal cha (red tea). Served in small cups, the tea was piping hot and deep in color, with a rich earthy taste that only red tea can offer. There was no milk, no sugar — just the warmth of the leaves steeped perfectly. Each sip was comforting, like a hug in a cup. Holding the warm cup in our cold hands, watching the steam rise and disappear into the night air — it was a simple pleasure that felt incredibly profound.

That evening, we didn’t do anything extraordinary. We didn’t ride boats or take guided tours. We just walked, talked, ate, and soaked in the beauty of the winter night. But that’s exactly what made the experience unforgettable. Sometimes, the most meaningful memories are born out of the simplest moments — a walk by the water, the smell of roasted peanuts, a shared laugh over spicy food, and the silence that says more than words ever could. We sat on a bench for a while, watching the occasional vehicle cross the bridges above us. Far away, music played from a speaker, faint and distant. Street lamps stood tall, casting golden pools of light on the path. Couples walked hand in hand. Families strolled with children bundled in sweaters. Everyone seemed at peace.

Hatirjheel showed me a side of Dhaka that often goes unnoticed — a place where the city slows down, where people come not to rush but to breathe. In a city known for its chaos and crowd, Hatirjheel is like a breath of fresh air, especially on winter nights. It reminded me that even within the concrete and commotion, there are still places where nature, architecture, and people coexist in harmony. Where one can feel both the pulse of the city and the calm of solitude.

As the night wore on, we realized it was getting colder, and it was time to head home. But I didn’t want to leave just yet. I stood one last time by the water, letting the silence wash over me. The tea’s warmth still lingered inside me, as did the spicy flavor of bel puri. But more than anything, it was the peace I wanted to carry back — the image of Hatirjheel under the stars, the feel of winter wind on my face, and the memory of being completely present in that beautiful moment.

That night at Hatirjheel wasn’t just another outing. It was a pause — a small escape from the rush of everyday life. It reminded me of the beauty of quiet nights, of simple street food, and of friendship strengthened under the soft glow of city lights. If you ever find yourself in Dhaka during the winter, make time for Hatirjheel. Go in the evening. Walk slowly. Eat something local. Sip on a hot drink. And let the city show you its softer side. Because sometimes, all we need is a little quiet, a little warmth, and a place where the sky meets the water, and everything feels just right.