The rickshaw man's smile, with its chipped tooth, was somehow weary, yet strangely bright

Face of rickshaw wallah — Rickshaw driver's smile

As I walked through the streets of Dhaka, cycle rickshaws streamed past without pause. With no engines to drown them out, only the clatter of metal and the shrill ring of bells filled the air. It’s said there are roughly a million of these rickshaws in the city—truly the lifeblood of Bangladesh. Each one is extravagantly decorated, a riot of primary colors and gold. Flowers, birds, movie stars, and religious icons are painted across their sides. This is what they call rickshaw art. The craftsmen who create it work in tiny workshops tucked into the back alleys, painting day and night.

As I paused at the edge of the footpath, a rickshaw pulled up in front of me. The driver peered out from the seat, staring intently in my direction. His sun-darkened face, glimpsed through the gap in the canopy, was lined with deep wrinkles that seemed to drink in the light. He looked as though he was about to say something, but in the end, he offered only a smile. A smile with a chipped tooth—tired, yet somehow undeniably warm.

Dhaka on Google Map

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