Ghosts & Ghosts: Dhaka's Heatwave That Breathes Like a Feverish Ancestor

i landed in Dhaka with a pocket full of cheap hostel wifi and a half‑working spirit‑catching app that claimed the city was a living archive of forgotten rituals. i didn’t even have a proper plan-just a list of places that sounded ghost‑infested on a forum called *r/Dhaka and a vague memory that the river could echo more than just traffic. the moment i stepped onto the cracked pavement of Old Dhaka, the heat hit me like a ghost that’s still wearing its summer coat: 33°C on the dial, feels like 30°C in reality because the humidity’s a bone‑dry 15%, meaning sweat evaporates faster than i can draw a breath. i just opened the weather app and the thermometer is screaming 33°C; feels like a fan that decided to give up on cooling-hope you’re into that kind of thing.

the locals warned me about the monkey legends near the historic Baitul Mukarram mosque-something about a spirit that climbs the towers and throws coins to anyone who dares to stay past midnight. i tried to respect that warning, but the lure of free street food was stronger than any superstitious caution.

for gear, i relied on a handheld recorder (so i could catch faint whispers), a UV flashlight (ghost hunters swear by those when the sun’s cheating), and a light‑weight water bottle that’s more a weapon against dehydration than a drinking vessel. when i’m out at night, i always keep the battery of my recorder charged-i’m not dealing with a ghost that runs on Wi‑Fi.

the first stop was Lalbagh Fort. the caretaker mentioned a spectral guard who still patrols the outer wall when the moon’s low. he laughed, then whispered that the spirit of a Mughal soldier keeps shifting the flag on the east side. i chalked that up to a drunk‑advice story, but later, while filming with my camera, i caught a faint flicker near the broken gate. maybe the ghost’s trying to stay relevant.

next i rode a rickshaw into the Sutra Bazaar. the market is a labyrinth of neon signs, the river smell mixing with fried gobi. while negotiating price with the driver, i got a tip that if you get bored, Chittagong and Rajshahi are a three‑hour drive away-perfect for a quick ghost hunting side trip. the driver smirked that you might also bump into a ghost at the nearby Krishnakumar Park if you wander past midnight.

after some coconut water and a nap at a shady bank office, i headed to Dhakeshwari Temple. locals say the spirit of a legendary dancer still haunts the shrine’s steps, especially during full moon. someone told me that a teenage girl once heard a faint rhythmic tapping that matched a classical tune. i sat on the floor, meditated for ten minutes, and felt a subtle vibration in my knee-maybe the ghost is just a projection of my own anxiety.

i tried to find a local recommendation on TripAdvisor, but the reviews were the kind of stuff that sounds like i got a cold, the ghost maybe did too. i took it with a grain of salt, but the TripAdvisor: alleged ghost walk through Lalbagh Fort guide mentions a “Zamindar’s House” supposedly haunted by the soul of a former landowner. i booked a spot, and the group leader swore a spirit was peering through the cracked windows at the inside of the house. the Yelp: Lalbagh Café review comment said the coffee’s as bitter as a ghost’s memory. i took that as proof that coffee in Dhaka is already haunted by caffeine.

someone told me that the ghost of a British soldier roams the Rath’s garden, especially when the wind carries the scent of neem. i walked there after sunset, feeling my shoes stick to the dusty ground as a faint whistling rose from nowhere. i laughed that maybe the wind just wanted a duet with my recorder. the air was crisp, unlike the earlier heat that felt like it would melt my senses.

i also dropped into Gupta’s street art corner-vivid murals of intricate eyes, the artist claimed each piece is a portal for a resident spirit. i sampled the roasted peanuts while the sun burned overhead; the spice reminded me of Ghosts that feed off human curiosity.

the weather kept the clouds thin, so the sun hammered down like a metallic drum. it wasn’t just hot; it felt like the whole city had been pre‑cooked. i joked with the hostel owner that he should install a fan that runs on spiritual energy. he looked at me like i’d just asked for a ghost to pay his rent.

if you get bored, Sylhet (a tea‑country hub) or Khulna (river‑side fish capital) are a short drive away-great places to chase a different kind of mystery. i haven’t tried it yet, but i heard a rumor that a burial ground near Mohanpur is rumored to be haunted by a spectral elephant.

i kept taking photos, focusing on the bazaar and river silhouettes. the camera sometimes glitched, as if the lens was sensitive to the spectral energy. i think it’s more likely my phone’s battery is dying under the heat. still, i'm happy to share these images with you.

here are the photos i snapped on my phone (and yes, they are unedited because i’m too lazy to use filters right now):

i’m not going to pretend this trip was all ghost‑fishing; the heat, the humidity, the spirit of the city was enough to make me walk a little faster on the narrow lanes. the locals gave me advice that ranged from don’t trust the late‑night vendors to if a dog barks three times, the ghost’s there. i think it’s just their way of saying “watch your step.”

i recommend downloading the weather app you trust, but don’t forget to hydrate-the pressure at 1013 hPa means the air’s thin, but the dust is thick. also, pick up a hand‑crank flashlight because the street lights flicker like old spirits stuck in a loop.

the next day i rode to Sundarbans (a quick bus ride) and found that the river there was cooler, the gossip turned into a comfortable siesta after the ghost hunt. i’m planning a follow‑up post about that, but for now this Dhaka trip is all messy, humid, and full of stories that feel like they’re real until they don’t.

here’s a quick map if you want to wander:

the spirit of the city may be hot, but its heartbeat beats in the chaotic rhythm of honking horns, spice‑laden street food, and whispered legends. if you come, bring a headlamp, a willing mind, and a dash of humor-ghosts love to see you laugh, even when you’re dripping sweat.

overall, Dhaka proved to be a ghost‑hunt that’s also a heatwave experiment. i’m still grateful for the random encounters, the laughs, the sips of fresh coconut water, and the pictures* that will forever haunt my phone’s gallery (in a good way).