Ahsan Manzil's picturesque beauty and grace.
The ticket booth at the south side before your entrance to the palace. This is Ahsanullah Road, a narrow alley facing shanties and shops just beside Buriganga River.
The majestic-looking guardhouse located beside the south entrance, facing the Buriganga River. This is where you must deposit your backpacks, etc. much like a cloakroom. Notice the white ornaments at the side porches, made of shells, as well as the round emblem at the arch.
The nawab and his large family pose for posterity during the glory days of Ahsan Manzil.
I didn’t want to leave the Pink Palace abruptly, but I realized I had places to go. The palace is clearly one of Dhaka’s priceless gems, though most of the capital’s local population seem oblivious to its charm. It bears stories that inspire sprawling motion pictures epics and fairy tales. That night, I laid down my bed and dreamt of a Technicolor past; of psychedelic carpets that do not fly; of riding Bengal Tigers. It was a pool of incoherent images that didn’t quite fit together. I wore a moustache that curled at the tips, and grew a bush on my chest. I must have traded spices in another life. When, for some reason, Kolkatan warriors started chasing after me, I fell into a bottomless pit and woke up breathless. Dang! I hate border crossings. Something I had to endure soon thereafter.