The intermittent rain adds a new Dimension to the already complex dance which is traffic in Dhaka. Here the mass of all 14+ million residents seem to be in the streets at the same time. There is a definite hierarchy here. At the “large” end are the busses and trucks. Each carries battle scars of the many impacts with other, less fortunate vehicles. Next come the taxis, private cars and SUVs. These are driven with aggression and confidence in spite of a seemingly unlikely successful outcome. Next are the baby taxies – 3-wheeled , CNG powered overgrown motorcycles with a body - sort of. Then, the ubiquitous rickshaw. With more than 600,000 of them in Dhaka, there is always a crowd wherever you look. This “personal utility vehicle” is used to carry passengers and cargo of all types. I have seen them hauling food, wares, bricks, lumber, and a lot of things I could not identity. Finally, the pedestrians weave in and out of traffic without a hint of concern for the threat posed by the substantial speed and weight differences between them and the other vehicles. The dance is orchestrated by the ongoing cacophony of car horns, bus squeals and pedestrian shouts. Frequently policemen, and more often bystanders, direct traffic with an eye toward preventing deadlock. It is just amazing to see a mass of all these vehicles and pedestrians approach an intersection and “negotiate” their way through. Rickshaws pull immediately in front of cars, and never seem to get hit. Baby taxies dart between busses and trucks without being crushed. Pedestrians jump into the line of traffic without warning. I have come to realize that the blaring horns are meant to be a polite yet insistent notice to other road users that you are there and do not want to hit or be hit, (As I type this, my bus driver is honking his horn and passing an ambulance whose light is flashing.) And the dance continues. 
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