This afternoon I went to BDR gate for the first time since the BDR mutiny, with a friend.
A crowd of people waited outside, many of them journalists. They perked up every time someone came outside. Several vehicles went in and others came out - they were pretty much all Army. We did not even try to get in because they were extremely tight about it.
I am not even sure why I went there. I do not consider myself a journalist or a photojournalist. I certainly did not expect any photo opportunities. In fact, events of the last few days have once again reinforced my belief in not taking photographs during other people's misfortunes (specially moments that should be private.)
However, I still went because something inside nudged me. I can't explain.
Most of the time the journalists stood around bored.
At one point, a village family with a suitcase - looked like they just got off the train - came looking for their loved one. I spotted them as they came towards the gate. Within minutes they were being mobbed by the journalists and photographers. I could not get myself to point my camera at them.
As we waited, this truck full of soldiers went inside the compound.
Some time later, two BDR jowans came out. They had been on leave during the mutiny and had just returned. The press asked them many questions. Here is one of them, Hasibur, listening to a reporter's questions. A part of me could not accept that other jowans, dressed like him, had committed some pretty savage acts. Yet it had happened.
I was there for about 45 minutes. It seemed quite far from the place where so much atrocity had been committed just two days ago. A small trafic jam resulted from the crowd of onlookers. There was a circus atmosphere (and you could argue that me and my friend were also in the audience.) So I left as soon as my friend was done taking his photos.