By Muhammad Hasan Pallab

As daylight softens and the restless rhythm of Dhaka eases into evening, a quiet transformation unfolds along the northern edge of the capital. In the neighbourhoods of Dhalipara and Baunia in Uttara, the sky becomes a stage and -  aircraft, the evening’s leading performers.

From sunset until nightfall, thousands gather beside the barbed-wire fence that traces the runway of Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport. Families arrive hand in hand. Friends linger shoulder to shoulder. In some eyes, there is wonder; in some hands, smartphones; and the sight of a child pointing a finger towards the sky paints a unique picture of “aviation indulgence.” Then, with a sudden rush of wind and a deep mechanical roar, a wide-body jet descends low over their heads—wings spread, lights glowing—close enough to feel, almost close enough to touch.

What unfolds here each evening is not simply plane spotting. It is a shared ritual of awe.

Airport security naturally keeps the runway beyond reach, yet the fence lines of Baunia and Dhalipara have created a rare public threshold, where ordinary people meet the extraordinary scale of aviation. On this side of the wire, the roar of engines is not noise but music. The vibration of the ground is not disturbance but excitement. Every departure hints at faraway cities; every arrival carries the promise of reunion.

For many, these moments are deeply personal. A landing aircraft may signal a father returning from the Middle East, a daughter coming home from Europe, or a loved one completing a long-awaited journey. Aviation here is not abstract infrastructure, it is emotion, memory, and anticipation wrapped in aluminium and light.

The most captivating audience members are the children. As a massive aircraft dips low across the sky, applause and joyful shouts often rise before the engines fade. To them, these jets are mythical creatures, giant birds crossing oceans and continents. Their wonder offers a quiet reminder that aviation is not only about precision and technology; it is also about imagination and the promise of tomorrow.

“When a plane takes off so close that the ground shakes, you feel how far humans have come,” said Sajjad Rayhan, a regular visitor. “These spots have become Dhaka’s best plane-spotting locations. We can’t enter the runway, but here, the distance disappears.”

Others come not just for spectacle, but for stillness. Samia Nazneen, who often visits with her family, described the scene at dusk: “When the sun sinks in the west and the runway lights come on, everything feels strangely calm. It’s one of the few places in Dhaka where you can just stand, breathe, and look up.”

Globally, plane spotting is a recognised subculture, found along airport perimeters in London, Singapore, Amsterdam, and Los Angeles. In Dhaka, Dhalipara and Baunia have quietly emerged as its local heart. Professional photographers wait patiently for the perfect frame. Content creators track flight schedules, cameras ready. Social media has amplified the allure, drawing visitors from across the city who come seeking that brief, electrifying moment when steel meets sky.

As a Boeing or Airbus flares for landing just beyond the fence, the crowd falls momentarily silent then exhales together. In that instant, the runway becomes a cinema, the sky its screen, and aviation its shared language.

In a city often defined by congestion and urgency, this narrow strip beside the runway offers something rare: pause, perspective, and collective wonder. Here, at twilight, Dhaka remembers to dream, one landing at a time.