It’s that time of year again—when cows flood the city, bargaining becomes a sport, and every random uncle becomes a cow expert overnight. Dhaka’s Qurbani haats are a wild mix of mud, shouting, and mysteriously rising prices.

But before you step into Gabtali and fall for someone shouting “Deshi goru, daame kom!” take a moment. These haat veterans have their own language—part sales talk, part emotional blackmail, part straight-up science fiction.

Here’s your essential decoding manual: what cow sellers say, what they want you to think, and what they actually mean.

“Ekdom shanto, haat er shobcheye bhodro goru.”

(Very calm—gentlest cow in the whole haat.)

What they actually mean:

It kicked my cousin into a drain this morning and headbutted a CNG. Needs three bodybuilders to hold it down, and it once stared at a baby until the baby started crying. We’ve been sedating it with bananas and unresolved trauma since sunrise. Right now it’s not calm, it’s tired. Temporarily. Proceed at your own risk.

“Khay shudhu bhushi ar ghash. Ekdom changa.”

(Only eats bran and grass. Very healthy.)

What they actually mean:

Sometimes it eats grass. Other times, it eats leftover chips packets, coconut shells and people’s NID cards, and right now it’s eyeing your panjabi. Once chewed through an entire slipper and attempted to taste a rickshaw. If you blink, it will try to taste your phone and the nearest jharu. It is less “organic diet” and more “garbage disposal with legs.”

“Dori diye badha, control e ase. Tension not”

(Tied with rope—completely under control. Don’t worry.)

What they actually mean:

The rope is purely symbolic. This cow has escaped twice this week and once briefly joined a political rally in Savar. If you think this rope can hold it, you must also believe in horoscopes and motivational quotes, or maybe even your chance to win the lottery.

“Mymensingh theke ashche. Khati jaat er goru.”

(Came from Mymensingh. Pure bloodline.)

What they actually mean:

It was born in a district no one has ever heard of. I randomly loaded it onto a truck with 17 others, blasted DJ Baharul all the way, and arrived after six hours and two flat tires. Seller’s cousin’s ex-roommate passed through Mymensingh three Eids ago and touched a cow there. That’s the only connection. But doesn’t “Mymensingh” just sound like quality?

“Erokom quality paben na jotoi khujen, eita ekta piece.”

(You won’t find quality like this. This is a rare specimen.)

What they actually mean:

You absolutely will find this cow. Two lanes over. For less. There are five more in the back, genetically identical—we rotate them like mannequins and change their origin stories. But I will exploit you with FOMO if you try to leave.

“Mangsho ekbare high quality!”

(The meat has a high quality!)

What they actually mean:

After Qurbani, you will need both a chainsaw and divine intervention to chew this. It’s textured like a boiled tire. But hey, good exercise for your jaw, right?

“Daam ektu beshi mone hote pare, but kinle jitben.”

(Might feel a bit expensive, but totally worth it.)

What they actually mean:

I made up this price 3 seconds ago and I’m now emotionally attached to it. Haven’t fed it since Maghrib yesterday. Bumped up 40% for storytelling. But if you dramatically walk away while muttering about inflation, I might drop 10k and offer you free home delivery with a free koshai too.

“Eita gaye roud pore ektu daag hoise. Kono problem nai.”

(Just a small patch from sunburn. Nothing serious.)

What they actually mean:

It fell. We don’t know where. Or how. It might’ve rolled in sewage, or wrestled a fence. The patch looks like a map of Dinajpur, but we’re calling it a “custom design.” No, I will not answer further questions.

“Injection dei nai. Pure natural.”

(No injections. All-natural.)

What they actually mean:

This cow has more chemicals in it than a Dove shampoo factory. We’ve injected it so many times, it twitches when it hears the word “syringe.” If you hug it too hard, it might leak steroids. By next Eid, it’ll be eligible for bodybuilding competitions, or explode. Whichever comes first.

Congratulations. You now speak fluent Cow Seller. So the next time you find yourself in a haat, sweating, haggling, and wondering why a cow is priced like a used Toyota, remember this guide. Every seller is a poet. Every cow has a LinkedIn bio. And every deal is just a theatrical performance one moo away from madness.

Buy smart. Walk confidently. And if a cow stares at you too long—blink first. Always blink first.