On the Day of Independence
It was around 7.25 pm on March 26, when I decided to switch on the radio. Radio Today was broadcasting the Independence Day Concert from the Gulshan Youth Club in Dhaka. Next, I switched on Radio Foorti. I was astonished when I heard them playing “Churaliya”, a famous Hindi number, instead of patriotic songs commemorating our Independence Day.
36 years have passed since our Liberation War but we still haven't been able to realise its value. Moreover, we have even begun to forget the significance of our history. If this trend goes on, it won't be long when the future generation will let go of the Bangali identity as well.
Md. Saimum Reza Piash
Dept. of Law
University of Chittagong
One Legged Rickshaw-Puller
A few days ago, while returning home from university, I noticed that the rickshaw I was on was making a very strange noise. When I looked down, I noticed that the rickshaw puller had only one leg! Even then, he was pulling the rickshaw very smoothly like the rest of the other pullers. I was really surprised by this scene, at the same time I was feeling extremely sorry for the poor man as well. In his situation any man would choose to beg, however, this man chose to work instead. I guess there are people who still prefer to fend for themselves, instead of living like a parasite.
Diary from Melbourne
I have had many experiences, working as an operations manager at a grocery store here in Melbourne but none as touching as the incident last week. Last week, a man in his 60s came to the store with his wife. They were visitors from Bangladeshi and soon enough I began to have a chat with them. Further into the conversation I got to know that, the couple was in Melbourne to visit one of their three sons, who were all settled outside Bangladesh. The elderly gentleman happened to be a respectable solicitor in Bangladesh and had been practicing law for the last 40 years. He suddenly began to speak of his family and children. "Allah has given me everything except the pleasure of living with my own children," he exclaimed. "Children will never understand how we feel about them," he added. Answering to one of his queries, I told him that I would return home after completing my studies, which had his eyes go moist. He put his hand on my head and said, "Bless you my son."
I was a mere stranger to him but he opened his heart out which showed his sheer agony of not being able to spend the rest of his life with his children. Vulnerability was inevitable on his face, which explained his pain. Why do children have to leave their parents for good when they can stand on their own? Is it so easy to forget all the years of growing up and love that we got from our parents? Can't we create our opportunities and stay with our family?
Mohammed Ulfath Toaha
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