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The week in re(ar)view

Biman and security: bad joke
A report last Monday stated that our beloved ground based Biman needs security upgrades. Apparently we need tighter security at the airports. Apparently it seems the present methods fencing of arriving people behind glass cage is not tight enough. Apparently making the airport feel like a zoo is not good enough security. Apparently we use the word apparently too much.

We estimate that new security measures will include the glass fence to be moved outside the Zia International airport. In fact it will be placed one kilometer away so that those who come to see off or receive passengers will need binoculars to see what is happening.

But we think otherwise. We apparently (see? There's that word again) have the best security system of all. The Biman planes do not even fly so there cannot possibly be any risk involved.

Cheap power is an expensive dream
Cheap may not always mean bad but when it involves the government it is bad. Always. Chinese things are cheap, apparently. So the government loves to buy Chinese items such as the 80MW Tongi power plant from Harbin. Of course cheap machinery usually equate to poor quality machinery. Hence the plant has tripped 75 times since start of operations since March last year. The cheap cost for all this cheapness? A cool whopping 360 crore taka.

Week long boredom
The fight for power and fertilizer continues with the latest updates including a possible 7 day 'agitation' program. Bikalpa Dhara Bangladesh, Jatiya Oikya Mancha and Bangladesh Tariqat Federation are three such groups who have thought up this master plan. Who they are? Well, this happens to be the first time we heard of them too. They have jointly declared April 7-14 as an uninterrupted agitation demanding uninterrupted power. If we have to stay home all this time that means uninterrupted boredom.

Our hero
Could Finance Minister M Saifur Rahman be a greater hero for us than Batman could be fighting imaginary foes? Apparently (uff that word) he has almost threatened that government will intervene (meaning ask for lots of money) if private cell phone operators do not lower their call charges. Notice how the state run BTTB was cleverly left out by simply using the word 'private'? The man's got brains despite claims otherwise.

Of course if call rates go down people will idolise him and girls will leave a small place beside their John Abraham posters for Saifur Rah-MAN.

By Gohkra and Mood Dude

RS Mailbx

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The conscience has not yet died
A genuine passion for the love of independence has evoked through the praise-worthy article by Mayesha Tasnim on 30th March. It seems that a flavour of patriotism is still present in the heart of some Bangladeshis. In this current situation of noble persons (I should say noblest in dishonesty) it is great to know about such valiant act in this youthful age.(where others are ready to rock n roll irrespective of the eventful dates when people like us gave their lives for our sake). I hope that at least this year the departed souls might rest in peace watching all these happen in their life-sacrificing day. This is the beginning of a revolution against the infamous-policy-makers of our nation who are destroying the sanctity, beauty and culture of Bangladesh by their corrupt wills. I humbly appreciate and respect these people of my age for their brave step in doing the unimaginable and pray that it should continue whenever there is disrespect for our beloved NATION.
Mirza M.F Shirazi

An article of last weeks RS have drawn my attention, heading of "Is Our Conscience Dying A Painful Death?” Really it's a good question to ask and I have asked that myself a few time after reading the whole article. "Are we really losing our conscience?"
35 years ago we fought bravely against our enemy and got our beautiful land by losing 3 millions of lives and after 35 years some of Bangladeshis(!) are going to arrange a foreign Disco night on our independence day! I'm wondering on those Bangladeshi(!) people who are arranging this program. How they dare to arrange that type of program on that particular date! Don't they have any respect on their own culture and heritage? If the 15 years old girl has that much respect then why the elders don't have? Do the elders have loose their patriotism? I want to give thanks to that four girls who stop the program what the elders' can't do and for teach us a good lesson.
Shahriar Asif

This was definitely a praiseworthy effort and a great example set by a young person.

Foorget about lions, tigers rule the jungle!
Yep, tigers roared once again. And this time they managed to scare the hell out of the lions! The Bangladesh-Kenya series gave us a good reason to feel great about ourselves, once again. Obviously, fans went crazy (both at the stadium and in front of the TV sets). As a result we got to see some pretty weird placards. During one of the matches when Aftab Ahmed was hitting fours like mad and Atahar Ali Khan, the commentator, was shouting, "You just can't keep this man quiet!", a placard shot out from the gallery-- BOOM BOOM AFTAB (!). Then the last match of the series. Some joker actually waved a placard that said --- AMMA AAMI EIKHAANE (Mom, I'm Here!)
Raisa Rafique

Bashundhara visited
We read about Bashundhara Baluchar on you last issue. And then my friend suggested that may be we can visit this place. So yesterday we went there. I just loved it although my friend loved it even more! Thanks Adnan Fakir for giving us such a nice location.

See what you can gain when you read RS?

Street Child
A gentle hand places you,
in the cradle next to me.
You are held, loved and
while I am abandoned-- the untouchable.
You are smothered with kissed and blessings,
while I scavenged through garbage
and wandered the streets.
Your pain and your triumph
is a love one's concern,
while mine are perpetually ignored
and perpetually forgotten.
You look at me,
but you do not see me.
I am a voiceless shadow,
reduced to invisibility.
When you look at the horizon you see possibility,
while I only see empty space.
Perhaps I would have wondered at the old soul
that occupied my body,
If I had ever know what it was to be a child.

He sits under the shade, dusk falling.
He gazes around with soulful eye, tormented and wise beyond his years.
The city's hustle bustle,
a starling contrast with the peace that surrounds this child.
The blessed child,
the forgotten child.
The wealthy in their chic,
busily passing by with their purposeful stride.
Pitying glances here and there,
but never a second thought.
A sigh escapes from his parched lips,
almost eloquently explaining the forgotten,
unfulfilled wishes and dreams to love and be loved.
The falling darkness as overwhelming as the never-ending activity of a city
that didn't notice nor seemed to care.
As the calm is broken, in desperation,
he eyes the handbag of a defenseless old lady.
With one purposeful stride at a time,
ignoring the repulsion of a degenerate act;
He steals her meager belongings,
And shuts out his pain through one snort,
into a world of oblivion where being and forgotten no longer mattered.
By Fatima Anwar


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