The week in re(ar)view
The true benchwarmer
Jan 21 M.A. Aziz (former Chief Election Commissioner with the super smooth bonce) finally quit. If only people were as tenacious at actually doing their job instead of sitting all day warming the cushion. Whatever the case, the next CEC will have a warm albeit slightly dented and grooved seat to seat upon.
The election date is set back another six months or so. That equates to a whole lot more unhealthy holidays courtesy of political parties who feel that people are overworked. Bring on the hartals.
Polling booths will be placed on remote islands
Election Commission agreed to allow armed forces to arrest anyone from anyplace during their engagement in election duties. They can arrest anyone within 400 yards of a polling station on polling day. So what are the chances people will actually want to go and vote if such is the situation? After all, the army does have a rather intimidating image that leaves many people's hearts stopped in mid-beat.
Footpaths are for walking again
In the meantime did you notice how the streets are devoid of pedestrians? Apparently they are walking on the footpaths again (well, most of them). It seems that the footpaths have something missing and that's all the hawkers who used it as their 'shop, sweet shop'. Like the Terminator, “They'll be Back!”
Holy Bangladeshi idol
The most eye-catching news of the past week seems to be the appearance of a self proclaimed young pir (holy person). There is this 11 year old kid who thinks he is the next Bangladesh idol. He can't sing but boy can he blow his blessings turning regular murky water into holy murky water. This self proclaimed pir was afflicted with rheumatic fever for over a year. But miraculously and as it sometimes happens quite casually, he recovered fully. And thus he became a holy dude whom people went to for blessing of water which apparently cures just about anything. Now he has thousands of disciples already most of them women. Can someone spell Rasputin?
On 19 Jan, Reuter's photographers were snapping this young spiritual leader when the mob snapped and took away the cameras and roughed them up. Boy meets spirit, boy becomes spirit, boy goes to jail and disciples go crazy. Two days later he is back on the streets blessing left and right.
And with that news item we bless this article. Those who read it will be equally blessed. One of us has a cold and the other has a sprained ankle and we expect to recover miraculously.
By Mood Dude and Gokhra
RS Biker-Hero Mugged creating BD Matrix scene
Recently our Resident Conspiracy Theorist (RCT) fell victim to a gang of motorbike muggers, a commonplace enough event, except, in true RS style, this particular case also blew up into blockbuster proportions.
The setting : The roads of Lalmatia at 11:00 in the night. Enter our hero (?) on his shiny motorbike. The muggers spot their target.
They closed in on RCT, and steered him off balance causing him and his motor bike to topple over. One of the culprits stormed out of the car and was off with the precious bike before RCT could say 'THIEF!' Two others got hold of RCT, and one tried to strangle (?!?!) him. (It's fortunate that these robbers did not believe in the conventional methods of assault; shooting stabbing etc.)
Any victim in a similar situation would have gone down on his knees and begged for mercy, but our brave conspiracy theorist, having seen the love of his life drive away with somebody else, was left in such a state where he had nothing to lose. He smashed the nose of the guy behind him with his helmet and put up a gallant fight with the other two. Little did he know that the driver of the car was still in it and seeing his mates in a tight situation he started up the car and charged straight for the unlikely victim. And then….(this is my favourite part) …RCT leaps out of the way and ONTO the hood of the car!
He held onto dear life as the car zoomed around the area, with him hanging on…nails dug into the metal exterior….alright maybe I'm exaggerating. You would think it was enough for a day…but no. A very conscious citizen in the streets, probably thinking helpless RCT was some night-time stalker-creature attacking the passengers of the car, threw a brick in the direction. Fortunately, it hit the car and not the victim, smashing the window into bits. This very interesting hitch-hiking experience went on a few more minutes before the car finally shook off RCT at some distant part of the city (okay maybe it was just Dhanmondi) Our hero was left tired, bike-less and a very badly injured leg.
Note: No animals (other than RCT) were hurt during the filing of this report. We can't vouch the same for the writer after RCT sees this, however.
By Aniqa Moinuddin
Birds and the bees
Donald Ogden Stewart, the writer, had a son away at prep school. When the boy reached the age of fourteen, Stewart wrote him the following letter: "Dear son, now that you have reached the magic age of fourteen, the time has come to tell you about the bees and flowers. There is a male and a female bee, although I haven't the slightest idea which is which. As for the flowers - we get ours from the Plaza Florist, Inc. Well, that takes care of that.
Write soon, Affectionately,
by great ladies
A man's got to do what a man's got to do. A woman must do what he can't.
Whatever women must do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half
as good. Luckily, this is not difficult.
When I was young; I was put in a school for retarded kids for two years
before they realized I actually had a hearing loss. And they called ME slow!
I'm not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I'm not dumb --
and I'm also not blonde.
When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. Men invade another
Behind every successful man is a surprised woman.
In politics, if you want anything said, ask a man. If you want anything
done, ask a woman.
I am a marvellous housekeeper. Every time I leave a man, I keep his house.
-Zsa Zsa Gabor-
A male gynecologist is like an auto mechanic who never owned a car.
Inside every older lady is a younger lady -- wondering what the hell
-Cora Harvey Armstrong-
I sing like a siren
I sing like a gypsy
As I wander in my search
I look and I rummage
As I die with my ravage
In search of a pure love
The fountain that used to gush forth
In the heart of man
Has dried with time
Love has gone to the heavens
As we have done a blunder
In our world that has no eyes
Who will hear my serenade?
Except the wind in the forests
And the sand in the barren fields
And the ocean so deep
And the sky that has no feet
Who will bear the lumber of my sorrows?
Now that there is no love
Who will see through my heart of remorse?
Now that there is no trust
Who will bring back the one that is lost?
Or venture back in time
This world needs a saviour
As it lies without life.
By Naome Syed
They are all I can say
To fill your heart with joy
On a solitary day
To wipe away the blue tears that fall from your eyes
So that you burst out in laughter
In the middle of a fight
To make you feel so brand new
Every time you come to think of me and you
Words they are all I have as my own
But if I had the world
For you that I would disown
Words can mend the hardest of things
it can bring back your smile and give you the joy of spring
it can make the sun shine
on a cloudy day
it can make the snow fall down
in the month of may
Words are the simplest things I can give to you
Because you love to hear them
Is what 's so special about you.
By Naome Syed
That poor little boy
The time when I saw that poor little boy
Who never in his life played with a toy
He cries and cries all day long
With a deep sadness in his song
He cries and cries and goes to his mother
She is busy and doesn't even bother
The little boy whose body is filled with mud
And his little tears filled with dirt
Has no one to play with him, not even a friend
And all his hardship would never come to an end
He begs with sadness in his heart
To survive and get a place in this big earth.
By Maisha Naower
To Necropolis, the city of graves
Only three and a half hands in length
How powerful can you be?
Why do you call me with such content?
Why will you not let my soul simply be?
I cannot hear your calls
But you are my little master whom I tread on.
I do not care about you, neither fear
I care about my Lord, He is whom I fear
Hence, keep on calling and I will not hear
But only when my Lord asks me to embrace you
I will come.
If heavens are the utopia of souls
I will pray,
That every one of you
Become the greatest utopia of all,
But not for you, for the soul you bear;
And that you, my grave, is not
The only piece of land that you are
But the entire Earth,
So that those alive may pray
Where ever they are.
By Adnan M. S. Fakir