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In my pocket

We're always surrounded by stories. They are all around us; in the things that happen to us, in the people we meet, the places we go...and sometimes, they can even be found inside our pockets.

A few weeks ago, the members of the RS team were given a funny challenge: to pull something out of their pockets, and to write about how they came to possess the objects, and the relationships behind the process of obtaining them. The results were pretty startling, and this week, we share those stories with you.

'Innocent Pleasures'

THE outer cover may not be edible, but once you peel off its skin, you encounter sweet pink flesh. A flesh, that only tastes good, but which can be stretched and fondled, all with the use if your tongue. It has the ability to be balled up and can even be used for blowing...bubbles. It even had a surprise for me in the form of a body art, which I immediately pasted on my arm, for bodily pleasure.

Acquiring such a delightful object was actually easy. I picked it up at a small local shop by paying a meagre sum of 1 tk. A bargain for sure, as it didnt value the pleasure the little package brings. Picking it up was the best way to start and end the day for sure. The bearded shop-keeper who handed 'it' to me did not hesitate even once. I surely would've if I was handing a young 'un such a magnificent piece of adult wonder. But as I undressed the object and propped in my mind, savouring it, with my salivary glands and others at full swing, the shop-keeper almost gasped. He liked what he was seeing...and I was grateful to him as well. I looked at the shop-keeper and said 'Hey thanks. Give me another piece so I can double my pleasure.' And he handed me another piece of the chewing gum.

By Osama Rahman

Ready to move on

IT is something that I could very well turn into a weapon should I ever confront a mugger. It is shaped like a brickbat, weighs much more than a brickbat, and is quiet a bit more expensive than a brickbat. It has got a glossy part on its surface and the other part of its surface is pretty much bland and white.

I did not really want to get it, seriously! But since my brother went through the hassle of spending a couple thousand bucks on it, I thought I should cut him some slack and graciously accept it.My brother is actually a very good person because he sometimes goes crazy with all the money he gets from his job and buys me really snazzy and expensive stuff that I happen to like. He is a good brother! But these days I think I have gone tired of seeing this object. And I think I have worked out what I am going to say to my brother after I finish it off or rather dispose it off. “The cell phone died last night. That's why I couldn't call you and tell you about it. But I am ready move on, just so you know!”

Hitoishi Chakma

The Legend of Zero

THE idea came from the heavens; it must have. Our feeble minds surely couldn't have stumbled onto such a wonderful conclusion without a few divine nudges in the right direction? And don't we all come from the heavens as well; something to do with birds, bees, angels and what not, all of which, I might add, have the rather wonderful gift of flight? So “down below” has nothing to do with our arrival in this world. After all, which unfortunate parent has faced the pain of telling their children about the Moles and Worms?

It was a grand idea; an Empty idea; the idea of Nothingness. Amazing and awe-inspiring in its simplicity. What do you get when you subtract one from one? Nothing, nada, zilch, null, zero. Such an easy answer. Oh, but how confusing. Please, close your eyes and use your extraordinary amount of imagination and try to envision…Nothingness. No Universe, no planets, no people, no light, no darkness. No hand-in-hand moonlit walks on cold winter nights with your loved one. There is nothing around you. You have no hands, no legs, no neck nor head. You can still see. You can still hear. You can touch, smell and taste, because you are in the middle of all that Nothingness. But all of these senses register…Nothing. You see Nothing, you hear Nothing, you touch, taste, smell Nothing. As if all this is a slate that has been wiped clean. Just then, if you feel as if you're nothing as well [which you should, considering Nothing cannot be Nothing if you are bang in the middle of it], pull the plug on your imagination.Feel like your brain is fried from the effort? Can't hold on to that notion? Feel a little nauseous? Then join the club that boasts some of the greatest minds of the ancient world [most of them are Greek] who failed miserably to come to terms with Nothing. How can nothing be also something? How can zero be a number? It is said that ancient Indian mathematicians first came up with the concept of Nothingness. Before that there was no such thing as zero, just an empty space in the numerical system. They also say that the current English numbers are based on the ancient Indian way of writing numbers, which identified numbers with angles. For example, 1 had only one angle, namely the hook at the top, no line at the bottom. The number 2 had two angles and so on and so forth. But when they came to zero, they made it round. A circle has no angles, thus it signifies non-existence. But, can it not be said that a circle has infinite angles, just like a line has infinite points? So does that mean nothing is actually everything? That when I have no money in my pockets, I actually am the richest being that ever existed?"What has it got in its pocketses?" - Gollum.

By Kazim Ibn Sadique

I know where summer went

Purple and black to
match your white; with no perfume
or a sound, evokes
it, for me, the perfect day.
Buried now in my pocket.

I looked. You looked. The poster promised gore galore. We decided to watch the movie. It would be the perfect end to a perfect day; razors would be wrung upon flesh, as bloody as only celluloid can deliver. Much to our glee. And when it was over, we walked out;
Deep in my pocket lay,
Token of our perfect day.

You bought it for me. As you handed it over, your hand shook.
From excitement.
From anticipation for carnage in silver.
From love.

“Thanks for getting the tickets, dude. Next time it's on me.”
“This flick's going to kick more butt than Chuck Norris on Novocain!”

By Ahsan Sajid

A forgotten memory

ITS colour is rather different, at least different from the others in its league. Parts of it are smeared with dirt, unidentified substances, probably as a result of being handed down from one person to another. Perhaps it was once new, during its better days. Even though it no longer looks like the way it used to, its demand is still high on the rise.

Usually people wouldn't just give away this valuable thing that I'm talking about. But there was a certain someone who actually thrust this piece of paper into my hand, because i needed it. The person was an Uncle, even though most kids my age receive this blue, sometimes green ( for a certain country) thing, from their parents. But me, I got it from my Uncle. Speaking of my Uncle, I should probably tell you that I had never even met him, not until a week ago. He has been living in USA for the past 30 years, and this is the first time in all these years that he decides to make an appearance. True, there was some childhood telephone conversations, but as i grew up, even those became rare. Yet astonishingly, when he just shows up at our door step one fine day as I was on my way out, he didnt seem like a stranger anymore."You're going out?" he asked after the small, bittersweet reunion. I nodded as I put on my slippers. As if on que, my mother asked if i need money to which I answered with a shrug. "Here, take this," Uncle said, handing me the 100 taka note. I smiled at him. Knowing that even after all these years, I could forgive him.

By Nayeema Reza

REDDISH-BROWN, rusty edges and circular punched holes that was the object which I fumbled out from my hand-bag. It was still crispy to the touch despite the one year it had gained in my bag. I am not a person who usually collects ancient relics; in fact it was a wonder how such a useless item still had a place in my purse. It was not very important for me even when I got it either. But the article itself had much use. You could pour out all your thoughts in it whether good or bad. It will never be sad, object or mind to whatever you express on it. Nevertheless, I will not drone about its many qualities too much. Writers and poets have done that for ages.
This object, however trivial, certainly has got a nostalgic memory attached to it since I got it during my first day at RS. I did not ask for it nor did I want it. It was deliberately thrust into my hands. So why did the person give it to me? And who was this mysterious person? Was it a message, a love-note? Yes, yes I know you must be wondering about all these. Well first of all it was no message and definitely not a love-note! It was a piece of paper torn from a notebook with the person's email address on it. That person was no one but a colleague who wanted ideas mailed in from everyone for a particular column.

Now you realize the significance of the paper don't you? It is exactly the same with me too. It is as measly as any scrap paper which one would not mind a bit dumping away. But the interesting fact was that, even after discovering it after a year, I refused to throw it away and neatly tucked it back inside my bag.

By Faria Sanjana



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