RS Tech Corner
This week we will be talking about Go-Gizmos. Don't be confused; go-gizmos are techie term for super portable form factor PC's which we can carry around. Here we look at several small scale computers that can satisfy your everyday computing and entertainment needs and see which ones are best fit to suit your style (and wallet). So here goes, from larger to smaller.
The Ultra mobile PC (UMPC)
Portable Media Players
Portable Gaming Console
The Smart Phones (aka PDA)
So there it goes. Hope this article helped you to fine your true Go-Gizmo lifestyle. Hopefully sometime soon we take a look at the laptop culture in Bangladesh and give you some tips and trick regarding which laptop is the right one for you. Till then, Ciao.
(Various critical information assimilated from PCworld.com, Anandtech.com, tomshardware.com etc. etc. etc)
By Monty Python
Then he dove, what else? Chromium pollutants ain't man enough to put a stop on youth euphoria, is it now?
Naser Imran Hossain
Judy scattered more crumbs on the pavement from her front pocket. Tears rolled down her pink, damp cheeks; she sobbed. She screamed out to herself as she fed the beautiful birds. Her hands trembled-not because of the thin sheet of coldness around her but for something else.
She was thinking of something real hard. And that thought had brought those very tears to her heart. She wiped her wet face once more with that dirty hand of hers. She felt like those birds trapped in those cages in which they were humiliated, tortured and separated from their own kind.
Thinking of it made her feel even lonelier. But she just couldn't stay away from those thoughts-those harsh words...She's still trapped in that unbreakable cage-dying to get out. But problem was: If she did what will happen to her family? Who will take care of them?
Man is a mortal animal. He cannot do anything but to achieve higher pursuit of goals. But at that moment that seemed impossible to her. She was trapped in a dilemma but to choose a path seemed more than life to her. She just couldn't take it anymore. The pain, the tolerance, the torture. She truly felt like a bird: trapped.
She wants to taste the sweetness of flying-its lovely fruit didn't come to her hands very often. She just wanted to do that one more time-just to show everyone what she truly was. How much she could truly achieve-how much she could go and reach for the stars and the moon. Just one more time…
She wants to breakaway but cannot. The thick bars of the cage still hold her back. Back to where she truly couldn't be. She is trapped in a galaxy of horrors and bitterness. A fat drop of tear unseen by the world splashed on the floor as she made herself to the edge of the roof. She was going to break free from her cage.
She looked down from the bars and she saw what she'd been waiting for all along. The sweet song of happiness called her from a faraway land. Like the song of the Pied Piper. She looked at the beautiful, blue sky with stains of red and yellow blotted on it. She looked it-she knew that the land was somewhere out there where she now belonged. And the Almighty-The Pied Piper still made that irresistible music that uplifted her soul. She wanted to break free.
She held out her hand and closed her eyes; and listened to the sound. The sweetest she had ever heard.It was calling her to that strange land. She was going to fly to that land now. And leave this forever. She spread out her wings and let herself fall from the edge; an unpredictable smile drew itself on her beautiful face. She was freed from her cage at last.
By Mayeesha Shafiq
Wheels of torture
The hot day was nearing its end and people were eager to get home for iftar. The crowd at Farmgate bus stand was huge. The buses were filling rapidly. Backsides were hanging out in midair; God forbid should another bus close in. The rat race homewards was on.
One of these buses contained poor old yours truly. It was already crowded and the smell of sweat and the tail-end-of-fast-bad-breath was nauseating. The bus stopped at Farmgate and started taking in way too many people, or so it seemed to those of us who were inside. There were quite a few people grumbling and one muscular guy at the back thumped the roof and said, 'Oi beta driver, aga, naile gari jalaia dimu!' [“yo driver, move or I'll burn the bus!”]
The conductor collecting fare from another person said, 'roja rakhen nai? Roja-r moiddhe gari jalaiben ki? Roja bhangbo.' [“aren't you fasting? You are going to light the bus up while fasting? Your fast will break.”]
The guy replied something to the effect that breaking his fast to earn peace for the 50 passengers would 'give me a palace in heaven with 50 angels.”
Another guy said from the side, 'beheste na shotturta hur pori paoar kotha?' [“aren't you supposed to get seventy angels in heaven?”]
Everyone laughed at that and the driver pulled forward. How 30-40 fasting, tired people might find peace in burning their only transport home [where they at least found some space] is a question that wasn't asked for some unknown reason. Either everyone knew the guy wasn't being serious or we were all too tired to ask. Or maybe we really thought the idea was good. Who knows? The dying hours of Ramadan days always seem hazy.
By Kazim Ibn Sadique
| Issues | The Daily Star Home|
© 2008 The Daily Star