A Sherpa in the Meadows

Blogstag

2006-08-31T19:31:00.000+06:00

Heute übt man den Blogstag aus. Dazu erwähnt man fünf seiner Lieblingsblog. Hier läuft meine Liste:

Durer Janala

Aaggatabash

Batayan

Rajputro

Addabaaj

Endlich ...

2006-08-24T08:23:00.000+06:00

habe ich die TestDaF abgelegt.

Mit Leseverstehen, Hörverstehen und Schriftlichem Ausdrück war ich zufrieden, also, hoffe ich Niveau 5 zu kriegen. Aber beim Mündlichen Ausdrück habe ich mich schwach aufgewiesen. Ich glaube, dass ich sollte besser leisten.

Jetzt kann ich nur warten auf meine Note und Zeugniss.

Zubereitung : Knoblauchsbeize

2006-08-20T08:44:00.000+06:00

Zu erst, soll der Knoblauch in schmallen und schlanken Stücken geschintten werden.

Danach mischt man Tarmarik (?), Pfeffer, Ingwer, Salz und ein bisschen Zucker mit Öl und Wasser, und kocht die Knoblauchstücken.

Die gekochte Knoblauchstücken soll mit Fünfigwürzen [Also, das kann man nur in Bangladesh finden ;)] gemischt werden, und danach in einer trockenen Flasche eingefüllt.

Hmm. Es schmäckt sehr gut wenn meine Mama die zubereitung beaufsichtigt. Sonst wird es immer kaputt :) ...

Erschad

2006-08-18T22:45:00.000+06:00

Seit der Befreiung von Pakistanischem Militär-Regime 1971, war Hussein Mohammad Erschad der zweite durch Militärmacht ursurpierende President der Republik. 1982 hat er sich die Führung der Regierung widerrechtlich angeeignet, und 1990 hat sich infolge eines landweiten Aufstands entlassen gelassen. Mittlerweile hat er das Land mit blutbefleckter Eisenfaust beherrscht.

Während seiner Regierungszeit hat Erschad die Korruption mit bahnbrechendem Erfolg durchaus die Regierungsverwaltung als ein regelmäßiger Begirff vorgestellt. Das Verlangen nach Demokratie hat er in Abrede gestellt, damit die Bevölkerung seine Tätigkeit, eine menge Geld hinterzuziehen, nicht unterbrechen könnten. Seine Kriechern und Anhängern haben auch ein Reichtum für sich versichert, und dazu haben zahlreiche Menschen ermordet.

Ein Wüstling und Frauenheld, hat Erschad auch jedes ethisch und moralisch Verhalten verweigert, und zugleich hat die Blindgläubige Aggressive Faktionen namens Gottes zur fanatische Maßewegung ermutigt. Nachdem er die Macht endgültig verlassen hatte, wurde er zum zahlreichen Prozeß genommen, und zur Zehn Jahren im Gefängnis verurteilt.

Nach 16 jahre seine Abdankung, ist Erschad zur Zeit nicht nur Befreit worden (nach verkürzerte Strafevon fünf Jahre im Gefängnis), sondern auch in Politik wiedereingesetzt. Die Prozeße werden immer noch unhemilich schnell gelöst, wie oder warum weisst Niemand. Die Beiden Großparteien, BNP und Awami League, die BZW zur Regierungsmacht erwählt worden waren, haben ihn in Vergangenheit zu Nutze gebracht. Jetzt hat Erschad sich entschieden, an dem Machthaberszusammenschluss Teilzuhaben. Mittlerweile wurde seine eigene Partei, namentlich JP, in vier Teile zerteilt, und die zwei große Partei-Union sind aktiv mit diesen Teilen, auf eigener Seite zu umfassen.

Sei dadurch Demokratie von Diktatursgespenst infiziert zu werden, sagt die alte Kämpfern gegen Diktatur und für Demokratie. Den Diktator in Politik, ohne angemessene zu bestrafen, wiederzubeleben und zu berechtigen könne dem Land nicht geringstens helfen, meinen sie auch.

Schamszur Rachmann lebt kein mehr

2006-08-18T01:03:00.000+06:00

Heute Abends starb Schamszur Rachmann, einer der berühmtesten Dichtern in Bangladesh. Monatelang war er sterbenskrank, unter der ernsten Pflege in Krankenhaus.

Während der Befreiungskrieg dauernd im Jahre 1971, hat Schamszur Rachamnn die Befreiungskämpfern mithilfe seines Gedichts mit Enthusiasmus und Patrotismus erfüllt. Er inspiriert fast alle große Maßbewegungen,namentlich gegen die Diktatur des Erschad-Regimes während der Achtzehnten Jahren. Aufgrund seiner starke Rolle und Stimme gegen die feindseilge so-genannte Islamistische Fanatische Geheimbewegung und Terroristgruppen, wurde er 1997 zu Hause von einpaar angehörigen Harqatul-Dschihads Attentäter zum Todsrisiko verletzt.

Durch sein Leben hat Herr Rachmann den Lesern und Kennern zahlreiche wunderschöne Gedichten geschenkt. Aus der Gesichtspunkt von Berühmtheit wird er in Bangladesh nur von Robindronath Thakur und Dschibonanondo Dasch eingeholt.

Wir äußern unsere große Verehrung zu seiner Leben und Werk, und drücken seiner Familie unser Beileid aus.

Sünde eines lässt viele leiden

2006-08-17T01:26:00.000+06:00

Vorgestern wird am Zia Internationaler Flughafen Handgepäck an Bord mitzunehmen verboten. Genauer erklärt, wird Flüssigkeit aller Art als Inhalt des Reisegepäcks durchaus verboten. Es ist aber keinenfalls eine eigenartige Besonderheit des Flughafens in Bangladesh, weltweit ist der neue strikte Befehl im Gang. Die reisende passagieren müssen in einer durchsichitigen Tasche die Sachen mitzunehmen mittragen, und darunter Flüssigkeit soll nicht als ein Begriff vorhanden sein.

Der Umstand ist infolge des Attentatfalls am Heathrow Flughafen in London, den die vorwarnte Londonerpolitzei erfolgreich durchgekreuzt hat, die Pakistanische Geheimdienst sei dank. Es ist nicht erstmal dass einpaar Bürgern aus Pakistanischer Herkunft, motiviert und trainiert von den noch nicht demaskierten Terroristengruppen in Pakistan, mit Bomben das Verkehrssystem in London angegriffen haben. Mit eigenen Konzept und Idee, möchten diese Menschen Selbstmord begehen, und gleichzeitig andere unschuldige Menschen, die nichts gegen ihnen getan haben, ermorden. Und infolgedessen wird überall die Flugverkehr sehr anfällig und einfach verletzbar. Natürlich reagieren die Flughafenverwaltung mit stärkeren Befehlen an der Sicherheitsabteilung, und es ist zuletzt die Passagieren, die unter den neuen rigorosen Regeln leiden.

Ein veraltetes Bengalisches Sprichwort fällt mir ein: Einer gräbt eine Bohrung aus, fallen zehn mehr mit ihm darin.

Feuchtigkeit beherrscht den Tag

2006-08-05T12:49:00.000+06:00

Seit letzter Nacht regnet es pauselos, als ob das Wettersystem verrückt geworden ist. Dieses Jahr kommt die Schwerwolken ziemlich spät, es sollte am anfang Julis einen großen Niederschlag geben. Es wundert mich nicht mehr, alles ist verspätet bei uns.

Zum Beispiel, die Liste der Stimmberechtigten sollte innerhalb von April fertig worden sein. Aber der Oberwahlkomissioner [künftig OWK], geehrter Herr Aziz, hat vielleicht seine eigenartige Planung, die der Erwartung der Bevölkerung nicht zustimmt. Erstes mal hat er die Parteiangehörigen als die Sammler der Wählersauskunft angestellt, und eine wunderbare Liste vorgestellt, die auf eine unmögliche Zunahme der volljährigenanzahl hinwies. Landweit hätten diese Angestellten nach ihrer eingenen Art eine geisterhafte Liste gekocht, einfach sich weigernd vom Tür zu Tür zu gehen. Auf der Liste lagen diejenigen, die noch nicht volljährig geworden seien, die seit langem tot seien, und die keine körperliche Existenz hätten. Namen, die zu den Adressen nicht zustimmt, und Adressen, die zu dem Stadtplan nicht zustimmt, hätten die Liste angefüllt. Dagegen widersprachen die Statistikern, die ehemalige Wahlkomissionern, die politische gegnern und natürlich hat die Medien eine nennenswerte Rolle gegen die Willkür Azizes gespielt. Zahlreiche Journalisten von den elektronischen Medien haben regelmäßig auf den Fersen geblieben, haben nachgesucht um die Stellung zu diesem Umstand, die Herr Aziz genommen habe, aber leider hat der OWK in der Pantomime aufgetreten. Er weigerte sich verlässlich den Mund zu öffnen, und hielt eine wasserdichte Worstille. Ferner, hat die Medien verfolgt, dass der OWK sich einen Termin mit den Vertretern von EU geweigert habe, als er in Krankenhaus eingeliefert worden sei. Mehrmals habe er wichtige Termine und Interview vermieden, vortäuschend als ein Kranker und mithilfe der Gesundheitsbericht von den zuständigen Ärzten, meinte meiste Medien, weil er binnen sehr kurzer Zeit von sterbenskrank zu arbeitsfähig geworden sei. Den Termin mit der Bootschaft von USA zu vermissen, könne er sich aber nicht leisten. In einer Tagung, hat Herr Aziz sich kräftig äußert, dass eine so-genannte Gruppe aktiv sei, das Abbild des Landes in Augen von Außenwelt zu verletzen und verschumtzen. Seine Wahl des Wortes wäre erstaunlicherweise ähnlich mit der der Machtparteivertretern. Die Opposition hat aber die Sache vor dem Gericht gebracht, und nach dem zeitraubenden Prozeß hat das verehrte Gericht aufgeklärt, dass der Verfahren der Sammlung der Wählersauskunft und die Aufebreitung der Liste der Stimmberechtigten ordnungswidrig und gesetzeswidrig war. Nach der aufklärung, musste die Wahlkommission den ganzen Verfahren noch einmal vom Anfang nach der Ordnung durchführen.

Danach weigerte sich noch die Kommission vom Tür zu Tür zu gehen, wie früher, und hat mitgeteilt, dass die Liste vollbereitet wird, ohne kommissionsangestellten draußen zu schicken. Wie es möglich sein könnte, könne aber der OWK diese Frage nicht beantworten, oder wölle er nicht. Mehrmals hat er sich mit den Journalisten zu sprechen geweigert, und wenn er eigentlich ein Gespräch arrangiert habe, habe er keine sachdienliche Frage beantwortet. Nachdem in den Medien heftige Kritik geübt worden waren, plötzlich hat die Komission manche Regeln abgeändert und ein paar neue Regeln formuliert und hat mitgeteilt, dass die Kommission sich entschieden habe, vom Tür zu Tür zu gehen, um die Wählersauskunft zu sammeln. Mittlerweile habe die Kommission jede menge Geld verschwendet, und würde mehr Geld zwecks der Sammlung der Wählersauskunft verlangen.

Aber die Liste ist, natürlich, noch nicht aufbereitet worden ist. Wann soll sie einen vollen Gestalt nehmen, wissen die Leute noch nicht.

Ab jetzt schreibe ich auf Deutsch

2006-08-04T19:06:00.000+06:00

Nicht so einfach, weiß ich. Dennoch muss ich schreiben. Am 22 muss ich die TestDaF ablegen, und bisher hab ich fast nichts geschrieben. Also, in der Prüfung muss man eine Grafik beschreiben, und bei ein paar Aussagen Stelung nehmen ... und dazu fehlen mir die richtigen, schlagenswürdigen wörter.

Aber muss man weiter machen, muss ich versuchen. Nächstes mal schreibe ich über den Umstand bezüglich unseres kommenden Wahls. Es wundert mich immer, wie eine schlechte Sache gut wie ein Thema zum Schreiben zu stehen kommt.

বাঙলা লিখছি

2006-06-23T20:32:00.000+06:00

হুমম। খারাপ লাগছে না বাংলায় লিখতে। ঝামেলা হচ্ছে একটু একটু, তবে বোধ করি অভ্যেস হয়ে যাবে।

The Neandertal Enigma

2006-03-05T02:08:00.000+06:00

Solving the Mystery of Modern Human Origins, that's what the book's subtitle says. James Shreeve, a science writer, a true master on his words, wonderfully unwoven the intertwined fibres of the Mystery. I liked his style, his impressive basket of words, and a neatly plan of trotting along the related events he experienced.

What actually Happened to Neandertal Man? Why were these people led to extinction? Did they actually speciated from the main human lineage? If so, what were the selection pressures? This book hovers on the minute details of mystery and solutions, running hand by hand.

If anyone is interested in Archaeology, or Palaeontology, it's the one should get your mind on. Enjoy.

Lord of the Flies

2006-01-28T03:03:00.001+06:00

A good book has wings, and you can soar high.

Lord of the Flies is the one I've been reading for days, and some minutes ago I finished it. It is indeed a good experience, and I would insist everyone to read William Golding's works. He rules over a different genre of language. One can literally feel the words crawl up to one's reasoning, I should say.

I always interact with the books I am reading, I feel the characters under my skin sometimes, and when I share their emotion, I come to know that the author has conquered another reader. I have a good mind to start with Darkness Visible tomorrow, Golding has surely cast his spell upon me.

Bokader poddo :) 0001

2006-01-20T00:45:00.000+06:00

গৃহযুদ্ধ বাঁধে নাকি ... সারাক্ষণ ভয়ে ভয়ে থাকি
আকাশে আকাশে তবু মেঘ দিয়ে নানা ছবি আঁকি
প্রতিবেশী আঙ্কেল বাঁকা হেসে হাঁক ছেড়ে বলে
"সাবধান হও ছেলে, ঝামেলার নেই বেশি বাকি।"

আসলেই, সামনে তো রাজনীতি ভয়াবহ ঘোলা
সারা দেশ জুড়ে খ্যালে প্রয়াত নেতার বড় পোলা
বিরোধীরা ছিছি করে, হরতাল থাকে মাস জুড়ে
আমার আকাশে দেখি কালো মেঘ ভাসে গালফোলা।

আকাশের আঁকিবুকি আমি ছাড়া আর কেউ বোঝে
সেই সন্দেহ মোর মনে আজো আসে নাই তো যে
প্রতিবেশী আঙ্কেল গর্জান, "দ্যাখো কান্ডটা!
জান নিয়ে টানাটানি, এই ব্যাটা ভালোবাসা খোঁজে!"

Lulling the allnighters to sleep?

2006-01-17T01:08:00.000+06:00

BTRC [Bangladesh Telecommunication Regulatory Commission] has issued a decree (should it be called a decree) to the Mobile Phone Operators in Bangladesh to cease the "free" packages to continue. According to their Chairman, this free packages, invariably enduring the period between midnight and sunrise, are debilitating to the morale of young generation. These free packages are also keeping the network full to the brim, and emergency could really be left aside due to the unprecedented reponse to the lure of having free chat all night long, observes the commission.

As if putting a tarrif on the night-calls would get these young people off the habit.

Our Mobile Moghuls mourn this decree. I have seen them, almost on the verge of shedding tears, throwing up their anxieties on the present and future of their business, and the whole show reminded me of my uncle's crocodile farm. One of the marketing machos kept a somber, long face and commented that freebies are popular worldwide, and there is no such decree in any country in these days. One of his competitors but brother at arms, retorted that the timing of this decree indicates a favor accomplished to one of his competitors, while he is being loved in the butt, and that is not fair. And they talked about their dreams of taking Bangladesh to the golden age of telecom and their nightmares on having been brutally tripped in this journey by this decree-with-no-foresight by BTRC.

The subscribers are also not very comfortable with this decree. They were having fun with these free packages, they could find a little shade while the scorching tarrifs felt like a pain in the purse under the sun, and a little cool breeze of not-spending-but-chatting-on charged up their spirits. Why should free things be banned like these?

I'm ashamed to say, I found it funny. I laughed a lot when this reportage was being televised. Perhaps guilty pleasure, but I was having a lot of it. But everything simmers down after some moment.

First of all, are these packages really free? I don't think so. It's been quite a while since one giant launched this package, visibly targetted at the population group stirred by puberty, and also those who couldn't shake the pubertal memories off. And they are not to be blamed. The cellphone has become an icon for them, a separate entity to present them to the world. This tool has become their regent. The home phone is still a taboo, it's somehow kept under the vigilant eyes of disciplinarian parents, but the cellphone is beyond any muzzle. So why not sneaking into the nightlife? And nightlife, I regret to say being a veteran, is never free.

It's only human. It's only normal. Everyone gets these urges to mingle with people, especially of opposite sex. I shouldn't be preaching about parental controls because I ducked under it too when I was younger, but it seems, just as the usage rates, parental control also offers some peak, offpeak, and super offpeak hours.

Why letting it loose on the night and tightening up the noose in daytime? The offpeak is quite a misnomer if we're talking about night in Bangladesh now, the operators have successfully yielded a higher usage at night now. So we have a whole 24 hours of peak now. So why not charging less per pulse? Let people talk whenever they like at less tarrif, but for god's sake, let these guys have some decent sleep!

BTRC could never play a technically viable and correct role, but they have let some sharks loose, pretty loose and now they're trying to tame it like a dolphin. It's pretty difficult when people become bite-aholic, don't you think so?

I demand a 24 hour long 1 BDT/min connections, and let me pick my own peak to call my friends, families and beloved.

O Baluchistan!

2006-01-14T16:36:00.000+06:00

I will live to see the states of Sindh and Baluchistan achieving their freedom from the abomination we call Pakistan.

At long last, the Baluch people have risen to liberate their country from Pakistan. Aqbar Khan Bughti, their leader has declared it as a war of liberation of Baluchi people.

The abominable pakistani army has once again been deployed to murder unarmed people who have raised voice for economic fair share and an end to the oppression ever since the birth of pakistan, just like we did 35 years ago. We fought with the bloodthirsty rapists the pakistanis are so proud of, who are wrongfully praised to be an Army, armed to the teeth ... and the same abomination has now hurled itself upon the Baluch people.

The people of Baluchistan is now seeking help from Iran to left and India to far right, defending themselves against the Army of Mosharrof. I hope with all my heart that Baluch people will win freedom from Pakistan.

To the liberated Baluchistan. Salaam.

Fun Puns

2006-01-11T21:45:00.000+06:00

Check these out.

Shotgun wedding: A case of wife or death.

A man needs a mistress just to break the monogamy.

Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?

Condoms should be used on every conceivable occasion.

When two egotists meet, it's an I for an I.

A bicycle can't stand on its own because it is two tired.

In democracy your vote counts. In feudalism your count votes.

She was engaged to a boyfriend with a wooden leg but broke it off.

He often broke into song because he couldn't find the key.

Every calendar's days are numbered.

A midget fortune-teller who escapes from prison is a small medium atlarge.

Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead-to-know basis.

Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.

2006!

2006-01-09T16:25:00.000+06:00

It took me more than a week to get a feel of this year, and get back to my blog. By the way, I don't think anyone reads my blogs anymore, so I chose to be naughty from now on.

The first thing I noticed about the year is it's freaking balls-freezing chilly. I spent last two winters in Dhaka with a skinny shawl, and most of the time it was sweaty. Now this year I bought a new sweater, all red and hey, womenfolk identified some sexiness in us together, I mean me and my sweater ... but one of my colleagues anointed me with the title of Cardigan-Man, that asshole! And what more, I've dusted out my old faithful Blue jacket, warm like the embrace of the beloved, and damn, it's still freezing cold around. I developed a cold last year, I mean couple of weeks ago, and it persisted.

The second thing is that I'm looking for a job, just like last year January. In a week I'll quit my job and become a horny unemployed guy with a sexy red sweater, he he he.

Enough for a week. I'll call it a day.

2005!

2005-12-31T22:51:00.000+06:00

2004 was better than 2005.

I managed malaria, was bedridden for over six months, had no job (almost lost the hope of getting one), and was strikingly boycotted by the whole known world. I was alone, helpless, unbeloved.

and it's 2004 I'm talking about. So you can guess how this freaking 2005 was for me.

Anyway, all I can do is to hope for a better year. 2006 should be an year of Sob Peyechhi for me. Nope, it must be!

Stay cool people. May 2006 keep you swinging.

Caution: Hazardously Boring Stuff!

2005-12-19T01:17:00.000+06:00

I managed, somehow, to develop a freaking strong cold. The chilly morning wind through my verandah made me shiver, and I cursed everything for that heavy lump in my skull. This had gone too far, I decided.

The scrambled egg stared at the ceiling, untouched, and I rustled past the food to hurry up. Autorickshaws or Cabs for hire are as rare as virgins in a whorehouse in Mohammadpur if it's one darned minute past eight. Every single day I get late in office, and it's not a thing I would say I'm proud of.

But this was not my lucky day to start a new life. I found myself waiting on the Thana Road, waiting for a cabbie or ciengiero (I coined this term for the cng-driven autorickshaw drivers, they play a major role in my life) to drive by and have some mercy on me. Mahakhali, where my fucking office is, proved to be a Zone of Eternal Repulsion for them. It's sometimes very difficult for me to check myself, not to hurl upon these bastards. Promise them the moon, but they won't bat an eyelid before refusing to go to Mahakhali.

I waited for half an hour, with the emerging sun banging on my head, feeling really sick. And after some hasty jogs, a kind looking guy condescended to carry me, ofcourse demanding an extra 30%. Fine. All I wanted was to get to the office, punch my bloody card, have some tea and get my ass off to one of my projects.

Piercing through excruciatingly thick traffic jam, I reached my office, obviously 45 minutes late, and trod along heavily to my jampacked room. Everybody was talking, or laughing or just sitting there, but the whole world seemed too freaking noisy to me. I began sneezing and as usual it became soaked with blood after a couple of zealous shots. I cursed again. Damn this cold.

Wasting a solid hour in my office, I started to Kachpur. My brain was literally pulsating under my forehead, and my throat felt like sandpaper. I wished I could kick someone really hard in the balls and get back home. But instead I started the boring meeting that really could piss me off. Thanks to Mr. Hussain, he has a peculiar way of intriguing people in problems related to Electrical Engineering. But hey, I'm not saying that it made me feel better ... it just didn't deteriorate my coldie cold mood anymore.

The meeting was long and thorough, and I didn't feel like having lunch then and there, though the cook in that industry proved himself as an excellent one. I cried inside to lie down on my bed. My head was making me suffer. But it was a long day ahead, and I had to walk 2 km to get to the nearest bus stop.

I managed my panting breath when I got to the bus at last. And I stood all the way from Kachpur to gulistan on that rugged bus, trying to stiffle my cough and to ignore the dried up feeling inside my chest.

When I got back home, everything was glittering in front of my eyes. I feebly washed myself, hardly ate something and lied down on my bed. I could feel the fever shivering along my spines.

I slept for an hour or so ... and woke up with a deafening headache. I wasn't sure if I accidentally shoved something up my brain or not. And I don't remember how I managed to pass seven long hours before I sat down and started writing this blog.

I tried reading a bit ... perusing through our surprisingly promising stack of books in the library. Every name came bouncing in front of my eyes, and I tiredly retired ... this cold was killing me, really.

But colds and fevers are fidel in a sense. They are there, when you need someone to shift the blame on.

Hibijibi

2005-12-18T23:12:00.000+06:00

Maajhe maajhe bhabi
tumi dur smriti theke aasha aulik Steamer
bhalo laaga aalo phelo amar nikosh kaalo buke
hothat aloy ami nijeke notun kore dekhi.

16th December

2005-12-16T22:26:00.000+06:00

Aaj bhore ghum bhengechhe kamaaner gorjon shune. Abar ghume tolie jabar age bhablam, ami bijoyeeder ekjon.

Dupure abar ghum bhenge uthe baranday berie dekhi, amar charpashe ek ekta barir churay jhilmil kore jolchhe amader potaka. Aaj roder-o mon bhalo emon laal sobuj peye.

Bikele pothe berie dekhi lakho manusher michhil, ar laal sobujer dheu charidike. Manusher mukhe shonkito khushir hashi. Eto here jabar lojja aaj dheke diechhe potakar utsharito alo.

Ami shudhu nijer bhetore onuchcharito aashar hashi shuni. Amra emonta thakbo na, ei bangladesher manushguloer gorbito tripto hashi chhorie porbe prithibir prantor theke prantore.

Joy Bangla!

:)

2005-12-16T13:04:00.000+06:00

Well, I had a filthy day yesterday.

It's nothing to tell of, my days are usually filthy. But it was full of some ironic events. Read on.

Event A

I managed to hunt down an autorickshaw and began galloping to my office. At the very first signal, the unusually "developped" lady in the car to my left caught my eyes. O, developped she was :D! I guess I was ogling her too much, and women have a good sixth sense about being watched. So she took a folder and as if to shield herself from the sun, covered her developments from my drooling eyes :$. And what I saw written on that folder?

Rashtrio Guruttopurno Kaaje Beboharjo.

(To be used in Important Functions of the State)

I almost laughed my ass off :D.

Event B

My driver in office, Mr. Y is one heck of a daredevil. He drives like a madman, and often wastes hours to "educate" less enlightened drivers. I have dissuaded him to go and knock down truckers quite a few times. He has got a peculiar habit of snaking through the traffic at 120 kmph ... and I don't enjoy it much often. Anyway, yesterday he wriggled out between two loaded trucks at 140, and I swallowed it hard. Just at that very moment, I saw a poster glued to the bus in front of us. It was about an audio release of some wannabe vocalist. Guess the caption. You can't?

More Jabo Priyaa!

(I'll kick the bucket, baby!)

Event C

Elections are always going on in Dhaka. Hundreds of Committees and thousands of Candidates are lurking around, with their mugs and logos printed on posters all around. And the last printed prank I saw yesterday ...

Chika bhaike Moyur Markay Vote din.

(Vote Brother Mole, represented by Peacock)

I almost bit my hands off, why the fuck don't I have a digital camera :'(?

Marquez Marquez

2005-12-13T00:37:00.000+06:00

Ki achhe Marquez-er lekhay? Kibhabe amar onubhutir raash onayashe taar muthoy chole jaay?

Ami nijeke e proshno korar obokaash-o paai na Marquez-er lekha porar somoy. Taar bishaal taana jhoro lekha phurie jaabar por-i ekta oboshaader sathe proshnogulo amar bhetore chhorie pore, narisongsorger por jemonta hoy ... Marquezer lekhake tulona kora jete pare kono unmotto romoni-shorirer sathei.

Kemon ekta nirosh --- kokhono kokhono korkosh --- nirliptota die shuru koren Marquez. Pathokke ektu somoy dite hoy taar lekhake, ektu ektu korei taar shukno morokta khule chharie nite hoy, aar ekbar taar lekhake unmochito korar por thamar ichhe jaage na. Kibhabe Marquez eker por ek tene nie ashen shei odbhut bhalobashake, kibhabe moner bhetore gie gole mishe jaay tara, protiti bakke notun notun mor phute othe onabishkrito shorirer ba[n]ker moto ... Marquez amar shorirke moner sathe jaagie tolen.

One Hundred Years of Solitude ami porechhi amar nijer eksho bochhorer nishshongotar somoye, amar ekhono mone pore ami ki ek khepar moto raat jege shob kichhu chherechhure saraghore he[n]te boshe shue shesh korechhi take, ekbar shei lekhake nogno kore phelar por ... e ki shudhu ek thanda biplobi Aureliano Buendias-er khamoka juddher bornona? Ek ekbar mor nie shei golpe kromosh ghono hoyechhe bhalobashar kotha, ki tibro othocho ki mosrin ar norom taar bichchhuron ... 32ta juddhe here jaawa Buendiaske tar bongshodhorera naame baa[n]chie rakhte chay, eker por ek putro chhorie pore Aureliano naam nie ... jokhon onek durer bongshodhor Aureliano taar sontaaner naam rakhte chaay Aureliano, shudhu ekta sopno nie je she ekdin 32ta juddho jitbe ... ami poshur moro chitkar kore ke[n]de uthechhilam nijer here jawa juddhogulor kotha mone kore ... abar shei eki Marquez jokhon Of Love and Other Demons e lekhen ek balikar jonne ek jajoker oshohay bhalobashar golpo ... je bhalobasha kono chehara nite na pere shudhu osohay kore tole sobaike ... jokhon Marquez Autumn of the Patriarch-e bolen kono ek shoiracharir golpo, jaake nogorbashi khu[n]je paay dhongshostupe, kintu chinte pare na ... e karone noy je taar mukh shokune khuble kheyechhe, shudhu she karone je taara kokhonoi loktake chine uthte paareni ... Love in the Time of Cholerate ek prouro atmohotta kore she briddho hote chay na bole, ar tar kukurta payer ba[n]dhon dhile kore rakhar por-o paalie jaay na teto almonder gondhomakha gold cyanide-er kobol theke ... ami jaani na ki ek bhalobashar dheu graash kore amake ... ami thakbo na, Marquez amar moto osonkho binashproboner shorir theke shorire ei bhalobashar dheue chore be[n]che thakben. Marquez, mortatori te salutant.

2005-12-10T14:04:00.000+06:00

Kho[n]ra mon Marathon lore jaay,
Heshe khun phul-pata jhore jaay,
sobbai duo duo kore jaay,
thandaar gaan gaay maagh maash

Kho[n]ra mon ekdin seemanay
pouchhu[n]be ... eta bolo ki manay
jochhonara shue shue bichhanay
koshe aa[n]te a[n]dharer naagpaash.

Kho[n]ra mon poroa to kore na
Marathon theke beta shore na
Path baare, kichhutei more na ...
ghutghute andhar ratri

Rod jodi kono ek sokale
chumo khay kho[n]ratar kopale ...
... laabh nei jot be[n]dhe thokale
Kho[n]ra mon por khawa jaatri.

Blank

2005-12-08T00:44:00.000+06:00

Aamar khub mon kharap. Aamar mon kharap karon ami ekhon bhir bhoy pai. Aamar mon kharap karon ami aar pothe cholte gie bhirer moddhe harie jete sahosh pai na. Aamar mon kharap karon ami hothat bujhe gechhi ami kotota ba[n]tchte chai. Aamar mon kharap karon ek ekta okaron mrittu aamake chhoto kore rakhe. Aamar mon kharap karon ami buker bhetor nijer durbolotar ghurni ter paai. Aamar mon kharap karon ami porichitojoner mritomukh kolpona kore shiure shiure uthi. Aamar khub khub mon kharap karon ami ei halka kuasha ei koyek potch megh ei roder fali fali tukro ei norom norom sundore bhora deshta chhere jete chai na ... ami ekhane ektu betche thakte chai!

:((

2005-12-04T00:41:00.000+06:00

I used to to go out with my bhaiya when I was a kid. He sat me on his bike, rode along the beautiful hilly alleys of Sylhet ... or we used to go for a walk ... and the world was ruled by Krishnachura-s then. With chilly touch of moisture in the air, our every step was met by fallen petals, the streets were covered by Red. Grabbing my bhaiyas fingers, I used to look up and smile. I learned to love Krishnachura. I learned to love Red.

And here I am, grown up, learned to walk alone ... and look what I am walking through. The streets are now covered by blood, of my own people, everywhere I look. The chills in the air scare me, the moisture reminds me of tears, and I kneel before any God you put before me, I embrace his or her knees, stop this bloodshed, let me love the Red again.

Waking up to a Worse Nightmare

2005-11-28T20:24:00.000+06:00

Complaining about life is one of the silly things I sometimes do. And I can't --- actually I shan't --- cease doing that, because the moment I start doing that, I'll grow up :).

But the title epxlains my life over past few months. Skipping the details, I am in a real shitty mess. Almost hitting the rock bottom is my field of speciality, but I guess hitting it hard is the thing I will experience pretty soon.

Anyway, I've been reading a lot after I washed my hands off some of my dirty works in office. The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho is the last that I finished. I wouldn't praise it too high, but I liked the honed passion Coelho blended in this one. He reminded me of Satinath Bhaduri, of Jaagari and Dho[n]rai Charit Maanash ... it's not very easy to weave simplest of expressions to create a magic. I felt my eyes getting wet, felt my heart fumbling my memory for distant past I try not to let loose in my mind, felt myself sitting in a cold verandah with misty dawn around me ... it made me think about myself again.

Perhaps I should go treasure hunting like Santiago? Perhaps I should give a better look at the omens around me? Perhaps the wind will carry a kiss so familiar someday.

Glimpses :(

2005-11-15T12:07:00.000+06:00

Aami thik jaani, aami hothat emni kono din
kono mor ghurtei tomake saamne peye jaabo
ki kotha phutbe mukhe, songshoye kibhabe takabo
aami thik jaani, seta bhebe pawa onek kothin.

Tobe aami jaani, aami prothom jedin mukhomukhi
tomake saamne peye naam dhore omolin sware
dekechhi, chhuechhi shudhu tomar norom haat dhore
sebhabe daakbo jaani, se hashi-i mukhe debe u[n]ki.

Aami thik jaani na to, tumi ki aager moto heshe
ghorite dekhabe, ami pothe boro deri kore phela ---
betchara premik, ar tumio ki shei shesh bela
haa[n]tbe amar sathe, amake bhishon bhalobeshe?

Nickpoddo 0003

2005-11-14T00:33:00.000+06:00

Jekhane kothaar shesh, jekhane shwasher bashpe sob jaabe bojha

sekhane tomaake khu[n]ji ...

sekhane aamaar poth kho[n]ja.

Hibijibi

2005-11-12T21:25:00.000+06:00

Ingo Arndt is one of the most charismatic Animal Photographer around. I have seen some of his extraordinary works ... and I really am feeling like quitting everything and start becoming a freelance photographer :( .

By the way, the chap in the pic is obviously me, not Herr Arndt.

নিকপদ্য ০০০২

2005-11-10T22:52:00.000+06:00

কোথায় সীমানা টানি, কার ঠোঁটে আঁকি সীমারেখা?

সীমানাবিহীন এই পৃথিবীতে আমি তাই একা।

নিকপদ্য ০০০১

2005-11-08T22:56:00.000+06:00

প্রেমের কোরিদা, ভালোবাসা ষাঁড়

আমি মাতাদোর, মানবো না হার

ঝরুক রক্ত। জেনো সেনিয়োরিতা

আমার হৃদয়, গোলাপ তোমার।

:(

2005-11-04T18:43:00.000+06:00

What is Death, I do not know ... it's not easily imagined.
But songs remain unsung,
The kisses dangle at the bottom of nowhere,
And you're not sure, if that sweet little thing could guess whether you loved her cause you didn't tell her ...
and Death, is just a joke, a prank you never would like.
and Death is a joke, my friend ... there is nothing to be proud of it.

Live proud.

Eid?

2005-11-03T16:58:00.000+06:00

I quit "doing" Eid ( We Bangalis DO everything ... we do politics, we do literature, we do sex ... we are a great doing nation), that is, Eid festivities when I stepped into the Uni. Not that I had better things to do on eid, but suddently everything felt pretty boring ... wearing a new Kurta, fooling around with friends, having a date on Eid and fooling around more, watching rhino-ticklers on TV ... the only thing I like about the eid is the quiet streets, for at least two days. I feel a new Dhaka around me.

Since 2002 I leave the city on Eid evening with my trekker friends ... and the day quietly slips away in packing my rücksack. But this Eid day is bearing pretty heavy on me. My mom's out of country, I might not be able to go for the challenging 120 hours of trekking trip to the heart of Bandarban, and what's more terrifying ... I'll have to spend the day here in Dhaka not knowing what to do. I have half a bottle of vodka up my freeze (the nastiest I ever gulped down), and some boozuwoozu friends ... but I'm not allowed to have a party that involves drinking in my house. Perhaps I'll be watching those shitty programs on TV?

Damn, I hate my luck.

And I miss my mom too :( ... no more yummy dishes on Eid :(((((((((((((((((((((.

হিবিজিবি

2005-11-03T02:50:00.000+06:00

কত সাধ করে নিয়েছিনু ছুটি
পাহাড়ের গায়ে চড়ে গুটি গুটি
তাজিনশীর্ষে এ চরণ দুটি
রাখিয়া কহিবো, "শালা ...
বাঙলার চূড়া করিয়াছি গুঁড়া, সাঙ্গ ট্রেকিং পালা।"

সহযাত্রীরা বড় মশগুল
আমারও তো কোন হয়নি রে ভুল
দরখাস্ত তো করেছি ব্যাকুল
এমডি দিয়াছে সায় ...
বোঁচকা বেঁধেছি, ঘরে ফিরে সোজা পাহাড় চড়ার প্রায়।

হঠাৎ করিয়া এ কি হলো ল্যাঠা
গভীর নিশীথে ম্যানেজার ব্যাটা
সেলুলার ফোনে মারো লাথি ঝ্যাঁটা
কহে, "ছুটিফুটি নাই!"
ইঙিতে বুঝিনু আদেশ, অফিসে পুনরায় যাওয়া চাই।

এদিকে আমার বোঁচকায় কত
জিনিস ভরেছি প্রয়োজন মত
এরই মাঝে ব্যাটা ম্যানেজার যতো
আজিব হুকুম ঝাড়ে,
দুঃখে আমার চক্ষুর জল অশ্রু রুধিতে নারে।

মনে মনে যত অশালীন গালি
চর্চায় যত মনোযোগ ঢালি
ঐদিকে ফোনে বন্ধুরা খালি
খাচরা প্যাচাল পাড়ে,
অশ্রু গিলিয়া গদগদস্বরে কহি, "আমি যাবো না রে!"

আর হবে কি গো পর্বতে চড়া
চাকুরির ঘায়ে আমি আধামরা
তাই মনে ভাবি, যাবে না তো করা
এমন খাচরা জব
আগামী মাসেই হচ্ছি বেকার, জেনে রেখো ভাইসব।

Bad Hair Day

2005-11-02T17:35:00.000+06:00

I feel totally blank. Perhaps because I overslept a bit.

The morning charged me like a raged bull ... and I was sleeping wrapped in a red kantha too ... I felt like a maladroit matador, and sulkingly woke up. And the loud boo wasn't coming from any bloodthirsty audience, it was my damned phone alarm. Then I fell asleep again. Fuck the bull. I'll continue to be an absent-minded Matador.

The next time it was a technician from my broadband joint ... I don't understand, 12 AM was still too early for any sane person on a holiday. I politely shooed him off ... and jumped on the bed again. But another bull charged me out of my rocker. It was in my stomach.

Ok ... so I got up, got washed, and decided to give my hair a good trim. Not that it would make me look good (you need some very intricate procedures to do that) ... but it would make me feel lighter. So I went to the bihari barbers waaaaaaaaaay too far from my home, and experienced a waiting of almost 40 minutes. A chandichhila chandu was there, apparently sleeping on the chair, while the barber trimmed his hoggy head, and frankly speaking ... there wasn't much to do over there. And he dared to get a shave after "trimming" his ""hair"" (I need a double quote for that) ... and then came a tiny little cute girl with her silky hair which should have been cut like an U to make her plaits look more beautiful ... and only then could I have the honor to stick my head under the guillotine.

I felt sheepish when the trimming was done (I guess every sheep feel that way after being sheared) ... it was the same ugly me with a different haircut. Damn it!

I decided to come back and punish myself ... and here I am with a stupid blog!

Flowers of Bangladesh

2005-11-01T18:13:00.000+06:00

"I quit Biology after SSC. It narrowed down the world around me." --- Mahbub al Azad.

However, I have tremendous curiosity on Taxonomy ... how we classify the huge living kingdom, sort things into different classes, orders, families ... and my interest was rekindled by the great Richard Dawkins. Since I always try to learn new things through my activities, I have fidgeted out a new focus ... I'll be shooting flowers (it has got a vulgar meaning too, never mind that ...)!

Photography is my passion, though I'm still chewing on the roots of it, not a good photographer I am. But I have taken an initiative to archive the flowers of Bangladesh through my camera ... as well as others'. Pretty soon I will open a website dedicated to Bangladeshi Flowers. Anyone can contribute with good pictures and scientific information on flowers. I believe it won't take us long to have a very nice resource over the net.

I was really hurt when one of my friends in Brazil complained that she was interested to know more about Bangladesh, but couldn't find enough info over the net. And it was not an unjust one ... seriously, we are so touchy about our country, but have we done enough to present it properly to the rest of the world? Isn't there something good that we could offer, exploting the wonderful internet? Many of us literally spend half the life on the net, and some minutes would suffice to make a difference.

I have a good mind to start my step with flowers.

A True Story

2005-10-20T11:30:00.000+06:00

Bhejar ichhe amar khanik chhilo
khuki-i take ushke onek dilo
alto heshe amar pashe eshe
joler dhara nijer gaye nilo.

Akash tokhon kaal korechhe mukh-i
khuki tobu take dekhei sukhi
bajer alor taal milie heshe
brishti mathay beray chhute khuki.

Tepantorer shei gohine thaay
bhijei kaate amar bikel haay
bataash ka[n]pe megher dhomok shune ...
khukir hashir domok bere jaay.

Meghdebotar mood bhalo nei bujhi
shiler pahar chhilo ki taar pu[n]ji
bhishon bege porte thake tara
shei tufane khukike koi khu[n]ji?

Haat barie dhorte take gele
chomke uthe dey she amay thele
amra dujon chhutte thaki dure
pipul gachh ek jethay bahu mele.

Gachher niche khunno mone boshe
khukir chokhe osru pore khoshe
besh to chhilo joler sathe khela
bigre gelo sob-i jhorer doshe.

Thamlo sheshe jhorer matamati
hawar sathe gachher hatahati
tepantore shiler jhikimiki
khuki amar she udbhasher sathi.

Ami kintu nipaat sorol mone
shudhiechhilam, "Shil kurate jabe?"
khuki bhablo ki ta ke ba jane
mukh pheralo bhishon osodbhabe.

...

Shilgulo shob jol hoyechhe gole
khukio gechhe nijer pothe chole
ami-i shudhu ekla bheja mone
osru shishir meshai megher jole.

Lula Himu goes to Tajindong

2005-10-19T22:27:00.000+06:00

We know we might get shot (like the last time when we were coming back from Rooma). We know one or all of us might break a leg (like the last time Putul Apa got her ankle fractured). We know we might get terrible attacks of Malaria (like the last time I had :( ...). We know we might have to trudge through the gorges at the dead of the night (like the last time all of us did, from dawn to dawn).

Still we freaks are going back to the hills, our "Nona Meyemanush" ...

Let me check my rücksack.

Camera, Lens, Battery, Filter, Films
Candles
Chalk
Jungle-boot
Knife
Matches
Medical Kit [Anticeptic, cotton gauge, bandaid, paracetamol, flagyl, MOOV, ORS]
Mosquito Net and repelants
Paper & pencil
Climbing chords
Shawls
Sweater
Spectacles (spair)
Toilet Paper
Soap, Toothbrush, toothpaste, towel, antiburn, deo
Torch, battery, bulb
Water bottle
Purifiers
Whistle
Dry Food
Slacks and Sleeved Shirts

What have I left out?

Paradise Lost

2005-10-12T00:31:00.000+06:00

Electricians are usually tacit. They work like a dumb devil, saying nothing, uttering almost nothing (only if your ears are strong enough to catch the swears under their breath), and doing their job quickly. I forgot his name, the only exception to this observation.

That guy always swore, like a drunken sailor, and he would always apologize. "This fucking whory cables just won't work ... oh, pardon me Chhoto Bhai ... I'm just an illiterate asshole ... manners I do miss ... and what the hell full of pubic hair is this bloody fuse doing here, getting all burnt? You're fucking with the electricity, Mr. Fuse? ... Oh, a thousand apology Chhoto Bhai ... why don't you go and play along ... rather than listening to my bad language and giggle?" He went on and on. Always talking, and swearing, and lingering.

My mother had visible repulsion regarding him, she would rather fix our electric connections herself if she could manage, and obviously it was that guy who would eventually show up if anything went wrong. And some language he fostered.

Anyway, all I want to say, one day I saw him, walking fast past me, with some awefully red hibiscus in his firm grip, looking very absent-minded ... and he almost screeched to a halt when he saw me stairing at him. I gave him an inquisitive glare, and he nervously brought his hands back from his behind. No need to be ashamed, every guy has the damned right to carry flowers.

I, being a kid back then, decided to embarass him a bit more, and asked, "Who are those reddies for?"

That electrician, producing one of the best loving smile I've seen so far, said, "For the lady in the house."

He didn't wait for my second question, and cantered along, flowers in hand, and obviously, with great love hidden in his chest. Hibiscus was not very easy to collect.

And I admit, I never could express my passion with that much intensity. I lost it somewhere on my way.

Could we, at least, try?

2005-10-09T21:11:00.000+06:00

Hey guys n gals ... this idea just popped up in my mind, and I couldn't find another spot to share this with you.

Almost all of us now have a digital camera ... and no wonder we shoot a lot. Could we shoot regularly on a common theme, "My Dhaka"? Dhaka has been evolving for the past few years quite exponentially, and I believe this huge series (it would be huge if some of us could stick to shooting for a long time) would turn out to be an extremely remarkable one ... Evolution 0f a City, I mean!

Please let me know if you're interested. You know my mail address.

Books I've been reading these days

2005-10-08T14:50:00.000+06:00

Well, couldn't read much these days ... I have been busier than the devil, I guess ... usually I ALWAYS read something before falling asleep ... that's a habit I've developped over twenty years, with rare exceptions when I go on some excursion.

PREY by Michael Crichton and DA VINCI CODE by Dan Brown are the two that consumed me in september. I had literally crawled through the books, inching along every night ... but I must say, it felt good reading thrillers after a long time.

Da Vinci Code was more engulfing, since I have immense interest in theology, and the early days of christianity has become the focus of my attention ... I read some about the early days of Islam (and frankly speaking, they are mindblowing), and I have a good mind to spend some "busy nights" coming ahead. I remember Mursalin being very much carried away by the thriller ... no wonder why. While reading DVC, the coded poems of "Royal Bengal Rahasya" popped up in my mind, Satyajit Roy would never lose his charm to me.

Anyone have a good marvel up the sleeves to suggest? Let me know.

Kakistocracy

2005-10-03T21:08:00.000+06:00

That's the word I was looking for.

Politics leading to Mass Murder

2005-09-22T20:59:00.000+06:00

I am an avid reader, and one day I stumbled upon a great book written by one of the greatest scholars living in our time, Richard Dawkins ... THE ANCESTOR'S TALE. The structure of the book imitates, purpose- and skillfully, THE CANTERBURY TALES by chaucer, where people of every trade joins a pilgrimmage to canerbury. And dawkins replaced trades by species. The book starts with the journey of man, to be more precise, Homo Sapiens Sapiens towards the very point where LIFE began to evolve ... some billions of years ago ... and chapter after chapter will introduce you with an immediate ancestor, astride a point of bifurcation, along the journey to past. The book is huge, and I'm proud to finish it within a week. I read it like a zombie, I can remember ... and Dawkins is one of my most favourite authors now.

However, I would make a late start with something I came to know from Dawkins about fungi. One of the difference between me and the fungi is, I move along, and they don't. But I have to gather nutrition to survive, sustain and multiplicate, and so do the fungi. My way is to move along and stuff things up to my digestive system, and the fungi just sit there, and let their digestive system grow and spread and spread over a great area ... if I'm not mistaken.

The so called religious turmoil in Bangladesh is indeed a fungus system. Apparently it simply grows on some remote pockets of the country, but with a good look at it, we can see its roots spreading very far and deep around Bangladesh. The thing is, nurturing this poison ivy has let it take such a shape that everything becomes granted if you do it in the name of religion. Murdering people, looting and plundering, rape and riot ... almost everything.

It's easy to blame it on the Madrasseh pupils ... eventually they're the ones who are caught with their pants down (though actually they wear there pants a bit higher, so the ankles are visible) ... but everyday I see numbers of complascent faces, who approves of those acts and feel victorious in the holy war against nothing. Committing a crime is bad, supporting its continuation is aggravatingly worse.

I listen to these people saying that it has become an old story whenever it comes to our liberation war back in 1971. Accepting the fact that a defeat precedes their march towards victory is disturbing for these fellows. But was it altogether a defeat for them? Haven't we raised them up from ashes, just to stab us again? We have cultured this fungi deep into us, way around us, and many of us are now following the old but effective doctrine, if you can't beat them, join them.

Islam was never in danger in this delta before 1971. It's the year when the largest muslimocide has taken place in the face of the earth, obviously by other so called muslims, tha pakistani army and their civilian sycophants, and very vocally in the name of Islam. It's not new in the history of Islam that fratricide would eventually be popular among the muslims, the Hashimis fought against the Umayyas, the sunnis fought against the Shiites; and muslims fought against theneighbouring infidels but not in a single war could Muslims be killed in millions, and the rapist pakistani army succeeded in achieving that summit in the manslaughtering championship ... and planted their seeds before they quit. And as a nation it is a disgrace to us that not only we failed in uprooting these fungi, but also condescended to join the funguskind, and eventually let them step into the government. We have cheered for a freedom fighter and voted for war-criminals.

Now the preparation of the fungi has almost culminated. The snake coils up before biting, and I believe the eye-washing bombings and shootings will cease before the final attack, allowing a fake assurance of peace and harmony for a couple of months. Our intellectuals had been tortured to death once in 1971, and perhaps will again be in near future ... Humayun Azad is perhaps one of them test kills. As history rhymes itself (I love Mark Twain for that), I can see blood everywhere, blood-pools, blood-dripdrops, and bloodstains. That's the way the usurpers rush in.

Though I'm not much of a fan of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, but one of his famous directives was to build castles in every home against the enemies. It's too late now to do that, but the very optimism that forms the very core of Bangaliana, the spirit to be a Bengali, still makes me dream of a better Bangladesh. Joy Bangla.

Block

2005-09-20T13:57:00.000+06:00

It's nothing unusual that people suddenly find it difficult to write ... and for me I believe this "block" to be connected with season. Early Autumn is indeed something that impedes my plume.

Usually I write a lot ... perhaps the least on this blogging site. But this intense heat and humidity has drained my energy and enthusiasm off ... I have yet to finish some scripts I was working on ... and I also stepped off from attending CEFP II this term ... I am pretty tired I guess.

But the rain that started last night and still going strong has livened me up ... I just feel like inventing some Goddess of Rain and worshipping her (I have a strong affinity to women :D ... why bother a God?) ... and I do have plans to go out this afternoon ...

Anyway, will be busy like a carrier pigeon from Thursday ... I'll enjoy these two long awaited consecutive holidays ...

A peep through the gate

2005-09-17T23:04:00.000+06:00

I actually forgot everything I studied in my uni ... but can recall something called a gate function ... a pulse of duration T, starting from t to t + T ... and you can actually read another function if multiplied by this gate ... and I was imagining to see myself through a sudden gate this afternoon.

Frankly speaking, I didn't expect to see anything great ... and all I could see was a tired young man. Tired, and gloomy, and aware of the fact that he was tired.

If I only could, Himu, if I only could. Sorry man.

Looney Limerick 0005

2005-09-15T00:49:00.000+06:00

Whoa there, hold your horses, my story ain't that long
I spent my jaan, got burn in sun to get to Chittagong.

but for a Dutch motha'fucka' ...
I got back again to Dhaka

and now I feel like I had been a ball in bloody pingpong.

P.S. Screw you, Spruit, you arschloch!

Looney Limerick 0004

2005-09-09T20:53:00.000+06:00

Hello hello everybody, ah it's such a fun ...
every prick got two days leave but this week I had none.

The friday passed through work
and I felt like a dork

and what a luck, after all these, the task is left undone ... :(((

P.S. I hate you 5-days-at-work guys n' gals ... may you hang in the electric chair!

Phire phire ashe

2005-09-03T00:07:00.000+06:00

I was on the Dhaka-Mymensingh road, and was listening to Bangladesh Betaar ... and after soooo many years, 18 I guess ... heard this song by Rafiqul Islam,

tomaare jeno bhule naa jaai,

she ashish daao more ...

there was something so intense about this song, not only the lyrics, not only the tune, not only the smooth voice, but bits and pieces of my childhood blended with them ... and I watched the sunny greens in bhaluka to melt away into my sunny glass panes back in sylhet, my beautiful verandah where the sky peered into my eyes, the rainbows with the lost seven colors ... and I could feel my cheeks getting wet ... and not always one can cry to his content, can he?

Childhood is a gift to go lost, and perhaps all of us never cease keeping looking for it. Perhaps only in dreams we get closest to this wonderful gift.

It's very unlikely that anyone would have the song in mp3 format, but I would be grateful if you could send it to me.

Unforgiven

2005-08-31T22:02:00.000+06:00

That would be you.

... though I didn't say anything, but that didn't mean I forgave you. It's not that easy. And I tried to shake the whole business off my mind, tried to keep myself busy in other matters (and if you only could know what I did), overslept, overdrank, overlaughed, but nope dear, I couldn't and I shan't FORGIVE you.

And I will watch you suffer, just the way you did. I will, and I will devote my whole freaking life to do that, if it ever becomes necessary. Himu never quits.

No title

2005-08-29T00:44:00.000+06:00

Just a simple statement, the gypsy kids who went to school in a gipsy colony in Dhaka, wants to become teachers when they grow up. It made me cry.

I've seen thousand and thousands of poor kids around Bangladesh. I simply adore these children, though I don't express it very often, I love their curious eyes, their pure drooling smiles, their worm-infested bellies ... and what have I done for these angels? Truth to be said, nothing. Perhaps I buy candies from some of them when I get stuck in a jam, and whoa there, nothing more.

And now these kids want to become teacher when they grow up ... for the love of God, when did I ever want to become a teacher? Never! And these kids do, because they received something from their teachers they want to convey to the rest of their communities? And what the bloody heck have I ever wanted to convey to my community?

And I am not ashamed to admit that these little kids make me feel so worthless. I kneel on the ground before them and apologize.

Meine neue Flamme ...

2005-08-27T22:59:00.000+06:00

... und der Titel sagt alles.

Looney Limericks 0003

2005-08-26T01:02:00.000+06:00

I poured some vodka, squeezed some juicy lemons
and drank like as if retinued by the demons

the morning saw me naked
and my stomach really ached

I just don't know now where to put blame-ons.

P.S. well, true spirit of a birthday was celebrated, at least!

What's in a Birthday?

2005-08-25T00:32:00.000+06:00

Just a day ... you've been born years ago. Why bother?

Does it make any difference? Years after years, tuesdays after thursdays, rainy days after sunny days and the other way round ... a birthday is just another day Himu, just another day. You'll meet the same people, under the same sky, on the same way around you ... it's just another day.

*uck the phone calls, shove the phoney smiles up their asses ... and go on boozing. Happy birthday Himu, live happy!

Je manque mes cheveux :(

2005-08-23T01:13:00.000+06:00

Yeah, just that :(((.

Me and Marquez 0001

2005-08-21T20:08:00.000+06:00

Sometimes I find myself just like that dictator in The Autumn of the Patriarch ... none could recognize him when he lay down facing the earth, not only because the vultures nibbled his face away, but none actually ever came to know him.

My baby shot me down :(

2005-08-17T21:48:00.000+06:00

I easily get carried away, but unfortunatly (or is it fortunate?) not very far. For past few days, this awesome piece by Nancy Sinatra is ringing in my brain.

I was five and he was six
we rode on horses made of sticks
he wore black and i wore white
he would always win the fight
bang, bang
he shot me down bang, bang
i hit the ground ... bang, bang
that awful sound,
bang bang,
my baby shot me down.

seasons came and changed the time,
when i grew up i called him mine
he would always laugh and say
remember when we used to play ... bang bang
i shot you down bang bang
you hit the ground bang bang
that awful sound ... bang bang ...
i used to shoot you down

music played and people sang
just for me the church bells rang ... ...

now he's gone i don't know why
and to this day sometimes i cry
he didn't even say goodbye
he didn't take the time ... to lie!
bang, bang
he shot me down, bang bang
i hit the ground bang, bang ...
that awful sound, bang bang ...
my baby shot me down.

It speaks out my mind, if I replace "he" with she ... my baby shot me down, BANG BANG ...

Well, I should get up from the ground.

Hmmph!

2005-08-17T18:11:00.000+06:00

I confess. I AM a netfreak.

For past 3 days, I couldn't log in from my home pc ... THREE days! Can you believe, my fellow freaks, that my home pc couldn't be connected to the net for 72 hours? It's true, it's so damn true!

But why would it matter, I could log in from my office pc, till 1700 hours? Why bother the home pc then?

Well, the thing is, I've sacrificed my evening to internet. I chat a lot, listen to online music a lot, browse a lot, and even if I don't do anything, I just want to see my pc connected to this darned network. And I simply go nuts if I can't do that for even 1 hour. 72 is quite a multiplying factor to augment my agony :(.

Anyway, back again, mi palomita! Ahoy webworld, here I come!

Looney Limericks: 0002

2005-08-11T21:01:00.000+06:00

The girl next door had such a wonderful cat!
I decided, to use it to start up a chat.

I went to her and said like a wussy,
"Mademoiselle, you've got a nice pussy."

Her boyfriend worked for RAB*, and I didn't know that :(.

*Special Commando police of Bangladesh.

Looney Limericks: 0001

2005-08-11T20:33:00.000+06:00

Once I loved a girl named Diana

she looked so fine, but laughed like a Hyena

when I was 'bout to go and propose

she stumbled and broke her nose

and my oh my, she left me and went to China!

[Hey, you pesky little blogloving netfreak! Yeah, I'm talking to you! These Limericks are protected by the copyright act of ... some past year! But you can use them ... no probs :)]

Après Longtemps

2005-08-11T12:03:00.000+06:00

Oui, je m'ai perdu depuis semaine dernière. Non, rien special s'est passé. Mais il y a quelque temps quand on veut se perdre, et comme je tousjours dis, je ne suis pas un exception. Je me préparais pour le chagrin d'année. Ju sais, et je suis certain, qu'il va se passer.

Je t'attends, tu sais ça?

Bloggapon

2005-08-06T01:25:00.000+06:00

This time an advertisement ... but ain't sure if it reaches anyone.

Need a "Partnerin" to learn Latin dance [preferably salsa]. Classes will be on friday afternoon, till 1700 hours. "Interessentin" should be well below 55 kgs and avoid pencil heeled shoes. Avoiding fooling around is assured.

Thank you.

August with its august presence

2005-08-01T22:52:00.000+06:00

August is my favourite one out of twelve ... not because I was born in this month (that is no good reason to be fond of a month). It has something so comforting.

Let me try to explain. I know the weather might seem a bit awkward to you ... it rains a lot, it's hot and humid, you sweat a lot, the whole country gets under the swollen water, etcetera ... but it's the same august with its rare clouded sun, its sudden gipsy winds, its singing rains. It's the month I listen to the beats of raindrops in my balcony, I bathe in the rains, I stretch myself across the winds. August is my playmate.

Not many of my friends were born in august ... but the best ones. That's another good thing about August ... you can get down to dine and to feast and to kick up dusts ... august rocks :)!

25th is my day ... at least it should be. I met only one person so far who shares my birthday (another I never met, Taslima Nasreen), in München, a romanian belle, Franziska Szoke. And yes, people born on the same day shares some of their ideosyncracies too. I'm looking forward to meeting others to check out that thing.

Anyway, this august had a good start ... I had a wonderful long drive up and down the great Bangbandhu Setu, got a plan to hike up to Chandranth this friday ... and who knows what good surprise awaits me? Ich drucke meine Daumen darauf ;).

Delirium

2005-07-31T20:48:00.000+06:00

Sokaler rod ar bikeler chhaya dhore dhore

Ami choli; ami choli ... ami choli sopner ghore

Oneker chena mukh ochena bhirer moto laage

bujhi na bibhed ami parod ar phuler poraage.

Ei ghum ghum ghum chena ba ochena prithibite

ami-i ki eka shudhu pari na somoy khu[n]je nite ...

amar jonno shudhu, nijer jonno da[n]rabar?

Ami choli, ami choli, ami choli nithor, oshar.

Koto bhabi, bohudur chola holo, etotuku thami

sob kichhu theme jaay, poth dhore eka choli ami.

That's how a day should end

2005-07-31T00:55:00.000+06:00

I had such fun today.

First of all, have you ever been marooned on Ashulia Road? Nope? Tadaa! Today I had the good fortune of being buswrecked right on the groove. What a stroke of luck that was. Winds through my hair [I felt like crying, thinking about my locks I once had :( ... I really enjoyed my being with long hair], water parading near my heels, and there I am, sitting on my ass, and total ashulia around me under water. And have a look at that surreptitious sun, tiptoeing behind the clouds, but just can't help exposing her shiny bosom [you bet I felt horny then and now, or else what crazy idiot would think of sun as a female?] ... and your horizon is beautifully caparisoned in shades of blue ... and gray ... and blue ... and gray ... and oh, what ruthless isolation! I felt terribly lonely.

Perhaps that's why friends are there. I finished my project works and rushed back home ... and packed up to AF. One of my closest friends called very suspiciously when I dipped into french grammar [and glamor also, I just can't help ogling that lady in the other room :)], and commanded to get my ass off to Xinxian ASAP. And that's when the fun began. Pretty soon it was five of us, running our chatterboxes on full throttle; fixated on our lovely, sexy, sensuous codinateuses [just a word I devised, those ladies who came to dine there], gobbling our foods, screaming and howling like packed wolves, and of course, having a great time.

Dinner had to finish, and we rolled down on the street and decided to get boozed up to our noses. But some way or other, we had to quit that great plan, and quickly switched to get drunk with music. So there we were again, singing like anything [songs being instantly written and composed], cruising along the road, kicking up the row around Mohammadpur. We also decided to get on top of another friend's dach and settle down to chat. But we had to quit ultimately, it was impossible to stay awake on that wonderfully beautiful roof without being drunk.

There we were again, now four of us, crusing down to another friend's house, singing again, hey nonny no ... and soon we got back home, each posted to the right box, but still crunching the echoes of the fun we had (We were a bt apprehensive of getting caught by RAB and crossfired to death, but what the heck, singing at Midnight isn't a crime that grave, and even it is, it's worth being ventured).

Life's not bad at all ... all I need is days like this one.

Bingo!

2005-07-30T11:07:00.000+06:00

I devined a great new idea!

Well, I was actually rushing close to it all the time, but last night when I was chatting, the idea offered a promise of being effectuated.

The thing is ... I've been writing the paroles and composing the music of songs since ... quite a while. And I want to turn them into presents. That's it, I'll present my songs in mp3 format from now on. Whenever you come up with your silly events and treat me with sillier fast foods, I'll gently produce a CD to you, with one or two songs in it, written, composed and sung by the great Barritone Monsieur Azad, chanteur charmant :p.

Isn't that wonderful? A song, written for you only, lacking no earthly emotions?

Let me know what you think of it.

My Darkness

2005-07-30T00:35:00.000+06:00

The last time I spent a night under wide open sky, last November, I was in Sunamgunj, near Tanguar Haor, lying on my sleeping bag, not in it, dreamily watching the sky so amazingly full of stars, and rocking with the gentle waves of Haor. I think one should spend at least one night under the sky every month, if not more frequency be possible. You can actually relate your humble being with the rest of the world if you stare at the sky. I often forget how little a being I am; whenever I look down to earth I see my big, long shadow and I start loosing respect to the rest of my ambience. One long look at that enormous nothingness, you get back to earth, to be precise.

This evening I climbed up again to my rooftop reservoir, just to have some good pictures of the darkness, since almost everything was blacked out. Power failure has lost its mysterious spells over us, ever since Diesel generators became popular in the city. When I was a kid, back in Sylhet, load shedding was an event of its own class. If there was no moon, all you could see were some feeble flames of candles or oil lamps around, or the flickers from burning cigarettes. We used to get together in the Verandah and sang whatever songs we felt like singing at that moment ... me, my siblings ... with the gigantic trees leaning to us to our right, wide open sky barricaded by a sudden bamboo bush, a big moon trying to grin out its palor ... it was really something to ruminate on ... I had a marvelous childhood in sylhet.

Anyway, let's not get derouted, where was I? ... Oh, on my rooftop reservoir, with my tripod and camera. These are the moments that make me resent, for not having bought a digital camera. I use a CANON EOS 1000 FN, totally professional stuff, but with a casual 28-70 sigma lens. The tripod I got purchased recently from Singapore, and it hasn't been field tested yet [Field test denotes here an excursion up in the mountains, where we usually trek around. I have a good plan to run the first test in Chandranath next friday], but I'm satisfied with it. I had some photoes shot ... pictures of Darkness, with weak lights at great distance ... "Poxed darkness" is a title that buzzed in my head for a while.

I lied down on the tank for some minutes. Actually the reservoir is huge, I and my nephew Linca in fact spent a night there when my brother got married ... there was so many guests to stay overnight, we had no other choice to pack up with my guitar and blankets, and spent the whole night under the sky, firing up new satanic ideas and discussing the physiques of all those women we met anew. We nearly pissed all the neighbours [well, the arabesque way of defining neighbours states that anyone within the fortieth house is your neighbour] off.

Just can't get to the point tonight ... I saw something I haven't seen for a long time. White chunks of clouds drifting gently like viennese geese in pitch black background, with glistening of a star here, and a star there ... it was really awesome. Who needs a moon when stars are there? The sky is in fact more charming with new moon ... just get 150 kilometers out of Dhaka [because the air is not clear here at all] and you can see the unabridged sky with all her jewelery, scattered for you.

Darkness isn't always scary, isn't always obscure, it's just something waiting for your light.

Ornithology

2005-07-26T22:38:00.000+06:00

Well, I don't know its name ... perhaps a cardinal, or a magpie, or a white-breasted orange-bill or something, but I know him [now now, don't say it's a female] for a long time. Vis-à-vis, not more than 15 seconds, but still, I know his posture, the way he stares at nothing, and the way he sits there, alone, his world fading into invisibility, blurred horizons guarding the limits of his life, and the green that surrounds him, only to fake the pleasantries life usually put forward, and the greens followed by other greens, only floating, and fading, and flirting with him. I say, I know him. I've seen him in my dreams, in my memories, in my mirrors.

Block

2005-07-26T18:33:00.000+06:00

It's been quite a while since I wrote something [blogs be exempted]. The last piece that I wrote and finished with visible satisfaction was an article on our trekking through the dense forested mountains of lower hill tracts, in Bandarban and Rangamati. I was so exhilarated after finishing the whole thing, it exceeded 20,000 bangla words, but thousands more could be written on that wonderful, extraordinary, memorable adventure. I mailed it to almost everyone, people I know, people I hardly know, and even to people I never expect to know. However, the sheer size of the article was repulsive enough not to be read, let alone enjoyed. Only some of them bookworms went all the way through ... and man, I'm honored with their reactions. Their is no greater joy when your lecteur appreciates you. I could feel the pleasure my parents experienced when people used to praise one of their children.

However, I couldn't write since October 2004. The pause seems long enough to get bored to me ... but I don't know why I don't write any more. I have enough time, have the strength to do more hectic things, but whenever I sit in front of my pc and open MS Word to write something, I feel drained ... drained off my energy. Is that what people call writers' block?

But I want to write something ... perhaps a letter to my sis. When I was a kid, I used to write lumps of letter to her, pages after pages, big heaps of complaints and reports and demands, but never posted them. She would visit us whenever the faintest leave she got from DMC, and I showed her all the letters I wrote, and usually was quite imperative to have all of them read by her. In fact she's the only person I ever wrote letters to. And she read them, each and every one of them, one by one, words after words, never missed the nuance ... she was the best reader I could have at that moment.

After the advent of emails, perhaps I performed the greatest of sighs of relief. I simply couldn't write a letter. Now I have got email and I can exchange messages without the heavy responsibility to shoulder ... to write a good letter that would be pleasant enough to be read. And that's what I do, I write small, concise mails, and never can express anything soft, delicate feeling. And the hell with it, I am relieved not to do so.

Anyway, it's not like that, that I don't get letters from others. I usually do, and simply love to read them. There's something so sensual about opening an envelope, before that checking out the stamps glued to it, unfolding the letter, starting to read, smelling it twice or thrice ... an email is no match for a letter. The last time had such a nice one, it was from México, from one of my nicest friends.

Anyway, I'll write a letter soon to my elder sis ... I have become Mamoo again, and I want to congratulate her with a nice letter, that I'll be writing to her after sixteen years.

Mehdi Hassan

2005-07-25T22:09:00.000+06:00

Mehdi Hassan is my drinking partner, you can say.

Literally, it's not much probable. But I developped a peculiar habit of drinking alone, almost hiding in my bunker-like room, and listening to his awesome pieces.

I actually started learning Urdu to understand his ghazals. I was sure, there must be something in the lyrics that a man would chant with such grace. Note to people, I know your parents might have listened to so many of his soundtracks from popular Urdu movies, but I'm talking about his ghazals. The ones he sings are always full of pangs of a disheartened lover, who lost his dame, lost in drinks, or have been refused the opportunity to be her lover at all. Simple fact, but I never cease to be amazed, how Hassan's voice makes the Urdu words surmount the hurdles of incomprehensibility of the language. If it's sorrow, you would immediately understand the way his voice bleeds around the word "Gham", and you can visualize yourself perhaps, being tormented ... or you can see your intoxicated eyes when you listen to his awesome piece, Main Nazar se pee raahaan hoon, I'm drinking with my eyes. And he sings the hardest parts of song with such ease, any student of classical music would understand the difficulty one would have to undergo to sing like that.

Perhaps it's a pavlovian response, but my reactions to his Ghazals are the same as to strong alcoholic beverage (Vodka and Rum I drink only). I feel elated, light and lofty, everything becomes so soft and smooth and agreeable, my heart becomes a floating feather.

Mehdi Hassan has been suffering from stark illness, he ceased singing, and I know his days are numbered. But I would lose one of my best companions if he dies. Salute to Hassan.

A Movie that moved me ...

2005-07-25T01:42:00.000+06:00

Drooping eyelids are the first two things you'd have noticed about me this morning.

My eyes are naturally droopy, either I'm tired, or I'm doing something with immense attention, or I've concocted another of my champion cocktails, or so ... but last night I watched The Gods Must Be Crazy and went to bed pretty late.

You might wonder why I am so late to see this hell of a good movie ... and the answer is, I don't know. I ceased watching movies back in 2002 and switched to alcohol to enjoy my moments, and last week I bought a DVD-ROM drive after accidentally watching The Ring ... man, I was almost scared to wet pants! I don't believe in ghosts ... but I prefer to be afraid of them, especially after watching such a movie. I slept with my lights on that night. I've got a Monroe portrait in my room, with the usual smile and cleavage, and I turned it other way round so that I don't see her and get scared.

Anyway, the DVD-ROM drive, absence of which almost turned me into an alcoholic, was inaugurated by two awesome movies: The Gods Must Be Crazy, part I and II. And I was entertained up to my capacity.

It was the simplicity of the movie that touched me ... I like simple things and simple people. The whole course of the movie was an intricate design of simplicity. An exasparated Bushman, a nervous game scientist, a city-quitting Dame, a trigger-happy dissenter ... yet the whole thing is so neatly woven! That's the kind of movie I want to make.

And man, if could only have fathered a child like that little bushkid in part II! He was so sweet and so naïve, resembling my nephew a bit. I can still see his terrorized face, holding that piece of wood above his head to scare the Hyena off ... and the way he hides under the blanket, into the tire when his brother falls off the truck.

I would be watching this movie again, but not alone, with someone hugging close. I don't know why, this movie makes me feel awefully lonely again.

Have Not

2005-07-24T05:51:00.000+06:00

As you would easily understand, it was a light day (not too light though) for me in office. But at the end of the day, literally, when I'm ruminating over a once-steaming cup of tea, I suddenly realized that I'm a perfect Have-Not.

Let me tell you something, I'm not of a complaining sort. Actually I never complain to anyone on anything. And I don't go nag about all the things I should have that I don't have. But suddenly realizing what I am is something worth to be told.

It's 1637 hours and I suddenly could recall that I have my french class this evening, and I HAVE NOT finished my french homework, which had been given as a practice towards CEFP 2. Naturally I'd leave my homeworks unfinished, home is supposed to be a place void of work ... but then I had a sudden glance at my shoes, almost torn, and I came to understand that I HAVE NOT brought the money to buy a new pair of shoes I thought I would today.

Darn! Just moments later I slammed the cup on my table and went for a pause de pipi. And as it always happens, after getting rid of my "liquidity", I stopped for half a moment before the mirror to check my ugly mug, and there it is, I HAVE NOT had a proper shave (and I suddenly realized that I awefully resemble Veerappan the notorious dacoit).

That was all I need, the rest rushed towards me like an avalanche. So many things I HAVE NOT :( ... yet I've been loitering proud, taking me for one of them SOMEBODIES ...

I would have got a heartache pondering over these things, but lucky me, I HAVE NOT got a heart.

Addicted to Dreams

2005-07-24T02:28:00.000+06:00

I'm quite sure that it wouldn't have remained a contingency that I would leave this city behind and start my new life up on some mountain, only if I could get rid of this profound affinity to internet.

Sounds stupid? Perhaps I am one. But I simply can't put my mind off this dream of mine, to leave Dhaka, to leave Bangladesh if possible, and buzz off to some distant place; surrounded, guarded and accompanied by mountains. There I would be living in a tiny shack, or a log house if possible. There would obviously be no electricity. There I would domesticate mountain lambs and fowls and nurture apple trees in my tiny little orchard. Every morning I would wake up as the purest rays piercieng the unadulterated air would touch my closed eyelids, I would get up and stand there in front of my little hut, naked, embracing the morning. Then I would go collecting water from the fountains down below. My lambs would be milked, my eggs would be snatched from the chickens ... and I would have my breakfast sitting below a tree, right on the edge of my mountain.

The rest of the day I would spend shepherding my lambs down the valley. Oh, just thinking of the lush greenery makes me pack my rücksack!

But you know, sometimes this innocent dream gets a bit twisted. I guess I am a bad dreamer when I get horny, and I think of lifting my arms from under the shoulders of a sleeping lady when the shines peep through my log window, or standing naked together with a lady for joined-hugging the morning, or letting the lambs loose down the valley and shepherding the animal inside me ... and I start to feel sorry for that poor woman up there, spending her life with animals.

Some day or other I'll touch my dreams ... I'll swim in the crystal-clear waters of streams, I'll jump into the mountain river from apple trees, I'll slide down the valley all the way down, I'll sit in front of a fire under the glistening sky full of stars and sing aloud weird songs, written and composed by me ofcourse ... and will do whatnots!

I will, just see! Wait till I get my broadband connection unplugged!

Jamuna

2005-07-21T10:45:00.000+06:00

Well, I first met her back in April this year. Yes, it was a shame, and misfortune for me that I couldn't meet her earlier.

Jamuna is a river of its own class. With her banks faded into mist, her seductive bends bejewelled with greeneries, her sky being a cloudy canvas ... I have never seen anything like that before. It's true, quite a few rivers have revealed their secret beauty to me. Rheinkhyang and Sangu in lower hill tracts enchanted me, Danyub in Regensburg and Vienna was also charming, Someswari in upper Netrakona almost brought tears to my eyes ... I've never seen such a slim river with all that beauty, Dahuki in Sylhet and Bula in Sunamgunj was also awesome, but I must say, Jamuna can cast a hypnotic spell upon me.

Today I met her again. I was cruising down back to Dhaka, and the rare shines had a bonus macquillage on her. Just imagine, all around you only clouds with a tint of red and a deeeeep blue patch can be seen, and your horizon is split by the red-white transmission poles, and you can't pierce the scenery beyond water, water everywhere ... I felt like I was floating on a raft like a shipwrecked soul.

I thank my stars that I was born in this extraordinarily beautiful country, and was gifted with this afternoon. One day I'll get special permission from the authority and will dive from the bridge into Jamuna to end this silly life.

Beghazaled

2005-07-18T06:01:00.000+06:00

I look very pissed off, almost always, perhaps that's the way I was sculptured by Goddie. Ever seen a jungle-babbler? No? Well, no sweat ... come and meet me some time.

But today my mood matched my look, a sort of mood-look handshaking, you might say. Couldn't sleep sound, was late to office, drank a shitty cup of tea, and had to race to Narayangunj to one of my projects. And damn, the sun had some extra shines today, I almost got a sunstroke. With dry lips and sweaty shirts, I saw myself in a power house that reeks of welding iron.

Being pissed off is better than being pissed on, I admit, and being on the better side I finished my tiring session of instruction, and took the bus back. Under that bloody soléil du mijour everything looked scorched and torched, and what more, there was even a traffic jam now. Wasn't that a perfect weather to use that sweet four letters starting with F?

Swallowing all the irritation and literally, agony, I got back to my office. Well, I don't know why, but the afternoon always reminds me of Ghazals, if I'm fed and cool. After getting a bit cooler, and having lunch (just a tiny crunch-munch), the day seemed not so ugly as it used to be some hours before. I sat in front of my pc and started to hum the ghazal paroles.

This one is one of my favourites:

Now that we got parted ... perhaps, will meet again in our dreams
just like we come across the dried petals of flower ... in a book ...

You're not a god, and nor my love like angels
both of us being human, why do we meet monsters?

In the world full of sorrow, confide your pangs in some friend
as the Intoxication grows when a drunkard meets another.

Ah, times up. Bingo! I'll be packing up now, and be speeding home, and be humming some other freaking ghazals. It's the time you feel like Dorothy from Wizard of Oz, "There's no other place like Home!"

Virguesque

2005-07-17T12:37:00.000+06:00

Horoscopes are intrinsically attractive to us. It divides us into groups, yet spins webbed connections among these pleasantly devised signs (stupid, though) showing great feats of imagination, and assigns virtues that we feel proud of, even if we fail to discover them in us. A sense of fellowship is gifted to us through horoscopic tunnels ... we peep backward and fish out great beings of the same sign, and grin, "Look, Einstein was also a Taurus* !"

*is he, really?

I belong to Virgo, the Maiden. I missed Leo just by the manes, and man, taunted I was before I grew up! Well, belonging to a Maiden would never be something to cause dissatisfaction :) to me.

I've been close to virgo-people. Perhaps it's a biased observation, but I found some common attributes among us.

Virgokind is expected to be ...

1. Seeking friendship, companion and support from others.

2. Not much reliable.

3. Humorous and Amorous.

4. Tacit about their dislikes and torments.

5. Inventive.

6. a bit more preoccupied with themselves, but helpful to others if asked.

7. Lonesome.

8. Vindictive.

Believe me, I even guessed people out to be a virgo, matching these points. Virgoes are easily traced, you think :)?

I'm falling, falling like raindrops

2005-07-15T11:25:00.000+06:00

A rainy day has so many filthy things to harbor. An alley inundated, an unskinned manhole awaiting you, a jet of mud from a car happily speeding by, a sprained ankle from a slip ... but it can make your day very special, if you have a macintosh or umbrella with you. It can spare a whole street, empty, craving only your footsteps.

I had an opportunity yesterday, in Mymensingh. Not a soul around you, and you have that black pitched strip ahead ... with muddy stripes along. Only the sound from your boots, and the incessant hissing of rain, everything quiet, wet and numb ... and you feel that you could walk like that for the rest of your life, isn't that wonderful?

I wish I could walk in Dhaka like that, all alone, only raindrops giving me an ovation, with sprinkles rising from my feet, along the streets, docile and dormant, for me, and only me ...

Nuisance let loose

2005-07-11T10:09:00.000+06:00

Frankly, I hate mobile phones. But I often do things I hate to do, carrying a mobile almost up my arse is one of them.

The Siemens A50 that I'm using I got from a electronic appliance market in Vienna. Why that silly set, you might ask ... because it was the cheapest. Didn't bother any fancy sets, cause I knew I won't be using them as my closest foreign body.

I bought my first SIM in January, 2005. Had no other choice, you have to put your personal phone number on your CV, home phone won't be doing any good since you're almost never there ... but hell, right after a month I got a job and they stuffed another one up. Now I use two mobile phones, and I hate them more than ever.

Think of all the troubles you face because of these mobiles. You can't move freely, you get phone calls when you're in the ugliest situation to receive them, people around you are getting calls and responding to them ALL the time, and most of all, you're being exposed to the whole world, 24/7. Turning them off? Does it help? No, it would turn the whole world against you, and you'll have to spend even more time explaining why you turned it off in the first place. Tax and Mugging I won't mention, though you might mistake one for another, but muggers you have to face in this uncivilized city, Taxes you can easily escape.

You need to connect yourself to others while you're out of home? Sure. If you'd be living in a healthy environment of a civilized city, you'd see Telephone Boothes 400 meters apart. You simply can't ruin other people's peace for your own emergency, compris?

I've spent more than 24 years without mobiles, yet learned to hate them. I like the old way, without mobiles, with uncertainty. No missed calls, no make-sure calls, simple and uncertain life. Waiting for my novía, watching the minute-hands of the clock shivering around its face, tension, I-can't-stand-this-waiting-any-longer groans, and voilá-here-she-comes sort of way of life. I don't need any camera shoved up the butthole of my phone, I don't need to send silliest sms-s that can't convey my voice, intonation, ripples of laughter and cry ... I don't need to connect myself through this damned piece of gadget. And yes, I still love telephonic conversation, but not to get robbed by those GRAMEEN-AKTEL-CITYCELL-BANGLALINK fuckers, billing my minutes to perdition.

Blind Sunday

2005-07-07T13:22:00.000+06:00

The Xth grade was indeed a period full of surprise for me, never ceasing to offer endless shades of emotion [mushy stuff], never missing a chance to tune the throbbings of heart to things I would have never looke twice at, and never defecting from the unspoken promise that there are always nice things around us --- all we have to do is to pick them up and be charmed, just like that!

Enough it could be about my Xth grade, but what I wish to blog here happened while the FIFA USA'94 world cup was being broadcasted. Being poles apart, the shining and roaring and quivering fields we had to watch at the deadliest dead of the night. My father, being a great soccer enthusiast, would make tea for the two of us, and we had a tacit agreement that early rising has to be maintained after the whole-night-soccer-frenzy. However, there had to be a break, quite a long one, between two consecutive games. At that time we had no other channel than BTV. The between-boredom had to be buttered down by something equally appealing.

"Blind Sunday" was the choice of some fellow with a really good taste in movies, I presume. A twenty-minutes-or- so long cinema, that still makes me nostalgic, and reminds me, if not reassures me, of those shiny promises my Xth grade year caparisoned on me, nice things are there, always.

It started with a typical story of a guy who sees a gal, and falls in love, and so on ... but the thing is he soon found out that the beatiful lady was totally blind, and though she moved quite smoothly, elegantly though, she couldn't help using a white walking stick ... and he managed to kick his own butt into the gutter, as he unknowingly taunted the girl and pushed her down to a pool.

Now what to do? The gal is simply pissed off, she wouldn't bother listening to that fellow's whining apology ... how to get into her circle of trust [reminds you of Meet The Parents?]? The guy invents something goofy, but hey, effective. He blindfolds his own eyes, limps down to the girl's door, knocks the door and says, "I'm Blind Too."

And then? It was a nice date, both of them together, the girl blind and the guy blindfolded. The lady guides the fellow smoothly, both of them sharing the same darkness, one of them tanned bathing under the darkness and the other only probing it, they cruise along the parks, libraries, restaurant ... beside the lake, beneath the tree, beyond the horizon ... and the movie ends right after the girl walks the guy home.

Isn't that sweet? I remember, I was so appalled, and god knows why I felt so guilty, I suddenly realized, I could never love someone until I feel myself moving with such passion. Loving someone still means to me ... sharing the darkness. I tried it ... once, but not everyone can walk you home.

French Again

2005-07-06T11:58:00.000+06:00

I've started learning French again. I had to show it a red signal back in 2003, was terribly busy with other stuff. However, it's really a pisser when you realize that you're slowly losing a skill. Had no choice, really, and now I'm back to square one again, staring at the gibberish texts, listening to uncanny dialogues, swallowing snores ... what the hell is wrong with me, am I getting old?

Yesterday I had my first class ... and surprisingly, it was the same room where I had my 101 classes. I managed to stiffle Nostalgia over past few years, but it was rather difficult yesterday. It was like a riot of memories, budging and nudging each other on narrow allies around the downtown of my mind. But what to do, I'll have to leave this country if I wish to evade Nostalgia.

However, j'ai oublié tous les mots, tous les verbes, j'ai perdu ma efficacité d'exprimer, et finalement, il n'y a pas assez de femmes dans ma classe! grrrr! Merde! Pourquoi est la male fortune seulement pour moi?

Stretching My Legs

2005-07-04T08:51:00.000+06:00

Last friday we had a wonderful hike around the city.

"You?" you might ask. Hmm, it's us, the same old ECBites, spending their treasures for a dewdrop.

By the way, perhaps you don't know what a friday could mean to a guy who spends rest of the week working and travelling and designing and calculating and screaming over the phone, and it's the friday at the end of his cyclic tunnel. And I try to spend it with my trekker-hiker-mountaineer-funloving-addabaj-ECBite friends.

Well, our favourite leader and photographer, Barunda is leaving Bangladesh, and it was a memorable "Urban Trekkerz" event with him. We went to Botanic Garden, flashing our Umbrella and Macintoshes, and walked and ran and jumped and hey, shot a lot of photos. Then we hiked up to an island-kind-of place, had some tea, and grabbed a pickup to Ashulia. We hiked up to Uttara from Ashulia, had lunch at Dhansiri, chatted a lot, and got back home. Simple, but good friends can make such simple things pleasurable, memorable and precious. They can make dewdrops cost Fortunes.

Thank god the sky was there ...

2005-07-04T05:31:00.000+06:00

Guess what, I'm depressed.

Don't let confusion creep into your mind, I'm not telling that I'm depressed NOW ... it's more like saying that I'm Bangali, I'm Straight, I am Sam ... I have been being depressed ever since, well, ever since that incident happened to me. And please let me introduce myself you, I'm Himu from Dhaka, Bangladesh and I'm depressed.

I had an illusion that I can be oblivious to some upsetting facts, and be merry, merrier than I even used to be, but hell, time has turned me into a realist from a shining optimist. I still go and give my friends a jolly time, but it's me I fear most to meet. Whenever I come back to my room, sitting there, in front of my pc, or with my guitar, or with nothing but darkness, you see, it's a monster I spend my precious few hours of the day. How to escape from yourself? I tried sleeping, drinking, chatting and even the German Language, but couldn't help meeting myself in my room, with no lights.

Have a suggestion to lend me? Go on.