Nizamuddin Ahmed

Over-dependence on technology and partisan umpiring is casting a shadow over cricket

Probably on account of my last two articles on Covid and dengue, someone thought I was a doctor.

The annual meeting of the Nikhil Bangladesh Mosha (mosquito) Samity has been convened.

Mask usage has come down to five percent, my guess, well below the rate of infection.

What could be the psyche behind this ugly practice of stealing the limelight despite having no intellectual, technical, moral or effective input in any of the 23 goals that our girls scored in Kathmandu?

Many of us believe and widely practise the cliché of, “Hopefully, this shall not happen to me”.

Eleven passengers, including seven students, were killed in the collision between a microbus and a train in Mirsarai last month.

Almost any major incident causes a ripple effect across the globe – a few ripples lasting longer and spreading further than the others.

After quenching their lurid lust for power and property, funded by slavery and wholesale loot for centuries, leaving behind a trail of torture, murder and injustice, Western colonialists began to spread the word of the holy books,

You have perhaps heard the tale of these two neighbours.

You get a surprise phone call, not all have to be pleasant. According to this gentleman, although his voice was unfamiliar, you met him 10 years ago.

In case you have felt the shivers recently, or sweated profusely, know that climate is not the only earthly element that has undergone change.

With the third round of Covid surge, educational institutions in Bangladesh are once again subjected to an extended shutdown.

My philosophy, after any tragic fire incident, is to forget it, and rather concentrate on similar conditions that pose threats in the future. Because the fact of the matter is, many potential killing machines are waiting in our waters.

From my flat on the 5th floor, I could hear a beggar beseech anyone who would care to listen for alms.

On the sandy desert of Dubai and in the barren stretches of Abu Dhabi, it is ektur jonno difficult to connect bat with ball, to avoid wides and mokkhom good-length deliveries, and to hold on to a multiple loppa catches with both hands or to stop a boundary with your palm or your booted foot if you happen to speak in Bangla.

In case you have not noticed, climate is not the only manifestation that has changed drastically over the last decade. People have too.

Our wedding feasts are not the usual places to showcase our best behaviour. Reaching out to fetch a bowl of rezala over the next guy, tossing a shami kebab to a needy friend beyond the reach of your spoon, and trying to cover spilt borhani with only one layer of tissue paper are all part of the gaiety.

Unlike the English language, where the hierarchy of age is muddled in the universality of “you,” Bangla distinguishes age, endearment, and insult with the terms “tui,”“tumi,” and “apni”—not in that order—as do several other dialects of the subcontinent.

I have always resented the common belief (due to fabricated propaganda, plus the romanticisation of an emperor who had seven wives) that Samrat Shahjahan “built” the Taj Mahal.