Nizamuddin Ahmed

The young man delivered the hot biriyani at our door. I thanked him and paid him his company's due, and a little something extra for his service.

Architects, not all, will perhaps offer a convincing reason for choosing the subject and the profession. Dialectics may vary from

My Name Is Khan” is a 2010 Shah Rukh Khan-Kajol starrer Indian hit film. In the cine world, plagiarism is the name of the game, and sure enough Dhallywood followed suit in 2013 with a romantic action movie by the same name with local heartthrobs Shakib Khan and Apu Biswas doing the honours.

That does not imply we can do anything with it, on it and besides it. This license of ownership is rather a delegation of responsibility that very few of us understand, and therefore are unable to fulfil.

To be honest there has not been any clarion call from any quarters, least of all the fallacious source of all power, nor from any of my well-wishers, relatives or "true" friends for me to submit my candidacy for election to the Jatiya Sangsad.

A tennis umpire worldwide commences a game uttering what sounds like “Love all”. To the French, it means “l'oeuf” (pronounced love),

Going overboard for even acquaintances, nationalism for the appropriate cause and at the right time, united in the face of any natural calamity, and indulging in innocent gossiping (read: harmless backbiting) are some of the finer points of a native Bangladeshi.

Ignorance and defiance in combination with irresponsibility can be disastrous, more so if wrongdoers can get away with murder with a little help from delinquent sections of the state machinery.

Our imagin-ation seldom can reach beyond the immediacy of time. We are free to jump on an illusory time-machine to traverse from a million year old cave to an undersea home in Mars, yet we do not venture even within that limited range; either way beyond is dark (or bright), who knows?

Passenger safety or dignity were never the strong points of transport workers starting from the ticket counter till pushing them off a bus.

A 40-year-old Argentina supporter wanted to raise the blue and white stripes atop his building in Dhaka. His hand-held flag-mast came in contact with high voltage electricity.

The morning was laden with an overcast sky, yet a brazen sunburst rifting through the haze bode a promising day. Despite the overwhelming laze and considerable reluctance, I moved my gaze away from the engaging serenity. With much disinterest I leafed through the pages of a newspaper lying beside me. There she was spread all across the front page, affording me a perchance face-to-face meeting. However virtual, the famed Indian silver screen infatuation of millions was in my hands.

It is natural to assume that Australia's Gold Coast is strewn with aurous accolades for the picking. A little exploration would have revealed that close to four and a half thousand athletes from 71 countries and territories were vying for the 275 sets of medals this summer Down Under.

I have never met you, my child. But, there are so many of you we all know; cheerfully running around, full of life, the apple of your parents' eyes. And your grandparents? They must love you to bits. Whereas the world should have been your playfield, your workshop to discover anew, your garden to dwell in peace and tranquillity, we have turned it into an ordeal where danger lurks abundantly, and death strikes with cruelty. We beg you an apology.

This could be the start of a gory serial. In response to 17 hale and hearty lives lost, and 15 serious injuries from a white shooter (predictably mentally ill) at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, on February 14, the best the country's beleaguered president could do after seven days was to suggest arming school lunch staff with concealed weapons, and this was during his meeting with angry and emotional friends and relatives of

Kobi Guru had this figured out more than one hundred years ago.

It's a wonderful feeling, ascendency to almost ministerial heights, when you hear your old words in new voices, and more important, manoniyo at that.

Abdul Qayyum was a unique person. While I tap this on my mobile sitting at a hospital in Essex, England, January 15, his Janaza could be taking place in Narayanganj. By the time I finish he would probably be resting in eternal peace.

Till that moment, I was under the impression that North Korea's so-called “old lunatic, mean trickster and human reject” was alone in his diatribe against anyone who did not see eye to eye with him. We were so wrong

Ershad Shaheb perhaps had a Maoist idea when after seizing power in 1982 he proposed, ordered and then displayed what he and his cohorts at the time thought would become the trendiest phenomenon since Marilyn Monroe lost her purdah to the winds.