
Nizamuddin Ahmed
CHINTITO SINCE 1995
The writer is a practising Architect at BashaBari Ltd., a Commonwealth Scholar and a Fellow, a Baden-Powell Fellow Scout Leader, and a Major Donor Rotarian.
CHINTITO SINCE 1995
The writer is a practising Architect at BashaBari Ltd., a Commonwealth Scholar and a Fellow, a Baden-Powell Fellow Scout Leader, and a Major Donor Rotarian.
Grenfel Tower in London was entrapped in the myth that a single staircase under mechanically-induced positive air pressure was safe for a 24-storey block of apartments.
The world is grieving for Pelé, one of its most gifted sons, who won the universe with his football skills.
In the days leading up to the greatest show on earth, miserably apt was the Bangla saying, "Jare dekhte nari, tar cholon banka."
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 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.
You must have come across people, not necessarily ostentatious, who foretell the future, making a monkey out of the gullible with their forecasts.
Not that we remember her only on August 15th, but she comes alive during events she embraced, at places that hold her memory, on the morning dew shimmering on the green, in the clouds that stand still, dark and heavy.
Now that San Marino, population 34,000, less than Sabrang, the smallest Union in Teknaf Upazila, have won medals at the Tokyo Olympics, the pressure is mounting on us, the eighth largest country, with about 17 crore people. But, how?
Once the pandemic is over, that’s optimism, one thing I hope I will not miss, and you too perhaps, are meetings round the clock, that shall be freedom.
Researchers, I have always assumed, perhaps audaciously and inappropriately so, are rather awfully late to come to any conclusion, even on matters that appear conclusive on face value.
It is not easy to defend a cricketer who has kicked the stumps and uprooted them in successive overs in broad daylight, and that too on camera. His status as the world’s number one ODI all-rounder makes that task impossible. And yet, a diagnosis is necessary for even a terminal case.
You have perhaps been witness to a cycle of violence that begins with one-sided bullying and coercion (action) and continues until the victim is forced to respond (reaction). And then the “fighting” begins. But then the victim is blamed for countering the continuing onslaught.
I am not at all concerned about the Tatmadaw takeover in neighbouring Myanmar, a foregone conclusion, some say, to a power struggle in the land of a hundred ethnic groups, and was somewhat expected given the country’s six decades’ tradition of robust military interest in politics and governance.
Individuality builds self-confidence as opposed to dependency, creativity against suppression, cooperatives instead of idle loners, an active workforce vs laissez-faire, contributors not dumb receivers, and choosers not beggars. Allow me to elaborate.
No centuries-old city merits a revamping makeup, so as to render it unrecognisable by distortion, not the least Dhaka.
Celebrated Pakistan national footballer and Bangladesh national coach Golam Sarwar aka Tipu, who famously played mostly for Dhaka Mohammedan Sporting, was one among the 23 Bengalis who represented Pakistan during the 24 years of East-West coexistence. He narrated the following anecdote.
US president-elect Joe Biden’s meticulous selection of office-bearers for various portfolios should make one realise the importance of competence.
Occasionally an athlete transcends the boundaries of his sporting arena and attains a civil personality through his many socio-welfare activities, albeit woven intricately with the game.
What I am about to write will be of no use, least of all any consolation, to the family and friends, and yes admirers, of the flicker that was denied to sparkle. Because they cannot bring her back to conquer mountains with a smile, to pedal a bicycle to her heart’s delight, or convey knowledge to her students with care.
Contextually, although lockdown remains an essential defence worldwide against the spread of Covid-19, there have been exceptions at the cost of human lives.
Mass movements are characterised by a euphoric tempo. Thus, it was understandable when on June 7 “Black Lives Matter” (BLM) demonstrators in Bristol brought down and defaced the statue that commemorated 17th Century slave trader Edward Colston. Perplexing though was the inclusion of the statue of Baden-Powell, the founder of the worldwide Scout Movement, in their “Topple the Racists” list of sixty statues.
At five feet four, most people’s mouth is where my nose is. In a democracy, they can do all the loud talking at a distance from me, but their flurry of drenched words requires my close proximity. My nose is again of the type that inspires free speech, supplemented with coughs and sneezes.
Trending now are a winter holding at around twenty degrees Celsius, finishing office work in a traffic jam, private fogging to rid societies of mosquitoes (members of the Executive Committee not included), and a side job or business not only to make ends meet but for a wee bit of luxury, such as eating out.
Election time is full of promises. Wowed by the vows, some of us are the happiest. Many of us are steeply sceptical; we suffer the most. Most of us believe the rhetoric, or pretend to, otherwise candidates would not have been spewing material for us to build castles in the air, election after election.
The following anecdote I have narrated before, but it merits repetition for sheer context.
As we draw closer to pulling the curtain on 2019, it is an opportune moment for self-analysing ourselves.
My earliest encou-nter with the razzmatazz colour, discounting my childhood chushni (more about that later) was due to my kindergarten schooling at Comilla’s Our Lady of Fatima Convent.
1974. BUET Elections. The position of Mujibbadi Chhatra League was not at all rosy. The major threat was the student wing of Jatiya Samajtantrik Dal (JSD), drawing young people in droves by its patent ‘Scientific Socialism’. Another front was Chhatra Union, popular among cultural activists.
Muhammad Yusuf Chowdhury, a philanthropist who is still enshrined in the hearts of the people, has risen above his own life. Over decades, he has captivated individuals and communities.
Nowadays while meeting someone after a lapse of a few months, and with a gap in updated information, following the customary exchanges there is hesitation to pop the question, “How is the wife?”
Famed for his Moder Garob, Moder Aasha, a-mori Bangla Bhaasha, poet, educationist and lawyer Atul Prasad is long gone.
I am dazed and dejected, but not down. This chap is such a beyadab. He deserves one big thappar.
The most adorable sight that thy eyes can behold is that of a child in her first saree, her small strides burdened by girdles of fabric (quality immaterial) and her vain efforts to keep her anchol in place. She will carry a heavenly smile garnished by shyness, innocence and pride of being Mommy, at last.
To be a successful criminal (No! I am not opening a school), besides having 10 SIM cards (legally allowed for each operator), an oily body to slip away if caught, a foul mouth, an arsenal of weapons, and liaison with uniformed ostads and informed murubbis, one must
You left a restaurant, content, so much so that you tipped the waiter heavier than your usual. Two days later, a news flash on the TV scroll: “Sona Dana Khana Pina Restora fined Tk 1 lakh for freezing rotten fish and expired chicken.” Nausea overtakes you. To an
We have remar-kable similarities: jobless or sleeping on the job when employed, being kicked about or loved like crazy, meaninglessly barking at each other, unkempt body hair or salon spoilt, ready to lick and leak in public; tree or wall is a matter of circumstances.
Leonardo da Vinci was an extremely talented man of wide versatility. Other than famously and fortuitously puzzling generations with the enigma of a Mrs Giocondo, okay Lisa Gherardini, his Mona, he excelled in architecture and drawing, painting and sculpting, astronomy and mathematics, science and engineering, music and literature, anatomy and botany, geology and cartography, writing and history... Phew if you will.
The history of camouflage is as old as animals hiding in their natural habitat. Human beings, perhaps the greatest copycats, took quite a while but never looked back, especially since World War I when military forces massively exploited the craft. Over the years, few of us can deny not having taken refuge in the art of disguise and deception at some time in our life.
British historian Lord Acton's 130-year-old observation that a person's sense of morality diminishes as his/her power increases is true
Terrorists kill without discrimination. Their tactics differentiate them from freedom fighters. Terrorists have no religion. They may have names—Buddhist, Christian, Hindu, Muslim or any other.