The inquiry committee – the corporate world’s ultimate weapon of mass distraction. These panels, ornamented with terms of reference and corporate lingo, have gained global recognition not for delivering justice but for achieving the delicate art of appearing busy while doing absolutely nothing. From New York’s Wall Street to Dhaka’s Gulshan Avenue, inquiry committees are universally cherished by management whenever swift justice must be thoroughly avoided or derailed.
Someone I know once joked, “In Bangladesh, legal process is like a traffic signal -- it exists, but nobody follows it.” I know of a family that has been caught in a legal battle regarding land for decades. It is the kind of dispute that survives elections, grey hairs, and a few judges. They have won every round up to the top court, but the case? It is still pending outside the court. The legal system here is not just blind -- it is apparently waiting in traffic, hoping to dodge the maxim justice delayed is justice denied.
In our days, one landline served the entire moholla – and half the neighbourhood aunties answered your calls before your parents did. If you misbehaved, Amma’s flying chappal had GPS-guided accuracy – one silent glare, one clean hit. Eid was pure magic: a new panjabi, some Tk 10 Eidi, and rooftop laughter with cousins till midnight. Fast forward to today, where kids have personal phones, fear screen-time limits more than chappals, and won’t call it Eid unless there’s a new outfit, a viral reel, and at least 500 likes before lunch.
In a small Bangladeshi town, a politician sought advice from his lawyer friend after making a questionable move.
Molla Nasiruddin took his donkey to the roof, but it refused to come down. Despite his efforts, the stubborn donkey resisted, kicking relentlessly.
Consumers worldwide notice that companies often use sneaky tricks to boost profits at the customers’ expense.
How common is it in our daily life when a teacher or boss sets a deadline, and we all think, “Oh, I’ll start in ten days!” Suddenly, time shrinks, and it’s panic mode: emergency declared, day-and-night sprints commence, and the assignment emerges from chaos.
The inquiry committee – the corporate world’s ultimate weapon of mass distraction. These panels, ornamented with terms of reference and corporate lingo, have gained global recognition not for delivering justice but for achieving the delicate art of appearing busy while doing absolutely nothing. From New York’s Wall Street to Dhaka’s Gulshan Avenue, inquiry committees are universally cherished by management whenever swift justice must be thoroughly avoided or derailed.
Someone I know once joked, “In Bangladesh, legal process is like a traffic signal -- it exists, but nobody follows it.” I know of a family that has been caught in a legal battle regarding land for decades. It is the kind of dispute that survives elections, grey hairs, and a few judges. They have won every round up to the top court, but the case? It is still pending outside the court. The legal system here is not just blind -- it is apparently waiting in traffic, hoping to dodge the maxim justice delayed is justice denied.
In our days, one landline served the entire moholla – and half the neighbourhood aunties answered your calls before your parents did. If you misbehaved, Amma’s flying chappal had GPS-guided accuracy – one silent glare, one clean hit. Eid was pure magic: a new panjabi, some Tk 10 Eidi, and rooftop laughter with cousins till midnight. Fast forward to today, where kids have personal phones, fear screen-time limits more than chappals, and won’t call it Eid unless there’s a new outfit, a viral reel, and at least 500 likes before lunch.
In a small Bangladeshi town, a politician sought advice from his lawyer friend after making a questionable move.
Molla Nasiruddin took his donkey to the roof, but it refused to come down. Despite his efforts, the stubborn donkey resisted, kicking relentlessly.
Consumers worldwide notice that companies often use sneaky tricks to boost profits at the customers’ expense.
How common is it in our daily life when a teacher or boss sets a deadline, and we all think, “Oh, I’ll start in ten days!” Suddenly, time shrinks, and it’s panic mode: emergency declared, day-and-night sprints commence, and the assignment emerges from chaos.
Is procrastination just a well-choreographed dance with time?
Move over nine-to-five office hours! In Bangladesh, where traffic jams are our unofficial “overtime”, the idea of a 90-hour workweek sounds like a plot twist in a Dhallywood movie.
Thinking about building your dream home in a prominent real estate compound? Brace yourself for a mountain of rules that, surprise, primarily benefit the authority.
