In Bangladesh, numerous negative stories exist aimed at discrediting AI and discouraging its adoption. One school introduced AI to grade Bangla essays.
A classic and familiar office tale: Meet VP (Vice President) Mojnu. Mojnu bhai, known for his “strict leadership,” has one peculiar habit: never making eye contact.
Let’s begin this serious discussion with two extremely serious incidents, both tragic in their own way. A Sardarjee, celebrating his 25th wedding anniversary, took his highly educated and poetic wife to a posh candlelight dinner.
Eid-ul-Azha was meant to be a lesson in sacrifice, empathy, generosity, and humility. But in our version, it often turns into a festival of flexing, where the size of your cow somehow reflects your spirituality, and the price tag gets more attention than the prayer.
One reason we remain stuck in the slow lane of progress is painfully simple: in Bangladesh, the individual trumps the institution, and the institution trumps the nation.
Meet Imran Bhai. His last vacation was during the 2018 hartal. He thinks “OOO” means “Only On Outlook,” not “Out of Office.” His hobbies include forwarding work emails to himself at 2:00 AM and replying to “Happy Birthday” messages with a Gantt chart. Imran Bhai isn’t alone; he is the unofficial president of Bangladesh’s ever-growing workaholic club.
There is a special breed of professionals in every Bangladeshi office, those who seem to know everything from quantum physics to kebab recipes. They speak with such confidence that even Google starts to doubt itself. But here is the twist: a new study by Stav Atir, Emily Rosenzweig, and David Dunning reveals that the more of an expert you are, the more likely you are to claim knowledge of things that don’t actually exist. Welcome to the glamorous world of overclaiming with “I know it all syndrome” or as we like to call it in Dhaka boardrooms, “Bhai, I already have the idea!”
If you place a frog in cold water and gradually heat it, the frog won’t react; it just adjusts, thinking “I can handle this”. But as the temperature keeps rising, it reaches a point where the frog realises it must escape. Sadly, by then, it’s too weak to jump. It didn’t die from the heat; it died from not acting in time. That’s the “Boiling Frog Syndrome”.
In Bangladesh, numerous negative stories exist aimed at discrediting AI and discouraging its adoption. One school introduced AI to grade Bangla essays.
A classic and familiar office tale: Meet VP (Vice President) Mojnu. Mojnu bhai, known for his “strict leadership,” has one peculiar habit: never making eye contact.
Let’s begin this serious discussion with two extremely serious incidents, both tragic in their own way. A Sardarjee, celebrating his 25th wedding anniversary, took his highly educated and poetic wife to a posh candlelight dinner.
Eid-ul-Azha was meant to be a lesson in sacrifice, empathy, generosity, and humility. But in our version, it often turns into a festival of flexing, where the size of your cow somehow reflects your spirituality, and the price tag gets more attention than the prayer.
One reason we remain stuck in the slow lane of progress is painfully simple: in Bangladesh, the individual trumps the institution, and the institution trumps the nation.
Meet Imran Bhai. His last vacation was during the 2018 hartal. He thinks “OOO” means “Only On Outlook,” not “Out of Office.” His hobbies include forwarding work emails to himself at 2:00 AM and replying to “Happy Birthday” messages with a Gantt chart. Imran Bhai isn’t alone; he is the unofficial president of Bangladesh’s ever-growing workaholic club.
There is a special breed of professionals in every Bangladeshi office, those who seem to know everything from quantum physics to kebab recipes. They speak with such confidence that even Google starts to doubt itself. But here is the twist: a new study by Stav Atir, Emily Rosenzweig, and David Dunning reveals that the more of an expert you are, the more likely you are to claim knowledge of things that don’t actually exist. Welcome to the glamorous world of overclaiming with “I know it all syndrome” or as we like to call it in Dhaka boardrooms, “Bhai, I already have the idea!”
If you place a frog in cold water and gradually heat it, the frog won’t react; it just adjusts, thinking “I can handle this”. But as the temperature keeps rising, it reaches a point where the frog realises it must escape. Sadly, by then, it’s too weak to jump. It didn’t die from the heat; it died from not acting in time. That’s the “Boiling Frog Syndrome”.
Over a sundowner near the Sundarbans, “Nabila Apa” mocked her nephew’s AI-equipped drone for wildlife surveying, insisting her binoculars and field notes were unbeatable. By dusk, the drone had mapped three islands; Nabila Apa was still zooming in on a single kingfisher. Moral of the story: whether tracking tigers or deer, embracing AI beats binoculars every time.
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.
