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”.
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
