North, East, West, South (NEWS)

Eid and Puja : -
The most significant things about last month were the biggest festivals in our country, Eid-ul- Fitr and Durga Puja. We hope everyone had a great time in the vacations and haven't upset your stomachs like one of the writers and half the country. We guess, too much of something most certainly is a bad thing.

I see Dead Animals: -
The National Zoo has been on a 'dying' streak lately. During the course of the past month about 5 animals died. A lion, a giraffe, an Arabian horse, a leopard and last of all a tiger, named Gajran left this world, severing the bonds they had with the attendants (mostly of negligence and laundering of money meant for supplies, actually). As usual another Probing Committee has been setup, some people have been sacked or are on probation… yadayadayada. Situation is not improving. More animals (and we don't mean Committee members) are falling ill.

Return of the Hartal(s): -
The first Hartal of this government was observed with due solemnity and utter disregard. Although it was not declared by any poilitical party, a hartal is still a hartal. On the 14th of last month the National Committee to Protect Oil, Gas, Mineral Resources, Power and Ports (phew, that's a long name) enforced the hartal on our already bent-with-debts back. Hopefully this will not act as the starting point for yet another term of hartals. But of course, we wouldn't mind those if it means school holidays.

Godsend Hijacker: -
You probably heard of Joan of Arc; the lady who heard voices of dead Saints telling her to fight for France against the English. Well, we present you Jose Flores of Bolivia, a 44-year old priest who claimed to hear God's voices telling him to hijack a Mexican jet (loaded with tourists who were yet to see something truly unique) with a bomb. This was all in order to speak with the Mexican President to warn him of a future earthquake. The entire drama lasted for about 2 hours before the plane landed at the tourist resort of Cancun and Mr. Flores was escorted out by law enforcers, probably for inspiring them. Now if only God could send a proper Richter scale for the Mexicans instead of a bomb-carrying (possibly well-meaning) priest.

Liar, Liar: -
People really love US Presidents. That's why one first chucked a shoe at an outgoing President, and now another one is called a liar. President Obama, while addressing a joint session of the Congress with his healthcare plan, was yelled at by Republican Joe Wilson- to quote- “You lie!”. Although the lawmaker later apologised that his emotions got the better hold of him (you think, man!?), we do get to see how really loved and popular the 43rd US President is. Bravo.

Centenarian Matrimonial Services: -
Although we intend to bring out “contemprorary” news around the globe to you, this is just one advert that we could not afford to miss. Wook Kundor, a 107-year old Malaysian woman, is on her search to find herself her 23rd life partner. In light of the fact that the last statement sounded REALLY weird (and that's coming from us), we hasten to inform you that Mrs. Kundor's current husband, Muhammad, is 70 years her junior and was not available for comments since he's presently in voluntary drug rehabilitation. However, the charming centenerian fears that he may leave her once the program ends, and hence the reason for finding new love. Interested suitors 100 years and below may apply.

By Ero Senin and The Don Khan

Source: Prothom Alo, Ittefaq, Daily Star

The day the man cried

Scene 1
This HAD to be a joke. He was ready to bet all the kryptonite in the universe that it was one. Yet the accursed baldy stood there, his head shining in the sun, dreamy eyes glistening with mocking laughter and challenge.

“W-what?!” he managed to blurt out another strangled word.

“You heard me,” baldy chimed. “It's really simple. According to the latest survey, right now the most dangerous task in the world is pulling a manual rickshaw and manoeuvring your way around the treacherous city roads of Dhaka, in Bangladesh.

If you can do that, I will acknowledge your greatness and surrender myself to you. If you fail, I will bully your sorry butt through death's door. Deal?”

“………..This is a joke, isn't it Luthor?” he asked, still flabbergasted.

“Nope. It's not. You're the Man of Steel. You should be able to do anything, right Superman? Fuhahaha…”

As he watched Luthor roll on his stomach, Superman made a mental note in his head- it's actually the twisted brains that make the hair fall. People should be sent to asylums the moment they start going bald, yes.

Scene 2
It itched, ached and by God was uncomfortable. As he perched himself on the tiny triangular seat Superman was still a little dazed. Was this really happening?

“Ei rickshaw, jabe?”
It was a pretty girl who appeared like bright sunshine in his gloomy vision. “Maybe pulling a rickshaw wouldn't be that bad after all,” he thought.

But alas, he was wrong. For within fifteen minutes of the journey his passenger gave out a blood-curdling shriek- “Mama, your cape keeps smacking me on the face. IT'S RUINING MY MAKE-UP!!!”

Fuming, the pretty teen descended and trotted off towards other rickshaws. Superman sighed heavily. So women really were like that all over the world.

Scene 3
The rickshaw clunked and rattled violently, on the verge of falling apart, as it advanced through the cracked, pot-holed roads and on top of that- his butt hurt. But his passenger, a lanky university student, seemed perfectly at ease. “Bangladeshi people sure are gutsy,” he thought, “being used to conditions like these-”

WHOOSH.
He blinked. What just happened?

Apparently, the rickshaw that was a few yards behind him even a minute ago had zoomed its way past him and was now streaking ahead in Godspeed, its puller grinning back at him mockingly through glistening yellow teeth. Superman stared at the narrow street beside him, “How is that even humanly possi-”

WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WHOOSH.
And suddenly it was an all-you-can-overtake-him festival, as rickshaws slid, swirled, curved and shoved past him with visually artistic dexterity.

“Oi mamu, you a slowpoke? You're gonna get me late, man,” his passenger yelled impatiently.
“B-but that's dangerous!” he stammered.

“Dangerous?! You a chicken? What's the matter with you?”
“It is the underwear,” a wise, calm voice spoke from beside him. It was an old rickshaw-puller, also in the process of overtaking him and leisurely puffing on his Akij biri. “The secret to rickshaw-pulling is, of course, the lungi, son. You know, air-ventilation!” he smacked his thighs, winked at him and the next moment was gone with a Whoosh.

“I wonder what Flash would say if I told him about this little secret to speed,” Superman muttered to himself, still wide-eyed.

Scene 4
The sun was high in its horizon and the smouldering heat threatened to melt his very bones. The huge street ahead of him was so intricately packed with countless, motionless vehicles that it scared him. It was as if some evil scientist had finally discovered the secret formula of stopping time and applied it here. This was 'it', the infamous traffic jam of Dhaka. If his butt had hurt before it was now crying out to the gods for mercy, for his rickshaw had been stuck still at the exact same point for the past hour.

Once again, the endurance power of his passenger astonished him. The boy was cell phone-chatting with his friend about some cricket match, perfectly relaxed and oblivious to the discomforts of the situation. But Superman had had enough. His eyelids drooped, tired from stress, for Luthor was right. Rickshaw-pulling in Dhaka was a daring job indeed and posed serious threats to the lower half of one's body. But Louis had made apple-pie at home and it would be nice to suggest to Santa Claus the use of rickshaws instead of rusty old reindeer for Christmas. And also-

“OI OI mia, what the HELL are you doing??”
CRASH. MORE CRASH. SCREAMS. GALAGALI.
(And so on)

Afterword
Lex Luthor sipped his champagne and smacked his lips in satisfaction. Thanks to the hidden CCTV's, he could clearly see what was happening to Superman. The Man of Steel had, it appeared, dozed off on job-spot and his hands slipped off the brakes. His rickshaw then bumped into another, which shoved its neighbour like in a domino board and finally they all crashed into a nearby private car. Aw, poor Supey looked so miserable at the centre of all those infuriated and galafying people. He looked like he was about to cry. Finally, yes finally Luthor had found a force daring enough to leave even the great Superman in tears. “Yes, victory is sweet indeed,” he laughed and continued sipping at his champagne.

(It's a fiction, a fiction! Superman fans please refrain from killing the author.)

By Kokoro-chan