Shamsad Mortuza

A recent post by a colleague who had to pay Tk 2.5 lakh as an admission fee for his child at a reputed English medium school made me reflect on an anomaly that we have gotten used to.

There is something quite catchy and seductive in the way Mohammadpur is branded as the “City of God.” The phrase is loaded with a Brazilian flavour, conjuring cinematic memories of gang fights in narrow alleys, muggers on motorcycles, the prevalence of narcotics among frightened residents, territorial youth gangs, occasional police raids, and political protection.

The attic of my thoughts is peopled by figures whom I never thought would gather to murmur in my head; these are the voices of people who should never have to meet like this.

Recently, my university came together to celebrate a day that could have been just another checkbox for ranking metrics or media optics.

Nobody questions the potential of Cox’s Bazar. Clearly, it can compete with any of the top-class beaches elsewhere. For that, the administrators need to think beyond immediate, narrow interests. They need to plan access roads despite local pressures.

“My classroom has four ceiling fans, but if we are to attend online classes from home, we will need 50 fans.”

Last week, while buying vegetables from an open market, I could not help feeling dissatisfied over the hiked price of every item. “It seems you are still in a moon-sighting mode,” I said, to which the seller responded nonchalantly, “What can I do?

In Samuel Beckett’s play Waiting for Godot, a character with supposed authority intensifies the absurdity by quantifying emotion.