When Monkey becomes Leopard

"A long time ago, one of my Zimbabwean friend told me an interesting story."- our new guest started telling us on the dinner table. We were eager to hear that.

" One day my foreigner friend told me that..." he continued, " In my country, there are so many monkeys that we had to device some techniques to get ride off them and save our food and fruits . I don't know when it started but what I know that we keep a narrow-necked-pitcher outside our house with a banana in it. We do all these showing them first. We close the door and remain ready inside our house. Now the greediest monkey comes forward to have it first. He takes no time to shove his hand inside the pitcher and grab the banana tightly. But since the neck of the pitcher is too narrow he can neither bring his fist out of the pitcher....nor he is leaving his banana for lossing it! So we exploit this weakness by catching him right then."

" Our next step is to color him into leopard and leave him free. So, from that time he becomes leopard to other monkeys....! On the other hand, getting free, the monkey runs for his life towards his gang fearing to be caught again....but by that time their friends have gone vanished out of his sight fearing him an approaching leopard! Hence we rest for few days again."

Male Bus!

I gave up learning Arabic because it is becoming very difficult for me to understand- specially the gender portion. The interesting part of it is that all most all the nouns, pronouns, verbs have their different gender forms! A couple of days back, I studied the human body parts in Arabic. Some where it was written that single body part(nose, mouth etc.) is Masculine gender whereas the doubles (ears, eyes, hands, legs etc.) are Feminine! Well, I don't mind for that but ......pondering all in my way back home.

"Zamil, have you seen that?" my colleague pointed the bus in front.

"What?"- I inquisitively asked him.

"The bus has got a beni (plait) hanging at the top-middle of its back ...!" He continued, " Tell me, my dear new Arabic learner, what is the gender of this bus?"

Well, I closed my eyes for a while..., curiously searching for gender in the faded-lesson from my memory ...I figured out the bus as human being....the number of body part was ONE, so...

"It must be male "- I exclaimed with joy.

"Hmmmmmmmmm..., that's a brilliant answer"-he appreciated.

She Goat with Bra!

It was afternoon, the sun was setting other side of the desert. I was driving on my way back to home. I found a flock of goats grassing beside the Mamoun Street at Khartoum, Sudan. Suddenly I found about two to three she goats having their udders covered with a piece of clothe . I was naturally looking for their kids around and found none but some handsome rams!

"Are they putting on bras to make them sexy?" I inquired my colleague with astonishment.

"May be...who doesn't want to be looked good? Can you remember the old ad: as I look good, I feel good!"-He started laughing.

"That's really funny!"- I muttered.

30 Seconds with an Orphan!

"Get up every body and take your seat please", the supervisor of the Intercity-bus service was shouting at the top of his voice to the awaiting passengers at Chittagong Bus Terminal. I was on my way to Dhaka...to meet my family. It was afternoon 1630 hrs. Meanwhile we all sat down. Fortunately I got my seat beside the window from where I could see our people, our nature and everything. The bus started its journey in time. While it was crossing the oldest flyover over the Tiger-pass, I noticed a well dressed boy of nine years was crying holding the grill of veranda of a four-storied Orphan house. There were other boys too; who all were laughing and playing inside the veranda in bare body, paying no attention to new comer. I assumed, it might be that their part were over much ago and they became accustomed with the surroundings. I stared at the lonely boy, a deep-sigh was exhaled out scratching me inside....

"Roiffa, where are you ?"- Rafik's step-mother cried out from the broken kitchen.

"I'm playing here only, under the Bore tree"- Rafik replied with fear.

"Don't you have any jobs now? You, son of a bitch, got a chance to play a lot today? Let your father to come, I am going to complain against you. What should I say.... your father is an another duffer; hasn't your father come yet? I am dying and you are playing around. What do you think you are doing...; mere gobbling up all..." mother roared at him.

The little boy entered the house sweating...it was so vivid to him that his own mother never used such a slang to him. She used to cuddle him almost all the time and wetted him with shower of divine kisses. Even at that tender age, his small heart could smell the flavor of real love and affection of his mother. However by then he was quite tired and hungry. Rafik was searching something to eat; while he bent his body to get some food from beneath the chowki (bed), his step-mother almost jumped out from the kitchen and pulled his hair from the back. She took no time to drag him out from under the bed and started slapping mercilessly.

"You swine, why are stealing my food?" she started thundering on him.

Rafik was trembling with fear ,"I didn't steal food, I am very hungry Ma"

"You are arguing again with me?" she paused," You monster, you need whole world to swallow?" she threw him at the corner of the house. The tiny body could hardly digest the trust of blows...

" Oh, Ma go.."- Rafik cried out for help. He felt his blood started oozing from forehead and mixing with tears....

My bus went past the house very quickly leaving my thoughts behind......

"I can no longer tolerate your son! Either send him to the Orphan house else I go out from your house" Shahela finally declared in the dark moon night, " he started stealing things, quarrelling with me and what not...". Her husband did nothing but sighed. The poor Rafik was weeping on the floor. He used to do the same in every night, right from his father's second marriage. He recalled how his good days passed away so quickly after his mother's death! Rafik could anticipate his shorter stays in his house but what he could not realize how ruthlessly her step-mother was narrating the lies to father! His tears dribbled down at that emotional point....he started feeling his mother's face beckoning from the dark.."Ma go" he started weeping again. Suddenly he felt a very soft touch on his head:

"Rafi, my son, will we go with me ?"- Rafik's father asked sadly.

"Where Baba?" -he replied in return. Father embraced him deeply, "Orphan house"

"Baba, have I become orphan....." stumbled over his speech, Rafik continued, "right after the death of my beloved mother?" Rafik felt hearing a deep sigh rolled down from the up; but the rest was a blank...!

Answer Quiz-1

Can you make four triangles with six sticks, provided:

• You cann't criss cross them


• You cann't break them


• You only join them
  

Answer is :

Four triangles are 1-2-3, 1-6-4, 2-5-6 and 3-5-4

Hafez in Cafe!

It was 12 August 2008. I was on my way back to the office from Qatar Airways. Mr Naser, my senior colleague was accompanying me. It was around 1300 hrs, we were a bit tired after a long journey through busy streets of Khartoum, Sudan. I approached my senior by pointing to GAD Resturant in the Africa Street," Why not to have our lunch over there ?

"It's a good idea!" He nodded his head.

We entered the resturant with good appetite....and all foods seemed awaiting for us! We started having our lunch. In the mid way, I noticed a Bangali appearanced waiter was going past us to the juice corner. He was in uniform. Suddenly he appeared with two glasses of orange juice and started speaking in Bangla. It was amazing to find a Bangladeshi boy right here 3500 km away from Bangladesh! It seemed that I had knew that guy from long before. I was so delighted to see him there.

"When did you come here, my dear?"- I inquired.

"A couple of months before"-he smiled at us.

"What do you do here?" -my colleague asked him.

"I am a waiter here, sir"-he replied.

I asked," What class did you read back in Bangladesh?".

He answered ," I am a hafez (who memorises the Holy Quran)".

"Can you speak Arabic?"-I could hardly resist my temptation. Because I was rather struggling for last four months to learn Arabic and every time I tried I used to be stumbled over the techniques of learning it!

" Yes sir. You know, I lead almost every prayer as Imam (leader of prayer session) over there- right infront of the shop."- he pointed the place. " And I do practice reciting the Holy Quran every day. Well, you are not drinking the juice, sir. Remember you all are my guests today and you need not to pay for the juice!."

"Zamil, you see him; he is a quite fit for the job here. Look at him how easily he is earning for the nation due to his proficiency in Arabic." my senior opined. " I can remember, back in our country, the madrasa (kind of school for the study of Islamic religion and thought, especially the Holy Quran) system was about to be uprooted in the name of terrorism. On the contrary, they are earning foreign currency right from the country like Sudan...where the average temperature is as close as to the radiated heat of an oven!" he continued." But you see they can be made working force for the whole nation....". I losted myself in my daydream.....

" Batches of students of madrasas are reciting and understanding the Holy Quran. Some are researching the Quran and Sunnah(one of the basic sources of Islamic law, based on Prophet Muhammad(pbuh)'s words and deeds as recorded in the Hadith) and are finding the exact meaning of Islam. Some are going outside in order to eradicate the confusions of general masses regarding practised bidah (any type of innovation ), other batch has gone for vocational training. The government agencies are opening many voctional training and coaching centres in the remote areas of the country in order to make them fit for the employment in the Middle East and other Arabic-spoken countries. I could discover them shining like stars...doing extremely good, the name and fame of our beloved country is spreading quickly. The sons of the soil are pouring in thier hard earned foreign currencies for the development of her....our mother country once again started smiling with joy......."

"Zamil, we need to go now"- I was called upon from world of illusion, my colleague was about to stand. I thanked the boy. As I came out from the resturant I could feel his poor wet glance haunting at my back...I jumped into the illusion again......!

First day in desert

"Who likes to write in the national news paper after the end of the mission?" asked by His Majesty the Ambassador of the Peoples' Republic of Bangladesh to Kuwait in our farewell dinner. I raised my hand with others. Today after 16 years I could remember all my stories which shaped me up to date. I am in a kind of nostalgia....

"This land is full of bomb, bomb-lets, mine and other dangerous thing..." kept on by our Deputy while we were standing beside a desert at the outskirts of Al Jahra of Kuwait. " You have to be very careful while dealing with this modern weaponries .... as you can understand these do not recognise the friend or foe...."

I was a bit shaky with my only beloved LIFE! After all we all of us love our own life. I stared at the open desert where I had to be there for next twenty months or so. I could see nothing more than sands embracing the sand dunes! Since I am a man from a riverine country, seeing desert for the first time was a great surprise for me at that moment! However I could hardly imagine that there were a lot of dangerous stories awaiting for me ...