Spotlight

Like any other person, I have equally contributed to the complaint poll and have paid less attention to the causes for which thousands of freedom fighters sacrificed their lives to create their Shonar Bangla. The objectives of the Liberation War have deviated ever since the Independence. Corruption, destructive politics, terrorism and the prevailing economic situation have caused hindrances in achieving many coveted goals. Bangladesh has topped the list of most corrupt countries a number of times in recent years. The government continues to be vocal in fighting corruption but has shown no real consistency in doing so. As a result, one predicament is leading to another. Due to unbridled corrupt practices, our country's economy could not reach the desired level. According to World Bank estimates, the global cost of corruption exceeds $1500 billion, which is nearly 20 times the size of our economy.

From what I have read and heard about the Liberation War and its motive, my father and grandfather did not dream of our motherland to become such an unhealthy nation. My father pointed out the other day that those people who disguise themselves and take pride of fighting for the freedom of our nation, when actually they were never there during the decisive war!

This is what I call junk food. We are currently consuming too much of junk food which is resulting into all sorts of health problems. In order to make our nation healthy, the nation which our father and grandfather dreamed of, we need to get rid of all junk food. We are the next generation to take charge of our nation, and as we step on various sectors from politics to business, let us strengthen the core values prevalent in society and form once again the fundamentals of the 'rule of law'.

Bangladesh Lives On

Ridwan Karim

BANGLADESH is a new name for an old land that has proved its extraordinary resilience over and over again against tremendous odds. This country has been ravaged by natural calamities of all sorts for centuries. This small piece of land has been the victim of unbridled lust for wealth throughout its history. This country survived the colonial era, a time when 'a penny lost to the British Empire was a penny lost forever.' This country was subjected to two decades of economic and cultural repression, before retaliating forcefully to evict the occupation forces out of the country, leading to the manifestation of Bangladesh as an independent state in 1971. But even now Bangladesh has not become free from the treacherous clutches of the vultures seeking to rob the country off its riches.

It is against this backdrop that the question should be asked - what should the Independence Day of Bangladesh mean to me and others from my generation, who now form more than one-third of the entire population? We were not there on the fateful night of 25th March when the Pakistani invading forces launched their reprehensible attack on a defenseless nation. We were not there when Bangladesh finally broke its shackles to become a free country.

So, should we imagine the Independence Day to be something that belongs to the obscure past? But that is impossible to do. I have seen people from my generation stirred into a passionate frenzy after hearing the tales of the Liberation War. I know that many of us would have given anything to have been a freedom fighter, to have fought for the independence of Bangladesh in 1971. Thus, the spirit of the Independence Day lives on. The lesson that we are all reminded of on this day is that however insurmountable the obstacles may appear to be, the indomitable spirit of Bangladeshis will emerge triumphant. There can be no denying that we are passing through an uncertain time right now. And just like the valiant freedom fighters of 1971, this generation too has the glorious opportunity for fighting for the future of Bangladesh.

I wasn't sure if he was trying to beg. He looked old and shabby, the kind that tries to corner you in the street and beg for money under the guise of some looming emergency. I was too smart to listen to them. And, too selfish.

The only problem was he wasn't trying to corner me. He looked too aloof to be a regular con. We were both leaning against a rusty little bridge that arced over the cadaver of what used to be a lake years ago, but was now dried up and had more rocks and pebbles than water. On Friday afternoons people still came here to hangout. But it was no Friday and it was no afternoon either. It was a gloomy evening of what had already been a gloomy working day. The sun wasn't quite setting gracefully against the horizon. It looked almost as if the sun was choked to set, as the remnants of its rays hung back like a barely audible cry of help. In an hour like this people had better things to do than hang around a rickety old bridge, which left me as the sole audience of the self-proclaimed freedom fighter.

“I was young like you, and I thought I was going to save my country,” he chuckled.

I tried to look preoccupied. I picked a tiny piece of pebble and threw it off the bridge. It fell the two-storey distance and disappeared after hitting a rock down below. For the first time, I had a proper look at the old man. He had grey wisps of beard and a dwindling patch of white hair. Despite a dint of deliberate melancholy, his eyes shone with the fervor of a warrior that he was years ago. I realized that it's his eyes that had initially refrained me from dismissing him as a mere beggar.

I felt a little sorry for the old man. It was that time of the year again, and being a freedom fighter he was probably feeling a bit edgy about how things had turned out in our country.

“One of my uncles was a freedom fighter.” That was the best I had to offer.

The man chuckled again. “It's all right. You don't have to make a conversation.”

Then he jumped off the bridge.

He hit the rocks with a sickening thud. Even from the bridge I could hear the sound of his bones breaking, followed by a muffled groan. It took me a few seconds to come to terms with what had just happened. When I did, I rushed to the bottom of the bridge.

The old man was wreathing in pain. His legs were broken in few places. There were stubbles where his hands used to be. There was blood everywhere. I should have screamed for help, or called an ambulance or something.

Instead I ended up asking, “What did you do that for?”

The old man gasped out blood as he tried to speak.

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