Belief

Everybody is so adamant on his believe, I mean religious belief.

If you see around, you will find that, other then some exceptional cases, a Hindu is so because he born in a Hindu family, a Christian is so because his parents are Christian, a Buddhist is so because he born in a Buddhist family somewhere around china and so on.

And the rest, whom I called exceptional earlier, although very few in number, consciously choose to be who they are. Again most of them are converted. Surprisingly, when someone get converted, firstly he has to be free of religion, that is- he seeks the truth ignoring the bias and uniqueness imposed by his family religion, and then he choose the one he like.

I believe that, every believer of any religion is supposed to choose his religion this way.

And, someone who doesn’t get satisfied anywhere will go agnostic.

What I want to be

Few days ago I typed an article in Keyhero.com; a typing practicing website.  It was about a story of writer’s own life. At his young age he wanted to be many things. He wanted to be a singer, a player, a writer, an actor and many such things.

I know I do feel the same same way now. Sometime I want to be a scientist or a researcher, I start talking science and technology, its trend, I applly for higher education, I dream to be a dynamic faculty. Sometime I want to be a humanitarian, I talk about my community, their future, how I should fulfill my responsibility to them, I start working on poor children, I start publishing science magazine for the current school genereation of my community. I find the club-feet children, try to arrange my official beneficial health care for them, and I dream to be someone like mother Teresa. Somtime I want to be a writter, I collect all my dust filled books, start reading, not as a reader but as a analizer or somthing like that, I try to figure out the style and moves the their writing, I fill another page of my diary, sometime I write a blog, try to collect some reader, broach my writing topic whenver I get a chance. Sometime I want to be a professional leader or a project manager; I plan my jobs, my personal and professional responsibilities, put those in the frame of project managenent, surf through 12manager.com, look how the successful professional people behaves, find out wht make them differen and successful, I look at the failure and lazy peole, try to figue out what makes them failure, why do some people keep them aside, dont involves themseves in the lucrative benefits of success, I see the change, and try to learn and I dream to be a professional leader, a C-leveled guy. sometime I want to be a technocrat, I envy Mark Zukerburg, a similar aged guy of me, I learn about the Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, I re-setup my old microcontroller, find out the lost software for programming, go through w3schools.com, buildup a webpages, dream to make a website that people will  stick with, students will fight on this forum, test takers will hone their brain thousands time before sitting on the final test, all for free, not so called internet free.

The writter, whom I was talking about, wrote next, “now I regret, why didn’t I wanted someting more specific, why I hovered around a lot of stuff and end up with nothing special?” In a rhetoric way he answer himself, “Its because I didn’t know what I really loved to do, what I want to be, and why I want to be so.” Them he finished, ” It would be much much batter if I know a day before I knew it. And it would be best if I wouldnt daudle after when I knew it, waht I did for many years.”

So, it reminds me , what I want to be, what I live to do, and what I love to do.

Now I know the answer, and now I am going for it.

Three worst thing you can do as a Boss

Everybody makes mistakes, you do as well as I do. Just keep the records, and apply to tease your employee at his weak moments, in front of everyone. Do it for two to three times and you get him down your elbow. (But remember- in his mind, he is letting his mad dog climb on you.)

Precaution: Don’t try it with smart people, they would kick your ass.

Second, leave your employee a job to do all by himself, don’t bother too much. Just wait and see, and assume, what he can do and what he cant. Now you are ready- call him, ask him show what he was supposed to do and split on his work. Now again you got him.

Over phone conversation in public silence

It happens very often, someone is speaking in public silent place, for example, in a bus, or in a waiting room. Its really uncomfortable to  sit silent there, listening what one speaking over phone loudly, specially when it seems that everyone else is completely invisible to him or her .

Sometimes it goes very uncomfortable, when you find that he or she get  emotional, may be talking to his or her girlfriend or boyfriend, , going soft and touchy in voice. It sucks, specially when you see someone is talking as if he is in his drawing room, even  sometimes bedroom.

I feel helpless, when I know I can’t interfere others conversion, so I better act indifferent, fuming inside.

Note: This is a text that I wrote on a over-phone conversion of a young lady in my office micro, this evening. Read below to see what I wrote fifteen minutes later……

Few minutes ago, when I was writing on an over phone conversation, it was about a beautiful girl. May be she was talking with her husband, or boyfriend, as it sounded.  The hurdle I was facing then was not that she was talking aloud, but I couldn’t help doing anything else,  it all coming in my head. How could I stop listening a beautiful girl ‘s beautiful voice!

The girl has stopped taking by now , but  a man in my back seat sitting just beside the girl, may be two years senior to me, has started an over phone conversation  last ten minutes ago. He has the most boring voice I have recently heard. I don’t know what he was taking  about, even though he was talking petty loudly, but I am sure I was getting nothing but a lot of noise and it is really bothering, .

Suddenly I realized an strange thing- when I was talking about the the girl; what disturbed me then was that I couldn’t keep my mind not-listening to her, and now, I do the same, but this time trying to keep my ear not to listen to him.

Lunch Table

Lunch table. In every office, as I have experienced, is the place of killing the bosses, bad bosses. Its a time of refreshment. When you get disgusted, or screwed, or harshly critcized by your boss, but can’t argue with him, lunch table with your trusted coleage or freinds will give you a chance to kick your boss’s ass, and that is a pure refreshment for sure.

My boss, Zaved bhai, must be lucky that I didnt have to bring him on such a court so far. But that doesnt meant I keep silent there, I do ignite all the discussion, actively, and trust me, it feels gooood.

Sometime I feel curious- is it only the bosses that make us pissed off? Aren’t we sometimes push us there? I guess both are true. Whatever, naturally, we must find a harbour when we get teased, or sometimes even insulted- and in our mind, we must kick their ass. But, again, I think sometimes we should take the responsibility too.

Conclusion is, if one continue getting insulted, his moral will be diminished, he will be broken. And that is the last thing one should allow to do with him.

Here goes lunch table, when you cant do it logically, it will give you a clean chance to take your shot.

Good writers

Millions of bloggers are writing on everyday; and most of them a freelance writer. When I go through Freshly Press tab of WordPress, I find it hard to concentrate on most of them, so naturally I prefer the photographic blogs. Thoroughly reading a long blog is really an unusual case unless that is my friend’s. But, Today for the first time, I found that I have finished reading a long post of an unknown blogger, and that is also without a pause.

That is the difference between a writer and a amateur. I know, every artist was an amateur first; so I wonder if I could read the first few script of that writer.

 

A memory that hurts

I was seventeen or eighteen then, not so long ago.  I experienced an event that touched my heart very much. It was about a girl of my age, an unmarried girl who became pregnant, a poor girl of a village, of a Muslim society. Her name was Naju.

She was our neighbor, only two house away from our house. We grew together, in the same village, in the same neighborhood. I was always shy about girls, so were not friend, and we didn’t talked much. We were just of the same age, of the same place, growing up kids.

From very childhood, she was different from all other kids, she was a little handicap. Everybody knew- she is a foolish girl, may be more than that.

Her family was the poorest of our village. She had another seven siblings and she was second of all. I don’t remember her going to school. I remember, when we were going to school, she, with her sisters were going to woods, for collecting dry, fallen wood, that they sell, five taka each bunch. We and many others of our village bought wood from them, for cooking. I had to visit their house very often to bring wood.

Things were going on the same, until she became adult. Then she used to work in  others house of our village, a safer way of earning of a adult girl- just like another girl of a poorest family.

By that time I had finished my SSC exam and left for Jessore Cantonment College for my intermediate study. I used to visit home once or twice per month and I was at my seventeenth or eighteenth year at that age. Just when it happened.

At some visit, I found the whole village is talking on an unprecedented incident of our village. It’s that- Naju is pregnant. Can you guess how much noise it can create, in a village, in a Muslim society?? It happened just like that.

The whole village was pointing finger to that girl, and she pointed her finger to Liton-a boy of 24 of our neighborhood. And the boy denied all she said.

The poor family of the Naju was dying for to find a way in blind darkness. They wanted to make her married with that boy. They went to police, not looking for justice, or punishment for guilt, but to threat the boy to marry her. But it didn’t worked. The police was silent, I didn’t know why. Then, at last, the poor family went to the heads of village, crying for justice.

They called for a  meeting for justice- “A PONCHAET”. At the evening, the whole village gathered to see what happen. It was happening in the Madrassa of our village. I witnessed it, standing outside the Madrassa, looking through the window.

First, the girl said everything, described the way it happened. Then the boy- he denied all of it. Then the witness of both party, and gradually it became a complete chaos, everyone trying to speak, soon the started shouting to make other hear. The girl was standing at a corner of the big room, full of crazy people. Her eyes was raining silent. She knew the truth is sinking, leaving her alone, helpless.

Next day I left for Jessore and I was lost in my bookish world. Lately, I found things were being fixed politically, giving shelter to the boy and soon the boy went free. Poor girl. I felt sorry for her.

Few month later she gave birth to a baby girl. A girl without a father, how will this girl  will grow up in such a society! What will happen to her, having a long life ahead!