Whether or not I think the backlash was deserved (I do) is a matter of a different debate. Right now, however, I’d like to discuss a much more important issue and that is Microsoft’s relationship with indie developers. This is one of the many things pushed under the rug during the unveiling of the Xbox, until Polygon reported the news that indie developers would be unable to self-publish on the new Xbox, a policy which was also present on the 360. This is highly surprising considering that both Sony and Nintendo offer very flexible policies to indie devs.

Of course, one might think this is a very minute thing. After all, where do indie games matter when the likes of Call of Duty and Halo define the industry, right? I beg to differ. Unlike what Microsoft would lead them to believe, it is no longer 2006 where indie games consisted of causal flash games. Instead we live in a world where Journey is winning multiple Game of the Year awards, Minecraft is just as popular Halo and Tim Schafer is raising $3 million through crowd funding to make a game no publisher wants to fund.

The growth of the video gaming industry has led to several things that fans take for granted. One of them is an inherent lack of innovation due to the ridiculously high production costs involved. The reason we see so many shooters is that publishers are unwilling risk millions of dollars when they know they can stick to tried and tested formulas. People realize that innovation has to come through a different medium, and that has for years been provided by indie games. With lower production costs, smaller teams and target audiences, indie games can take liberties mainstream devs can’t. For instance, look at the upcoming fighting game Dive Kick by the One True Gamer Studio, which uses only two buttons to dive and kick and only features one-hit KOs. Sounds absurd? It is, but if press previews are anything to be believed the game shows surprising complexity and depth and already has a large fan following. Where else but indies are you going to see such innovative ideas? EA or Activision? Unlikely.

Gameplay in Dive Kick.

Even more important is the fact that there are now dedicated outlets to promoting and selling indie games. Valve’s Steam, for instance, is the largest PC-only digital distribution site in the world, and it prominently achieved that through sales of indie games. Youtube personality TotalBiscuit has a channel dedicated to promoting indie games which now has over a million subscribers. Indie developers themselves have a tight knit community with fans that rely on play testing and fan feedback to make to make better games. This community is vital for the growth of games as not a product, but an art form. And with Microsoft’s new policy, they are essentially handing this community to Sony and Nintendo on a silver platter.

Look at the contrary approach Sony has taken with the PS4. During the press unveiling, while Sony showed the likes of Watch Dogs, Killzone and Destiny, they also had Jonathan Blow, developer of the 2008 indie darling Braid, reveal his new game, The Witness. And then at GDC, they had an entire press conference dedicated to showing how indie developers would easily be able to publish their games on the PS4. And let us also not forget that critical hits such as Journey, The Unfinished Swan and Papa & Yo were all PS3 exclusives.

Sony knows where the industry needs to go and is willing to adapt to it, whereas Microsoft is still stuck in its own bubble. While Microsoft will undoubtedly sell to the casual mainstream with its Call of Duties and Maddens, it has yet to grasp the audience that truly cares about the industry, the group of core gamers. And when the history of the industry will be retold, it is these core gamers who will be telling it. And if Microsoft cannot adapt, it is unlikely that they will have the story told in their favor.

“It’s just a word,” I pointed out, my eyes still rolling in their sockets. She disagreed. She said I didn’t understand, that I wasn’t even trying to.

I didn’t really understand. So, my dad lived in the U.S.A., paid for my bourgeois English medium education and visited me once a year, and thus anything remotely western was inherently revolting to her.

I tried to reason with her, of course; to tell her that the word wasn’t important as long as the meaning behind it was the same. But my mother didn’t want to hear it. She would always cut me off and start to blame my father for spoiling me. She blamed him for a lot of things – marrying her, making her give birth to me at the cost of her career, leaving her – the list could go on. My yet running-young thought processes figured that my father was the only one who wanted me to be born, but then it also stumped me as to how I ended up living with her, and not with him.

Over the years, she would keep adding to the list of things she didn’t want me to do. I couldn’t have boys over to the house, and my friends had to leave by six p.m. I wasn’t allowed to date, or go to concerts, or talk on the phone after dinner. She tried to make me look more attractive in a feminine sort of way. Every now and then, she’d suggest that I apply some turmeric paste to make my skin look fair, or just simply oil my hair. The more she tried to push her endless rules on me, the more I found ways to defy them. I told my mother I was going to the library but instead went to the movies with my friends. I used Math Club meeting as an excuse to postpone going home for a few hours, and most of those hours were spent at the park, or the mall with other people. I had a friend named Lisa who had a huge comic book collection, and after school we went to her house and read issue after issue. Her mother, with henna tinted hair and silver wire-rimmed glasses, made us sandwiches and lemonade. She brought the food into Lisa’s room and left it sitting on top of a small table. My mother never allowed anybody to take food out of the dining room. She also got offended when I said I was tired of eating the same kind of food every day. She said she spent hours preparing food for us, and that I should try being less ungrateful. She said the word “ungrateful” a lot. Sometimes, she would forbid me from going out to a restaurant when I refused to eat at home, and the two of us would sit there in a silent deadlock at the dining table.

Then one day, she saw me at the mall. She was there with her cousin, unbeknownst to me, shopping for a birthday present for a friend. I was there with Samer, a boy from school. We were holding hands. My mother strode over to us and grabbed me by the arm. Without a word or even a second glance at Samer, she led me away. Her grip on my arm tightened as we reached her car. I knew she didn’t want to make a scene in front of people, or even her cousin. The three of us were wordless during the car ride. My mother dropped her cousin, Farzana, off at her apartment and then drove us home. Once we were inside, the first thing she did was call my father over the phone. She didn’t care that it was the dead of night where he was. She told him that I lied about going to the library. She said I was a disgrace, that she would never be able to show her face to Farzana again. Dad tried to calm her down but she started yelling. She said that I was never to see Samer again, and that I wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere by myself except school. I yelled back. I told her she was being unfair, that she was just a lonely and bitter old woman who was miserable with her own life and therefore wanted to ruin mine. She slapped me across the face. There was static on the phone. There was static in the whole world, at that moment.

The next day I cut off most of my long black hair into asymmetric layers. I dyed it red. I referred to my mother as “Mom”, every opportunity I had. It was soon after that, when she stopped reacting to everything. She pretended not to notice my hair or clothes anymore, and only spoke to me during mealtimes.

By the time I was a senior in high school, I had stopped trying to hide anything. I never brought anyone home again but continued to date the guys I liked. My hair grew back but remained asymmetric and socially unacceptable. My boyfriend and I would frequent the concerts and often share a joint afterwards. Dad had never opposed anything, and my mother never grew to tolerate it. She knew that ordering me not to have a boyfriend would be futile, so she stopped trying. Instead, she began to tell me who I should or should not date.

“Why can’t you find a nice boy for once?” she asked one evening as I was getting ready to go to an unplugged music session at a lounge.

“Because I’m not interested in any of the nice guys,” I replied. ‘And they’re not interested in me. We’ve been through this before.”

“How can they be interested if you keep doing that to yourself?” she asked, her face scrunched as she motioned towards my hair, my makeup, my clothes. “No sane, decent man is going to approach a girl who always looks like she is going to a funeral with a horrible dress code.”

I tried to ignore her but she kept talking, rearranging the aanchal of her purple sari. “I’m only telling you because I don’t want you to throw away your life behind the wrong man. These punk boys- you may think that you understand them, but you never will. And they won’t understand you. They won’t be with you till the end. Remember that.”

I had heard it all before, several times, and still I couldn’t help but feel annoyed with her. “Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical of you to tell me to have a steady relationship with a typical Bengali cultured boy?”

“Don’t you think it is hypocritical of you to go out of your way not to?”

I was saved from answering, or even wondering about her insight, as my phone started to ring. My date was here. He wasn’t allowed to enter the house. I answered the call as I slipped into my shoes. I was running down the stairs within moments.

My mother had nothing to say as I went through my SAT and prepared my college applications. She didn’t ask where I was applying or what I wanted to study. Although I had waited three years for this day, I got scared right before my flight. I had never flown that far alone. I had really never even stayed anywhere without my mother before. She was even more silent than usual.

My dad and his wife picked me up from the airport. I spent a week at their guest room before joining the college which was in a different state. My dad called everyday at the beginning, then once a week. By the time I was a senior he called on the special occasions like birthdays or New Years only. So, the invite to spend the Thanksgiving holidays with them was a bit surprising. It was there that I met Partho, and the meetings after that just … happened. Everything was such a whirlwind in those days. My main correspondence with my mother was through letters. She stopped asking about my love life as she could neither support my relationships with the white American boys, nor could she do anything to stop me. I never offered information myself. Therefore, I never ended up writing about Partho.

We went back to Bangladesh right after his graduation, a year after mine. We were engaged by then. Partho’s family insisted on throwing us an engagement party. I didn’t listen to her protests that evening. I made her sit still while I applied lilac eye-shadow on her lids and berry-kiss lip gloss matching her pale purple-fuchsia saree.

Two weeks before my marriage, we went to my home with our shopping. Ma asked Partho to stay over. I sat quietly, listening to Partho telling Ma about the shopping and the wedding plan. I knocked down a glass full of water accidentally. When I returned from the kitchen with a towel, I heard him telling her about how we went to zillions of shops but couldn’t find the perfect saree for me. Every saree was too dark- mauve, or violet, not the perfect shade of lavender to match my sapphire engagement ring. Partho was making fun of me in his own sweet way. He always did that. Ma was close to smiling. I could tell.

Partho and I both left for work together in the morning. That night, Ma knocked lightly on my door. As she stood at the door, she was close to smiling again. I really could tell. She then asked me to come to her room. There, she took out a cellophane wrapped saree. I instantly recognized the saree from the pictures. It was her wedding saree- intricate golden patterns over the palest lavender. She then searched my face for some semblance of what was, and what was to be, and softly asked me my thoughts about wearing it for my wedding.

I said it was perfect.

Manchester United Supporters Club of Bangladesh (MUSCBD) is the biggest supporters club of the Red Devils in the country. It is a platform where the fans share common interest, discuss each possible transfer rumor and celebrate each of RVP’s goals with equal enthusiasm. The group unites all the passionate supporters of Man United in Bangladesh, providing opportunities to watch matches together, analyze each mistake and burst out in joy and share the happiness come the end of normal time plus five added minutes, when the 3 points are in the bag.

So what else does MUSCBD have to offer? How did it all start? Why you should be a part of it if you are a Manchester United fan?

In conversation with, Neon Tahidul Islam, Founder and Admin of MUSCBD.

UNaB: What sparked the idea of opening an official group for the fans? How was the response at the beginning?

Neon: Actually our supporters’ club is not officially registered as of yet. We are working on getting registered in Registrar of Joint Stock Companies (RJSC). We are hopeful the process will be complete very soon. We wanted all the supporters of Manchester United in Bangladesh to be under one shed, cheering the team on and sharing their view points. This makes the thrill of the game thousand times better and the support for the club even stronger. We have always been very active on Facebook since the very start but we need a platform outside Facebook to arrange our regular events that is why we are working on getting official recognition. At the beginning of the group, the response was very low. Actually for first three years we had only few active members. Gradually the group turned in a bigger platform for Man United supporters from Bangladesh as more people got to know about the group, joined in and brought in the friends to join the cheering crowd.

UNaB: What are the activities and events MUSCBD have arranged for the members in the last 5 years?

Neon: We worked on strengthening the group for the first few years, mainly through Facebook. Outside Facebook we have had active presence for the last two years. We co-operated with Airtel during Barclays Premier League Trophy Tour of Manchester United. Legends Bryan Robson and Dwight Yorke came to Dhaka and our members got the chance to meet them, get a glance of the trophy and take pictures. We were also fortunate to meet former United player Quinton Fortune last year during his trip to Bangladesh. Besides such mega scale events,we also arrange big match day events, where the fans get together and watch the match in a big screen. Yearly events include Iftaar get togethers and also Annual Picnic. Furthermore, we have the prediction contest going on where the fans predict scorelines on United matches each week on Facebook, and the grand winner at the end of the season is awarded by the group.

UNaB: How do you think having an official group of the club helps the fans here in BD?

Neon: An official supporters’ club can help bring in all the supporters from a particular region together. In order to get support from corporate bodies and going for sponsor deals in our events,we need an official platform and MUSCBD offers that.

UNaB: Any achievement / highlight of your life as a MUSCBD admin that you would like to share with the readers?

Neon: There are many to be honest, but I would say meeting United legends like Bryan Robson and Dwight Yorke was the highlight and chanting “Glory Glory Man United” with the BPL trophy. The fact that the whole group is one big family is the biggest achievement of all, each sharing their joy, thoughts and ideas about the game with the rest. I also feel great to represent the supporters from Bangladesh to Manchester United, it is indeed an honor.

UNaB: What are MUSCBD’s future plans?

Neon:We want official recognition from Manchester United. It is very difficult to get official recognition from Manchester United as we do not have travelling fans to Old Trafford. We are in touch with Man United officials and if they relaxe some of the rules then our supporters club can be officially recognized by Manchester United. We are currently working on it, and hope that it can be done in the near future.
From next season we would like to offer official membership of MUSCBD to the supporters. We would like to make some sponsorship deal with corporate bodies to arrange special events besides arranging regular events.

UNaB: A quick one, your all time Best XI of Man Utd:

Neon: Tough to pick an All Time Best XI. I would rather pick the players I have watched playing for United. Here it goes:

Edwin van der Sar, Gary Neville, Nemanja Vidic, Rio Ferdinand, Denis Irwin, Ryan Giggs, Paul Scholes, Roy Keane, David Beckham, Cristiano Ronaldo, Wayne Rooney.

UNaB: Anything you want to say to the Man United fans of BD through UNaB ?

Neon: I would thank them for their continuous support over the years and their contributions and sacrifices for the group.Through UNaB I would like to pass on a message that all of you should keep shouting while supporting your club though thick and thin. I would also like to thank UNaB and want them to be with MUSCBD in the future.

It was almost sunset as I climbed the steep path that lead to the top of the cliff. His favorite place in the world, his favorite time of day. Tear tracks stained my cheeks, my eyes were puffy, my face blotchy and red, and the black ceramic urn holding his ashes held firmly in my hand.

I reached the top of the cliff and the breathtaking view reminded of me why it was Noah’s favorite place in the world. The Pacific stretched out as far as the eye could see, turquoise darkening to navy the closer it got to the horizon, and was tinged with brilliant shades of orange. In a sky touched with amber, with a luscious, sultry magenta from the setting sun, a fiery orange ball glowed far away.

As I held the urn close to my chest, I closed my eyes and thought of him.

I could visualize him so clearly that it set my heart thudding against my rib-cage. It was as if he was right beside me. His hair at first glance seemed merely dark brown, but to me, someone who had run their fingers through his hair a million and one times, it was much more – innumerable strands of brown, gold and black. His eyes appeared dark brown as well, spellbinding and penetrating, but were actually kaleidoscopes of russet and sienna flecked with gold. Like two twin pools of melted chocolate, into which I could dive and never resurface. His lips… always evoked overpowering desires to kiss him then and there. And it was those lips that curved into that dimpled smile of his, as if telling me everything would be alright. But would it really?

Loneliness hit me with crippling strength and I was gripped with a sudden paralyzing urge to touch him, hold him, for just a fraction of a second. Just once more. But I knew the moment I opened my eyes he would disappear. I took a long, deep breath. I exhaled slowly. I opened my eyes. A soft breeze danced towards the ocean and I slowly took the urn from its place beside my heart and scattered his ashes into the ocean.

Tears welled in my eyes and a single tear escaped, opening the gates for the seemingly endless stream that followed. “I love you Noah,” I whispered softly.

He really was gone from my life.

I blink away the tears that have appeared in my eyes and smile sadly. The wind plays with my hair, blowing tendrils of it across my face and toys with the edge of my skirt. It has been quite a long time since I last came here. Life doesn’t stop for anybody, even if it seems like there is no point of life anymore. There isn’t a day that passes that I go to bed without thinking of him, but life goes on. I take one last look at the ocean and walk down the cliff, the grass soft and wet beneath my bare feet.

Let’s get the proper justice for ALL the War Criminals. Let’s get justice for Shagor-Runi, Bisshojit and the 52 officers. Open your eyes, youth. It’s time for change. Real change.

Bangladesh is in a chaotic mess. With the parliamentary elections coming up next year and the expected war-crime trials – I’m surprised 2013 hadn’t been red-flagged on our calendars from before. So as expected (or not!) we are going through a terrible time. There are hartals every alternate day causing major losses of school/work time, delays in exams, fall in the economy and what not. And let’s not forget the post-Jumma Friday massacres.

Amongst all that bullshit, there was one shining beacon of hope that made a tiny ember of hope flicker within us: The Shahbagh Movement.

Well, at least. It was.

Is this where I get showered with profanities? I’m guessing it is. And that is where we know that Bangladesh as hit an all time low. We can’t even speak our minds without being called a ‘Razakaar’ or an ‘Atheist’. There’s no zero ground. You don’t go to Shahbagh, you’re immediately labeled as a Jamaati Razakaar or an Ignorant Asshole. You go to Shahbagh and you see the opposition party calling you an Islam-Hating-Awami-Endorsing-Bloody-Atheist. I’m an atheist and I can assure you, I got no memo to specifically attend the Shahbagh Movement.

The thing is at the very start – the entire aspect of the Shahbagh Movement was beautiful. Everyone was united under one common ground – our nationality. We were Bangladeshis demanding justice for the crimes committed during our Liberation War. These War Criminals (note, how I’m not referring to them as razakaars) deserve the death penalty. We were united by a common goal yet things went awry within a few weeks.

Enter religion and politics and boom! And even something as glorious as the Shahbagh Movement gets marred.

Frankly speaking, I am just sick of the extremists. I stopped going to Shahbagh when the protests changed from ‘Kader Mollah’s hanging’ to ‘Mahmudur Rahman’s arrest’. Newspapers have literally always been known to bullshit us. Since when have we started demanding arrests for that? We’re a democracy. We have the rights to free speech. We have the rights to bullshit the public, if we have the money to print it. So when the protests take a turn towards ‘banning Jamaat’ because of all the anarchy that they are causing – I assume that the youth is taking a grand step to change ‘every aspect’ of our country, political too. While everyone was so outraged about the tribunal decisions, no one questioned why the government would allow such an incompetent tribunal in the first place. All our political hate? Focused mainly on Jamaat and BNP, right around the election time too. Funny, isn’t it? Let’s talk politics.

We totally hate Jamaat and BNP.

Look at all the chaos that they are causing – the hartals, the rising death numbers, everything. Jamaat is even doing heinous things like breaking Shaheed Minars. Even the ones Juboleague (Awami Student League) people were arrested for breaking. Nobody brings that up. What am I? A Razakaar now? How do even define Razakaar? Traitors to the country, right? There were plenty of people back during the war who allied with the Pakistanis just to save their own necks. They committed no rape, no murder, no plunders and yet, here we are demanding all of their deaths.

One may justify the Shahbagh slogans by saying that despite not being specific – they are intended towards the actual criminals – the War Criminals. Why not call them just that then?

Speaking of crimes, politics and war criminals – has anybody noticed that the names on the trials are somewhat … ummm … biased?

I’m pretty sure Jamaat isn’t the War Criminals’ Club, BNP and Awami League has its fair share too. Why aren’t we naming those highly powerful men in the current/ex government? We claim to want change; we claim to be protesting – so why are we deviating from our initial goal? Let’s bring justice, first. Let’s get all the war criminals hanged before focusing on the political aspects of the country. Why do renowned freedom fighters like Qader Siddique get sued for naming these scum who are still part of the government – and no one in Shahbagh talks about that.

Shahbagh and the youth? Right now? Pathetic. Jamaat? It’s a political party. We’re a democracy. No one’s forcing you to vote. Chill, man.

I want to talk about BNP now. We’ve recently seen the arrest of 154 BNP politicians. On what accusations? They were committing terrorist acts, keeping Molotov Cocktail bombs in their offices. As for anyone who’s watched the news – we could see clearly how the police discovered randomly strewn bombs from all over the office. Ummm. So BNP politicians are trying to blow themselves up?

Police breaks into the BNP office. Media Follows. Police kicks the reporters out. Lets them enter again. Ooh, look randomly placed bombs. Seems legit. Let’s arrest people.

Now that’s when you know the shit has hit the fan.

Bangladesh is currently under the gooey mess, where 154 politicians can get framed for terrorism upon finding strewn bombs in their office. Either the BNP politicians missed Terrorism 101 in college, while JMB was feverishly taking notes – or the last time I checked, if you were planning terrorist acts – you’re supposed to keep your explosives packed and safe. Not one under your couch and another in front of the washroom doors. (See GTV and Ekattor Live Telecast). So the government thinks it can bullshit us with anything it wants. Funnily, when Mahmudur Rahman does the same – he gets threatened.

The current political situation is absolutely puke-inducing.

I think Jamaat on rampage is pretty bad and it was golden opportunity for BNP to cut their alliance with Jamaat. Or they could’ve simply kept their mouths shut and watched the show. The cold, hard fact is that the elections are nearing each and every day. There’s a saying ‘All’s well that ends well’. And I’m going to put my opinion out point blank. Awami League is playing that card pretty well. We get War Crime Justice, right before the elections? Everyone’s happy. You’ve read my article from the beginning. I want justice as much as any of you do. But when it’s used as a political ploy. It’s sick.

I am grateful, that no matter how long it took – we still got justice. But unlike the majority of the population who are off celebrating and singing glory to Awami League – I’m not buying into this.

Awami Government gave us War Crime Justice. I am thankful for that. Why did it take 42 years anyway? Assuming BNP is the spawn of the devil, Awami League came into power back in 1996 too. Why didn’t we get justice then? Alas, no one questions that. I am grateful, that no matter how long it took – we still got justice. But unlike the majority of the population who are off celebrating and singing glory to Awami League – I’m not buying into this. I still remember the government not ensuring security to people in their own homes and the streets. I remember Shagor-Runi’s deaths, I remember Bisshojit’s telecasted murder, I remember the 52 officers killed during the BDR Massacre. None of which have been brought to justice. Do we have to wait 42 years for that too? I hope not.

Let’s get the proper justice for ALL the War Criminals. Let’s get justice for Shagor-Runi, Bisshojit and the 52 officers. Open your eyes, youth. It’s time for change. Real change.

Now this is something which according to me is top secret business. But if I had to make a guess, then I would say that it might or might not be (yes, something in between). Because in one hand I see the government giving full support and security to this movement. And even latrines and other things you need to spend your whole day protesting. But again I see even the most general people are participating in this movement. Parents not scared to send their children, and even the female society of our country are showing their full support. So you have to admit that it is a very controversial situation.

I believe Islam can participate in politics and in every sector of life, because Islam is the code of life. So I have no grudges against Jamaat Shibir regarding the aspect of Islam. What I do object is that they use Islam in a very wrong way. They use it to manipulate the religion fearing illiterate population of our country and lead them to in an evil way. We can see that in the incident that happened at Bogra. Come on, Sayeedi’s face at the moon? That’s practically equivalent to defying Khatamun Nabuwat and committing Shirk and Kufr at the same time. Apart from this the mass killing they do is not acceptable in any way. For this I think Jaamat Shibir should be banned.

BNP is in league with Jamaat Shibir that we know. But I think they should’ve at least shown some support towards the Shahbag moment. Because they are supporters of the liberation war, our freedom right? Or their clash and enmity against Awami league made them forget about this fact. This clash between the political party is making the youth society even more disoriented.

At first I used to say that the youth society should involve themselves in politics to change the condition of our country. But I guess they took that step too fast and the result was not as I expected. I think the youth society should concentrate more on solving the illiteracy problem of our country which is the biggest social problem of our country. After this problem is removed from our country then we can expect to see a progressive change in Bangladesh in every sector of our lives. So let us take one small step at a time. And in this way we’ll reach our ultimate goal.

As it is, we are in a focal point in history when our actions will determine our future. And the future obviously, is made through debates and discussions. But it is important to make sure that any course of event takes place through rational discourse and united thought, and not just blind religious or political beliefs.

I have already mentioned in a previous article that the Shahbagh movement has been the manifestation of the long-lost search for justice, equality and rule of law for all. Not only did it shed light on our painful past and address the need to take up our best arms for all those people who were killed and raped in the liberation war, but also made sure that we can dream and envisage a future where law and order, and a conscience for equity will prevail. But above all, the movement demonstrated the flame of unity — an intrinsic character of any nation that pursues sustenance in the long run.

Of course, that was until the opposition party BNP took up its hardest line against the movement and began to befuddle the public by promoting Shahbagh as an anti-Islamic, Awami League-sponsored, pro-atheist conspiracy against the nation. By branding the movement’s main spokesperson Imran H Sarker as an Awami League leader, BNP and its allies including the war criminal Jamaat successfully turned a lot of eyes — eyes that were already too lazy and confused on whether to join the movement — against Shahbagh and called everything a political scam to pull the nation out of all the positive things that the ruling Awami League has failed to achieve in its four years.

But for me, one perspective is definite. I really, really do not give a fuck whether the movement was secretly organized by the Awami League-led incumbent government.

What matters to me more is the fact that for some discrete few days, just before the nation succumbed to the pro-Jamaat propaganda led by the opposition group BNP and its problematic Islamist allies; and engaged into a fierce conflict of culture versus religion, we were united as a country. We dreamt of justice for the 3 million martyrs and 200,000 raped women. We trusted our conscience and went forward into what we believed in. We added our voice and presence into something we believed in. And while the rest of our lazy mates, who are more comfortable calling the whole thing an anti-Islamic, pro-Awami League conspiracy, were sitting inside their air-conditioned rooms and sipping their share of never-ending Gatorade, a big fraction of us went ahead and led the fight for justice on the roads. It was unity—-something that our nation had not witnessed since 1971.

Since I have never really been able to play the emotive cards, I should like to end this post with answers to two groups of people specifically because of the level of annoyance they have given me.

• To those of you who sit at home and claim that the whole thing is an Awami League sponsored scam: have you ever wondered how any party can afford to pay around 150,000 people every single day just so that they sit there tight and waste away their voices? Have you any idea of the huge amounts of funds something like this requires? And even if they did, many like me were present there from around the beginning. So where is my money? I don’t remember anyone ever slipping a few thousand taka notes into my pockets.

• Secondly, to some stupid folks who claim that where there is Biryani, you will find Bengali: how dumb is it to presume that people will leave all their chores and simply sit there to have a plate of biryani at night? Have you any idea of the diversity of people who go there? Do you honestly, in your proper state of mind, think people with all sorts of different occupations go there just for food? Pathetic.

As it is, we are in a focal point in history when our actions will determine our future. And the future obviously, is made through debates and discussions. But it is important to make sure that any course of event takes place through rational discourse and united thought, and not just blind religious or political beliefs. Whatever path we take to go forward, it is imperative that we address our historical wounds at first.

I think Robin Hood was a criminal, I think socialism is un-natural and I think inequity is nature’s way of ensuring survival of the fittest. I think God does exist. Yes, surprise surprise!

Before we start pulling at each other’s hairs and start hurling the ‘Razakar’ and ‘Naastik’ slogans, I am not here to do my version of the O’Reily Factor. I am here to simply state some fairly obvious facts:

1. There are Jamaatis in this country, whether you like it or not, Jamaatis do exist.

They aren’t just a small minority, they are not negligible and they are not a group of bandits that you can just brush under the socio-political rug as “Militant Islamists”. They are a fully functional political party that has democratically won elected seats in Parliament (emphasis on elected). Those not-so-bearded men you see hurling Molotov cocktails during the Hartals? Yeah, they weren’t hired by the evil Pakistanis.

2. Everyone has their own personal agendas and political/ideological biases; yours might not coincide with mine.

I think Robin Hood was a criminal, I think socialism is un-natural and I think inequity is nature’s way of ensuring survival of the fittest. I think God does exist. Yes, surprise surprise!

3. Let’s face it, the Shahbagh Movement was never a “protest” to begin with.

It had an agenda fully endorsed by the state, protected by armed riot police and funded by major companies. Don’t you dare compare it to Tahrir Square or those brave people who risked life and limb jumping in front of APCs. No Dictator hurled tear gas or rubber bullets at the Shahbagh protestors. No one is even trying to stop them. There isn’t anything mildly revolutionary about Shahbagh.

4. Anti-Liberation forces are not the root of all problems; The Jamaat and the Razakars are not the root of all the problems in the country.

It was not a bearded Razakar who killed The Father of the Nation. No, they were all decorated freedom fighters. And it was certainly not the Jamaatis who killed 52 Army Officers under your own free sky. All that the Jamatis have done since 1971 is build banks like Islami Bank and build Hospitals like Ibn Sina. Not to mention they attracted some of the brightest minds to join their student wing; it is an open secret than only the most talented end up in Shibir. Yes, they sung anti-liberation slogans; yes, they trashed cars, beat up people and assaulted cops. But so has every other political party in the country. If you don’t want Jamaat, don’t vote for them. Last time I checked, Bangladesh was still a democracy.

All of you shouted your lungs out to hang Kader Mollah but not one of you had the balls to call out the names of the Razakars in the government? And you compare yourself to Tahrir square?

5. There are Razakars in the current government.

You want justice for the war criminals? Why don’t you start from the ones hiding in plain sight – the ones working in the present government? It was only last month when the infamous freedom fighter himself, Kader Siddiqui pointed his finger at the Razakars in the government. All of you shouted your lungs out to hang Kader Mollah but not one of you had the balls to call out the names of the Razakars in the government? And you compare yourself to Tahrir square?

6. Shahbagh has turned political.

There is no question over it. Only a fool would even try denying it. Our divinely ordained supreme leader Imran H. Sarkar has launched an all out war against anyone who wishes to express doubts over the movement. He has turned Shahbagh into his one personal vendetta tool. Suddenly Editors of Newspapers can’t express their views out of fear that mobs will demand their arrest; yes I am talking about Mahmudur Rahman, the editor of Amar Desh. If Rajib has the democratic right to flame and enrage 90% of 160 million people, then Mahmudur Rahman deserves some slack.

7. The term ‘Razakar’ and ‘War-criminal’ are not inter-changeable. Set aside your prejudices for a moment. Think about it – How naïve would it be to assume all Razakars are rapists or murderers?

Making such a declaration is walking a slippery slope. It only opens doors to more prejudice. Yes, we won the war, they lost. Now get on with it. “Hang all the Razakars” only sounds catchy in the heat of the moment. It is as bigoted and prejudiced a notion as is the notion that Bengalis are inferior because they are short and dark.

Before I leave you all to ponder over these things, let me make one thing clear: I’m not speaking against rapists or murderers getting hanged. I wouldn’t shed a tear for the war criminals that are on death row, I am not on the ISI pay-roll, I am not a Jamaati –I am a Bangladeshi – Born and Bred. I am merely asking you all to acknowledge the fact that not everyone is on your side. And that not everyone in opposition is a Razakar. And I think at this point it is safe to say that Shahbagh as a whole is as bigoted as the Jamaatis.

Now before you go screaming for the ban of Jamaat, think about this: The United States of America allows the existence of the Ku Klux Klan as a fully functional political organization while a black man is in office.

1) Religion is like your personal diary. What you write in it entirely depends on your thoughts, emotions, aims, beliefs and so on. It is how you feel it is, it’s personal. Now, if I ever get inspired by your diary-writing, I will start writing my own one day. You cannot push me saying “Pro… If you don’t start writing diary from tomorrow, I will burn your house!” So absurd!

Similarly, if you meet an atheist, you can’t force him to believe in God. If a realisation of that kind ever hits him, feelings will evolve purely naturally. HOPE and INSPIRE! Forcing is something your religion does not support in the first place. “I kill in the name of God, I shall earn Imaan.” — is wrong. Killing has been and always will be the most deadly sin for any religion. It contradicts humanity. Humanity is religion itself!

“Dhormo jaar jaar, Rashtro shobaar”

2) Culture is the way of life. It is the way in which a nation has been running for ages. It is a country’s unique way of, say, speaking, writing, dressing, celebrating, and therefore, existing.

If I were born in Japan, I would be glad to wear Kimonos and use chopsticks— follow my tradition. If you would hear me saying “Eww…Chopsticks are just so stupid! Why not use spoons instead?” standing on my very land, it would be an awful disgrace. It would be a shame for me for I would’ve had failed to observe the goodness of my country’s culture.

3) A nation consists of millions of people having millions of ways in which they value the term God; like to some diary-writing is a must every night and to others it is extremely useless.

Despite this variation, why are Bangladeshis still called Bangladeshis? Why is a single term used? There must be one factor that brings unity and holds them together. What is it? It is CULTURE.

Leading Bangladesh

I suck at politics, but one thing is clear to me:

Religion cannot lead a country. It—

• Is personal, varying from person to person.
• Is sensitive.
• Can cause disagreements, because different people have different religious views.
• Therefore, it cannot bring unity and hold the nation as one!

Culture must be preserved. It—

• Is precious
• Is common to all and does not vary from person to person.
• Brings unity.
• Helps the nation to stand upright with head held high, against the rest of the world.
• Is something we must learn to respect, so that any American visiting Bangladesh can go back home and say, “The combination of white Saree with red lining can suit a lady perfectly! But I don’t know how they manage the length of it. Let’s go on Youtube and learn it, maybe?”

Please do not get me wrong on this. I am a pure Muslim and I believe in Allah and the Prophet (PBUH). I have as much faith on Allah as Hindus have on their Gods, Christians have on Jesus Christ and Buddhists have on Buddha. But in leading a country, it would never be just to force Hindus, Christians, Buddhists, and all, to follow Islam. Burning Hindu citizens’ houses can never bring peace. It was never the law of Islam.

You cannot push me saying “Pro… If you don’t start writing diary from tomorrow, I will burn your house!”

I am not a blogger and please don’t slaughter me if your thoughts oppose mine. I simply agreed with the girl on TV who said “Dhormo jaar jaar, Rashtro shobaar.”, extending the expression, trying to simplify it.

I do not want to impress the world with the vocabulary collected from years of reading anything I could lay my hand on since I was four (which incidentally meant that I read a few Mills and Boon novels when I was eight, with certain chapters leaving naive innocent me completely bewildered). The essence behind the myriad of phrases is more important; I need you to connect with my words.

I do not like overly long sentences and tall single paragraphs of word vomit that lose their meaning along the way. Massive blocks of text that overwhelm me. I like the organisation that multiple paragraphs bring, folders and shelves of books and papers rather than a pile scattered on my bedroom floor. I like the pause between ideas, to allow the meaning sink in, for the words to sink through my pores and travel to my brain and my heart.

I do not like traditional forms of writing: formal; with an intro, a body and a conclusion; complete sentences with their subject and verb aligned; sentences that do not start with conjunctions. I like lists, conversations and streams of consciousness, those that make the piece a little bit more personal and give people a further insight into myself. Because isn’t this why I write? To express myself? I may dislike certain trends of writing passed along over time, but I do like my grammar to be on point, my spelling to be accurate, even if it is the most commonly misspelled word in the world.

I love words. I love how they look on paper, the strokes of my pen needed to form each letter, dark lines against a white page. I love putting words together, arranging them on a string from start to finish and telling people my stories and my thoughts. I love what they mean on their own, what they can mean with the help of others. I love how a different combination of the same can be the distinction between the message travelling to your brain, or to your heart.

I want to tell you things I’ve never told the world, show you pieces of my mind that are invisible to anyone but me. Will you let me?