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The Ideal Flaunting

May 10th 2010 06:31
By Maimoona Rahman

Courtesy of http://most-expensive.net


Contrary to popular belief, I don’t exactly own a limited edition pen from Montblanc; after all I’m not Marie Antoinette incarnate. Neither am I Carlos Slim Helu’s heiress. Besides, why would somebody waste a fortune on a pen made of expensive metals and studded with stones? You can’t even wear it on your ears or around your neck like a devotee of Lady Gaga. And you do get pens from Montblanc in Qatar, custom-made for the Qatari millionaires.

A fortune of blessings squandered on a pen – an object in gross disuse today – symbolises the rich buyer’s lack of foresight and infinite stupidity. No wonder they say that a fool and their money are soon parted. Besides, when investment is an option, what good is pointless squandering on something that is hardly used?

Ladies and Gentlemen of wealth, we are having an economic recession, in case you were too self-absorbed to know that. I agree that if you have wealth then you must, by default, have comforts as well, but a pen hardly categorises as material comfort. Buy a nice mansion with mirrored halls like Versailles (when you go bankrupt, you can auction it), or jewellery, or a little village off the coast. You could, better still, donate to the countless people without medical insurance, million starving children in godforsaken countries, institutions for the disabled. Just don’t buy a pen with glistening stones and a platinum nib when the rest of the world is clamouring for sunlight. Be practical and buy something of practical use, like a mansion with mirrored walls. Last night, while I stayed up reading Living, I came across an article on the remarkable beauty mirrors add to interior architecture. The pictures were amazing, and ever since, I have been day dreaming of rooms where beams of light dance through multiple reflections. Besides, living in a beautiful house is a luxury that comes handy unlike a pen.

Fact is, as my mother likes to believe, rich people are so inundated with wealth, they don’t have a clue on what to do with their booming fortunes, while students struggle to pay for college and little Indian children delight over a single pair of flip-flops for footwear. A nice palatial home, three brand new, off-the-showroom cars, exquisite jewellery, crystal ware, and mirrored halls are quite a lot of luxury. So why not let the remaining excesses flow into welfare of the less fortunate? Because at the end of the day, you wouldn’t even use the pen since you don’t write journals, you have a secretary who does all your writing work, and the pen weighs too much like a baby hippo to be used for writing. You can’t even wear the pen like a bangle!
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E-Sorrow

May 9th 2010 08:33
By Maimoona Rahman

Courtesy, techfodder.com

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Unshared Remembrance

May 8th 2010 06:06
By Maimoona Rahman


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Goody! Garlic!

May 8th 2010 05:53
By Maimoona Rahman


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One for Those Animals

May 6th 2010 22:01
By Maimoona Rahman


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Some Far Away Star is My Dream

May 4th 2010 06:36
Dear Old Maggi


Maggi dropped by last evening to say hello. He looked marvellous, as always, with his big round glassy eyes, and well-built physique. The drizzle irritated him a tad too much, nonetheless, he seemed delighted to meet me, and I him. And no, Maggi is no dude I fancy, he’s a big four-year old tomcat who took off from his family’s home last winter in hopes of settling down. All our male cats leave home at some point in their adult lives, and surprisingly, every two weeks or so they come by and say hi. Mum considers it motherly love that keeps drawing them back home, because clearly, they don’t come for the raw chicken or fish


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The Folly of the Digital Era

May 3rd 2010 06:17
A handwritten page from my journal.


There was a time, even in the late twentieth century, when we wrote with pens and pencils without our faces turning red with embarrassment. It was such a task to join the alphabets in kindergarten, but we mastered the art of it anyway because we were obsessed with our handwriting and the impression it created on our teachers. Some of the little boys in my class even had their butts whipped on a regular basis for their illegible handwritings (which was rather hilarious, though it should have been depressing). Who'd have known that one of these days, writing with pens and pencils would become so obsolete that the art of it seemed Amish. And you bet, those little victimised boys are desperate to meet their teachers from kindergarten one last time, this time with iPod touches and notebook computers that create all but the illegible


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Every other day, I pride in my competence in and around the kitchen, and yes, I most certainly know the difference between corn flour and self-raising flour. Well, maybe my sixteen year old cousin (Do I have one?) is a closer pal of the cooking range despite being a guy, but I still pride in myself because most of the girls I know are shameless gluttons who can’t cook for themselves and have to depend on either their mothers or some chef in some rodent-infested fast food outlet. Pity them! At least I can cook, which is fundamentally an added bonus for devoted foodies. I don’t have to thrash anybody’s front door every time a pang of hunger snags at my bile juices. Biologically, I’m not sure that happens.

Today, I discovered a marvel for all those incompetent devils who can’t master the art of cooking or baking, and ergo, have to call on expensive professional chefs for bites every now and then. This one is for the bachelors and bachelor-girls who have cravings at two in the morning, and there’s a conspicuous pile of homework languishing on the table adding to the woes of a flagrantly impoverished refrigerator. Here is a five-minute recipe that you can enjoy at any time of the day without having to forego the brilliant taste of chocolate cakes. Neither is this a cheap, bland substitute. This is bloody brilliant


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Tedious Twilight

April 28th 2010 08:28


If my Prince Charming even considers slipping a Twilight’ Engagement Ring on my finger, I swear upon my late great, great grandpa that I’ll whip the daylights out of him before figuratively flicking him out of the planet. I hate Twilight that much


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So Not a Journalist Am I

April 27th 2010 19:49


Once upon a time, I dreamt of carrying my writer’s dreams to the realms of journalism – creative, constructive, and unconventional journalism. I wanted to be the living nightmare of every conniving, monstrous Member of Parliament, who never had the scruples while embezzling from money set aside for welfare, or while setting their henchmen to do away with the innocent coroner. Somewhere in my head I had conjured up the possibility of employing journalism to humble away the awful politicians of Bangladesh who have sired and mothered only corruption and poverty. Success, I thought, meant to tread all the paths forking from journalism which no journalist had ever dared to tread


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