Rickshaw Diaries

BY RUMMAN R KALAM
You get into a rickshaw, order the rickshaw-puller in a commanding voice “FORWARD!”. Being devoid of testosterone compared to your charged up alpha-male ego. He scrambles onto his pedals and pulls you forward, disregarding the fact that ‘forward’ might mean the ends of Middle-Earth. After pulling for ten or twenty minutes, you offer him ten taka, which he meekly refuses and smiles. You rage at this preposterous display of

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