As a citizen of Bangladesh and, a voter this is our condition. When election is due people come and fall at our feet. Don’t you recognize me? I’m your candidate. Your future MP. Don’t you recognize me? You patty our faith in the sanctity of democracy only to discover that the person who used to touch your feet has disappeared after getting your vote. He ran away with a box full of votes. We are left stranded with nothing but our problems asking everyone whether they have seen him. The one we voted for. The one we voted for. The one whose uncle we are. We spend five years waiting for him with nothing but a towel around our waist. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Friends, this was a story written by the famous writer- Mr, Sharad Joshi which he wrote about 25 year ago
Posted on: Thu, 04 Dec 2014 15:42:06 +0000
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