Ziaul Haque
Mohammad Ziaul Haque is a First class cricketer from Bangladesh. He was born on 17 November 1972 in Narayanganj, Dhaka and is a right-handed batsman and off break bowler. Sometimes referred to on scoresheets by his nickname Zia, he played for Dhaka Metropolis in 2000/01. He took 7 for 63 against Khulna Division, one of two 5 wicket hauls in just 3 first class games.
Ziaul Haque (academic)
Dr. Ziaul Haque worked in the Islamic Research Institute, Islamabad, Pakistan, from September 1964 to June 1984 as Researcher/Associate Professor. Later he would join the Pakistan Institute of Development Economics, Islamabad, as a consultant and rose up to the position of Chief of Research there.
Education and Publications
Dr. Hague was educated at the University of Sindh and the University of Chicago, focusing on subjects like Economics, Arabic and Islamic Studies. He specialized in the economic history of early Islam and the Middle East, and also wrote extensively about the current economic issues in Islamic countries. He served as Editor of the quarterly research journal Islamic Studies, and also as Associate Editor of The Pakistan Development Review and South Asia Bulletin.
Amongst Dr. Hague's many well-known publications is Prophets and Progress in Islam (Kuala Lumpur: Utusan, 2008). His earlier book Landlord and Peasant in Early Islam (Islamabad, 1977) was appreciated throughout the world as an original contribution toward our understanding of the economic history of early Islam. A number of his articles and books were published throughout the 1980s-1990s, including Islam and Feudalism: The Economics of Riba, Interest and Profit (1985), later expanded as Riba: The Moral Economy of Usury, Interest and Profit (Kuala Lumpur: Ikraq, 1995). He also published Revelation & Revolution in Islam in 1987, a work that encouraged much debate.
Podcasts:
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by Frank Sinatra
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by J Church
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by Theatre Of Tragedy
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by Yearning
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by Yearning
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by Warlord
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by Carousel Soundtrack
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by Dropping Daylight
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by Nelson Kanzela
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by William Control
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by From First To Last
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by Gordon Macrae
Soliloquy
by: Frank SinatraI wonder what he'll think of me
I guess he'll call me the "old man"
I guess he'll think I can lick
Ev'ry other feller's father
Well, I can!
I bet that he'll turn out to be
The spittin' image of his dad
But he'll have more common sense
Than his puddin-headed father ever had
I'll teach him to wrassle
And dive through a wave
When we go in the mornin's for our swim
His mother can teach him
The way to behave
But she won't make a sissy out o' him
Not him! Not my boy! Not Bill!
Bill. I will see that he is named after me, I will.
My boy, Bill! He'll be tall
And tough as a tree, will Bill!
Like a tree he'll grow
With his head held high
And his feet planted firm on the ground
And you won't see nobody dare to try
To boss or toss him around!
No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully'll toss him around
I don't give a damn what he does
As long as he does what he likes!
He can sit on his tail
Or work on a rail
With a hammer, hammering spikes!
He can ferry a boat on a river
Or peddle a pack on his back
Or work up and down
The streets of a town
With a whip and a horse and a hack
He can haul a scow along a canal
Run a cow around a corral
Or maybe bark for a carousel
Of course it takes talent to do that well
He might be a champ of theheavyweights
Or a feller that sells you glue
Or President of the United States
That'd be all right, too
His mother would like that
But he wouldn't be President unless he wanted to be
Not Bill!
My boy, Bill! He'll be tall
And as tough as a tree, will Bill
Like a tree he'll grow
With his head held high
And his feet planted firm on the ground
And you won't see nobody dare to try
To boss or toss him around!
No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced, pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bastard'll boss
him around
And I'll be damned if he'll marry the boss' daughter
A skinny-lipped virgin with blood like water
Who'll give him a peck
And call it a kiss
And look in his eyes through a lorgnet
Say, why am I talkin' on like this?
My kid ain't even been born, yet!
I can see him when he's seventeen or so
And startin' to go with a girl
I can give him lots of pointers, very sound
On the way to get 'round any girl
I can tell him ...
Wait a minute!
Could it be?
What the hell!
What if he is a girl?
What would I do with her?
What could I do for her?
A bum with no money!
You can have fun with a son
But you got to be a father to a girl
She mighn't be so bad at that
A kid with ribbons in her hair!
A kind o' neat and petite
Little tin-type of her mother!
What a pair!
I can just hear myself bragging about her!
My little girl
Pink and white
As peaches and cream is she
My little girl
Is half again as bright
As girls are meant to be!
Dozens of boys pursue her
Many a likely lad does what he can to woo her
>From her faithful dad
She has a few
Pink and white young fellers of two and three
But my little girl
Gets hungry ev'ry night and she come home to me!
My little girl, my little girl!
I got to get ready before she comes!
I got to make certain that she
Won't be dragged up in slums
With a lot o' bums like me
She's got to be sheltered
And be dressed in the best money can buy!
I never knew how to get money
But, I'll try, by God! I'll try!
I'll go out and make it or steal it
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