বর্তমান স্ট্যাটাস: নির্বচনে কাজে আছি। আমাদের সু- পুত্র সজীব ওয়াযেদ জয় এর থিসিস এর লিফলেট পাবলিসিটি করার চিন্তায় আছি।

Oh, I could go on ad infinitum. Tell you things never told, things to make your hair stand on end. About that dotard Khomeini, for example, who after our interview held an assembly at Qom to declare that I had accused him of cutting off women's breasts. He extracted a video from this assembly that was shown for months on Teheran television so that, when I returned to Teheran the next year, I was arrested as soon as I got off the plane. It looked bad for me, you know, very bad. This was the period of the American hostages...I could tell you about Mujib Rahman, who, again at Dacca, had ordered his guerillas to eliminate me as a dangerous European, and lucky for me an English colonel saved me at the risk of his life. Or about that Palestinian named Habash who held me for twenty minutes with a machine gun pointed at my head. God, what people! The only ones I've had a civil relationship with remain poor Ali Bhutto, the first prime minister of Pakistan, who was hanged because he was too friendly to the West, and the most excellent king of Jordan: King Hussein. But those two were as Muslim as I am Catholic. Anyway I want to get to the point of my argument. A point that will not please many, given that defending one's own culture, in Italy, is becoming a mortal sin. And given that, intimidated by the inapt term "racist," everyone shuts up like rabbits. I don't go pitching tents at Mecca. I don't go singing Our Fathers and Hail Marys in front of Mohammed's tomb. I don't go peeing on the marble of their mosques; I don't go shitting at the feet of their minarets. When I find myself in their countries (something from which I never derive pleasure), I never forget that I am a guest and a foreigner. I am careful not to offend them with clothing or gestures or behavior that are normal for us but impermissible to them. I treat them with dutiful respect, dutiful courtesy, and I excuse myself when through mistake or ignorance I infringe some rule or superstition of theirs. And the images I've had before my eyes while writing this scream of pain and indignation haven't always been those of the apocalyptic scenes I started with. Sometimes I see another image instead, a symbolic (and therefore infuriating) one: the huge tent with which the Somalian Muslims disfigured and befouled and profaned the Piazza del Duomo at Florence for three months last summer. My city. এখানে কোন কথাতে আমি ইসলামের কোন অবমাননা পাইলাম না। কোন কথাতে কোন নেগিটিভ কিছু পাইলাম না কেডা কেডা পাইছেন কইয়া যায়েইন।