Mahtab Uddin Ahmed

One evening in Dhaka, a man shouted “chor, chor” and “dhor, dhor”, and within seconds a crowd appeared with the efficiency of a flash sale.

In many offices, teamwork means eight people joining a meeting, three speaking, two pretending their internet is unstable, one sharing the wrong screen, and the rest saying, “Fully aligned.”

When a company runs into financial trouble, the first casualty is usually logic. The chief executive announces a budget review.

Trump launched the crisis, blamed Iran, blamed Europe, blamed the media, and then asked allies for urgent support. It felt like a bad boss breaking the office printer, shouting at staff, and ending the day with a lecture on teamwork.

Trump seems to treat war like a reality show season finale: loud entry, dramatic lines, and then a tweet-sized promise that everything is under control, while the rest of the world is left counting the bill. Sadly, this is not Hollywood, and countries like Bangladesh end up paying for the popcorn, the petrol and the power cut too.

Numbers rarely lie, even when Trump is in the room. But they do have a habit of whispering truths our profession would rather not discuss over coffee. Bangladesh’s latest audit statistics are doing exactly that.

Three friends from different countries once discussed what made them happiest.

In every office, there’s that “corporate friend” who calls you brother but forwards your email to the boss with “just for visibility.” He borrows your charger, your ideas, and occasionally your lunch. At appraisal time, he suddenly develops selective amnesia about team efforts. Yet at office parties, he hugs you, saying, “We survived together!” “We are one team!” In corporate life, friendships are real, just performance-linked and ego-driven.