On a chilly winter morning of November 2010, I came across a story that would stamp my childhood permanently. It was the winter vacation and the school finals were just over. While playing board games at one of my friend’s, I found quite a picturesque book filled with illustrations and art. It was titled, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876).
Back in 2006 at the age of 11, I was introduced to faith, in the most domestic way possible.
This poem has been translated by the author from Zahir Raihan’s poem, ‘Kotogulo Kukurer Artonad’ on account of the novelist, writer and filmmaker’s birth anniversary.
In Koshobi, Jaladas paints the damp and dejected walls of Strandroad, Shahebpara, which is a local red-light district more than 300 years old.
Amidst the joyous occasion of Eid greetings and smiles, I stood still in solitude–wearing my red, torn half pants, topless from the navel up
Written almost a century ago, Nazrul’s song till today adheres to the cultural conscience of Bengali Muslim society.
On a chilly winter morning of November 2010, I came across a story that would stamp my childhood permanently. It was the winter vacation and the school finals were just over. While playing board games at one of my friend’s, I found quite a picturesque book filled with illustrations and art. It was titled, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876).
Back in 2006 at the age of 11, I was introduced to faith, in the most domestic way possible.
This poem has been translated by the author from Zahir Raihan’s poem, ‘Kotogulo Kukurer Artonad’ on account of the novelist, writer and filmmaker’s birth anniversary.
In Koshobi, Jaladas paints the damp and dejected walls of Strandroad, Shahebpara, which is a local red-light district more than 300 years old.
Amidst the joyous occasion of Eid greetings and smiles, I stood still in solitude–wearing my red, torn half pants, topless from the navel up
Written almost a century ago, Nazrul’s song till today adheres to the cultural conscience of Bengali Muslim society.
