In a thicket of Mahagony, Segun, and Raintrees, the Jahangirnagar University (JU) campus is a rolling 697.56 acres of topographical beauty. A few kilometres from the main city on the Dhaka-Aricha highway, the JU campus can be your next weekend outing.
My grandmother, whom I fondly called Bubu, used to bring us batashas -- a sugar candy -- from her visits to her homeland in Pirojpur, Barishal. She would tell us it was a tabarak or shinni, which is a sweet gift or grace from her visits to Holy places.
November in the tropics has its own weather mix. From a storm brewing at the Bay to roaring gusty wind, to a scorching sunny day, dewy evening, and foggy dawn -- Dhaka’s weather in this month cannot be explained.
It is duck season, period. Even if winter is nowhere to be seen or felt, the local kitchen markets are quacking up a fat duck show to tease our cravings.
Pink is often considered the colour that defines femininity. Thus, in October, which marks Breast Cancer Awareness Month, a pink ribbon is often used to raise awareness about breast cancer. This practice has been in place since the 90s.
A charcoal black druid’s bowl with a rough and aged look, caught my attention while surfing social media. Initially, I thought it must be an antique piece of medieval pottery up for sale on some transcontinental site, but instead, I found it to be a local product from the brand Boho Bangladesh, promoting a sustainable natural lifestyle; it blew my mind.
What is the best thing about Sharat, you ask? For me, it is the change in the city’s breeze, in the soft, golden rays of the sun, and yes, the clear azure sky, with floating white fluffy clouds.
For the gardeners of urban Dhaka, it’s time to prepare for winter flowers. One might say it’s too early, but October is when you need to prune your roses and feed them with compost, besides preparing beds and soil for other winter blooms.
It’s certainly an impressive trick! Small terracotta pots preheated in big tandoor like stoves; milk boiled at a high heat until it becomes all creamy and thick, and tea liquor brewed with sticks of cinnamon.
Twenty-twenty was a terrible year. We lost many of our loved ones, respected members of our society; there was a complete lockdown, the economy came to a standstill, many of us lost our jobs.
My father loved match-making and has to his name the success of more than ten successful matches, some of them going strong still, some celebrating their 50th year together! What made him the happiest, however, was those spontaneous weddings he planned.
Christmas of 2020 should follow the lead and be celebrated on a small scale. Blessing this year’s holiday season is a mild winter cold wave,
For me, placing coins in lucky bamboo or money plant pots and to think that money would grow from it, is more or less the right way out to earning and saving money; but alas, if only money grew on plants!
Once you become a parent, you unknowingly sign a contract for a lifetime of bondage. Imagine the things you had to do or are still doing in that role— that’s enough proof that you are indeed nothing but a puppet in your child’s hands.
People invariably get hurt by loved ones; whether they meant to do it or not remains another question to ponder on. I am talking about family elders, who should by now know how to conduct themselves in this time and era of all things politically correct.
It was already cloudy when we started early in the morning for a launch ride over the mighty Padma. The unpredictable weather was an impending threat, and our only concern was whether a Kalboishakhi will brew out of nowhere and throw a damper on our day out.
There is something about the red and white; it reminds me of Apu and Durga, or Devdas and Paro, and invariably in a Sarat or autumn setting.
And then COVID-19 happened, and everything came to a staggering halt.