Sarah Anjum Bari
Sarah Anjum Bari is a writer and editor, pursuing an MFA in the Nonfiction Writing Program at the University of Iowa where she also teaches rhetoric and literary publishing.
Sarah Anjum Bari is a writer and editor, pursuing an MFA in the Nonfiction Writing Program at the University of Iowa where she also teaches rhetoric and literary publishing.
The walls of Dhaka city represent the volume and chaos of thousands of people jostling for ever-shrinking space.
It's true, I feel differently about books that I previously disliked or enjoyed reading and books that I want as a physical presence in my life
It’s hard not to recall our many conversations about literature as I try to summarise Shah Tazrian Ashrafi’s debut collection of short stories. They were always short discussions, opening and closing off in spurts, as happens over text. Exclamations over a new essay collection by Zadie Smith, or a new novel by Isabel Allende.
In the foreword, I wanted to capture how I, as a child, grew up listening to different stories: ghost stories, mythical stories from both Sanatana and Islamic religious scriptures, and fairy tales from 'Thakurmar Jhuli', compiled by Dakkhinaranjan Mitra Majumdar. It was a time when there were no boundaries for my imagination.
Like many veterans, I joined a creative writing MFA program because I wanted to evolve as a writer.
Here was a woman who was but a dot amidst the throngs of people who watched the Bosphorus Bridge being opened in October 1973, as fireworks erupted over a Turkey that now seamed Asia to Europe.
I always tell the authors to make subjective, qualitative decisions. So many of my authors say no to higher offers from publishing houses if they don’t feel comfortable with the publisher or editor.
Last week, one of Dhaka’s oldest bookstores announced that they will be closing shop after running for 60 years
Out of the 161 million people of Bangladesh (as of 2015), 16.1 percent of adults and 15.2 percent of five- to 10-year-olds live with mental health issues. Only 0.44 percent of our national budget was allocated for mental health in the same year.
It's a tale as old as time—Paris as a city of stories. Not just because of the published literature flowing through it ceaselessly, but also the rues, boulevards, bridges, gardens, and buildings royal and ramshackle which contain stories of all those who have passed through them.
Harrowing messages from strangers that make us laugh more than they actually harm us, have turned “stalking” a carelessly tossed around phrase – if you're young and attractive, you're “supposed” to have stalkers.
It was a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman of good breeding must be in search of a life led in humble anonymity.
A few years ago, I collaborated with a friend to write about the double standards young girls face in Bangladesh.
You know that imaginary friend that every child grows up with? Mine was Rahul. Not a storybook character or a person I'd made up at random, but the Rahul of the dimpled smiles and a necklace that spelled 'COOL'.
This baggage will be an inescapable part of our reality for the years to come. But the memory of Faraaz's actions lightens the load. It helps to remember that our background isn't one that harboured murderers, but one that instilled a very young man like Faraaz with so much strength, maturity and love for humanity.
Watching television snuggled between my parents or grandparents; talking to them for hours; rubbing their feet when they were tired from work. On quite a few of these occasions, my father will say something that he means as a compliment, but one that takes me by surprise every time. He wonders aloud if I'd still be spending time with them this way if I were a son. I argue, every time, that that's beside the point.
On May 5, 2017, an employer poured boiling water over an eight-year-old domestic help – a child – for breaking a glass by mistake.
The past few weeks, at least for young audiences of American television in Bangladesh, have been rife with different variations of the same discussion.