The people we meet in Elif Shafak’s The Island of Missing Trees (Viking, 2021) are haunted by terrible tragedies from several years past, by a beautiful island divided into two.
I have evaded wreaths of venomous, moving flowers that have invaded the dilapidated manor, writhing and sliding up and down the walls like snakes, ready to strike any moment. I had to tread carefully down the corridors, staying as far away from the walls as possible.
Even though we moved out of our grandmother’s house in Dhaka more than a decade ago, my sister and I still associate the word “storm” with the smell of the unripe mangoes that the kalboishakhi would force down from the trees in her backyard. There are many other quirks we share, things that might seem insignificant to someone who was not a part of our lives back then. But to us, the house with its long corridors and leafy backyard, and a front yard that turned into a badminton court each winter, is nothing short of a wonderland, a place that nurtured us even as it introduced us to the harsher realities of life, a place that remains a living, breathing character in the many dreams and nightmares that we have.
“She is a feminist – a man hater,” an acquaintance says while talking about a certain person.
Knowingly or unknowingly, men enjoy these privileges in every sphere of life.
Why is it that there is a kind of hypocrisy among people when it comes to women smoking?
“If there is a women’s day, why can’t there be a men’s day as well?”
"Not All Men" alters the course of discussions, accomplishing nothing except making things worse and hindering progress.
Disheveled, my hair uncombed,
The oaks stand in silence, They hide a few Victorian houses.
The crumbling two storey house is flanked by an apartment building on one side. Just a few days ago, the house on the other side met
My pen did not run out of ink. My computer was still working.
Although some parents are slightly more lenient than others, most of them are very strict about the curfews they impose on their children. We have all had to deal with curfews and questions like ''Where are you going?
I only wanted to leave, Leave the house behind, The dull winter, the life I knew.
When night falls and not a single voice is heard anywhere, I make my way to the room that now stays empty. I do not turn the lights on – oh no, I don't.
I go on, I walk on, I am unrepentant
I became known as the symbol of happiness instantly after my birth.
There was a time when I used to live on a stage with ten other people. There wasn't an audience watching us but we weren't trying to please anyone. We were simply taking part in a play with
