Sumaya Mashrufa

A compartment of their own

I remember the first time I stepped into the female compartment in the metro, I knew this marked a significant difference in the commute experience of women.

8m ago

Understanding the person and the parent

While I was diagnosing myself and the society out there, I saw my father.

1y ago

There’s no way you’ll outrun a bear

Smoother violence fills our hearts like charming splinters. The irony is I am the first of my women

1y ago

Mind the gap: Metro rail a relief for female commuters

It is crucial to include a gender perspective in transportation infrastructure. It is a world built by men for men

1y ago

Gaza sends you a Merry Christmas

In Bethlehem, baby Jesus is seen wrapped in the Palestinian keffiyeh, lying amid the rubble. No softly lit manger opened its door for him, and certainly no wise man was there to bless the unforetold future

1y ago

Baldwin in December

Baldwin was sitting right beside, smoking, killing time, thinking of love and loneliness, friendships and misfortunes. Of Martin and Malcolm.

1y ago

WCNSF: An acronym that captures the horror of Gaza's children

Much like packing a school bag, organising a game with a friend, or contemplating homework, they now think about how they or their friends might die

1y ago

10 years of ‘Inside Llewyn Davis’: Like there is no tomorrow

I was 18. The power station over the Brahmaputra failed sometime that evening, so the lights went out. It was so hot and humid, my nerves gave up on feeling it after a point. After being with my friends by the river till half past ten, coming back home, I felt so empty that a certain rage filled me. I hated myself for going along with laughter that was so banal in those moments it made my lips ache just to keep them apart. I hated the city. Everything seemed without substance. That was the night in June when I came to know Llewyn.

1y ago
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