A young white officer asks her in heavily accented Bangla, “What’s the purpose of your visit?”
It has been more than a few weeks since I arrived in London for my Master’s, and I still miss my friends, family, and acquaintances back home.
The hurt remained beneath my skin like an unwritten revelation—never acknowledged, never tended to;
A daughter reflects on time and Bengali culture as she revels in the excitement of cooking her parents a meal.
Abdus Selim’s translation and compilation is a time machine for all of us living in the new age, where poems have become much neutered.
For its 5th session, SHOUTx DS Books’ Slam Poetry Nights performed at the Dhaka Lit Fest 2023.
And in the streets of Shonarga, Luna went about on foot, her nupur clinking against her ankles, notifying all passers-by of the good queen’s proximity.
The first traceable progeny of the lineage, Syed Fida Hussain, had settled in Delhi during the reign of the fourth Mughal Emperor, Jahangir, with his son, Syed Golam Hussain and his grandsons, Syed Faizuddin Hussain and Syed Mozaffar Hussain; they eventually moved to Kolkata and finally settled down in Dhaka.
She lies on the bed, a broken canvas. Fragments and splinters of an old frame, Faded colors of painted priceless picture, Greys and white, crooked dark veins, wrinkled paper skin. Frames abound on the wall’s fortress,
Long after I was done reading The Illuminated (HarperCollins India, 2021), by Anindita Ghose, I kept thinking about Girl in White Cotton (2020) by Avni Doshi. If one had to choose any recent novel that captured the crevices of a vacillating mother-daughter relationship accurately, it would be these two.
Identity is mercurial: it shifts and morphs into a new being at the change of a breeze. That change is glacial, and often happens on its own volition; but one can also grasp a new identity, hold it tight till it engulfs the old, and thereby change the trajectory of their life completely.
This dawn is unvarying, lovely, peaceful, dewy, Morning sky has opened its store of breathing clouds,
I am convinced that while writing her book, The Begum and the Dastan (Westland Publications, 2021), Tarana Husain Khan’s aim was to leave her readers in a literary stupor, dizzy and yearning for more.
Shengdey awoke suddenly on a bed with an old man sitting beside him. “Are you okay, my child?” He asked, idly stirring a boiling pot of tea.
Two flats facing each other He’s on the stairs, she’s at the door
