Now that we have stepped into a new year, it may be time to take a brief pause from our hectic schedule.
Today, after a period of hiatus, I have once again taken up my pen (metaphorically) to remember and celebrate a hero—a woman of courage and integrity who changed the world, not with fire and fury but with her soft touch.
It has only been a month of isolation, yet it feels like “One hundred years of solitude”.
As my daughter and I drove to the polling booth last week to vote at the Democratic Primaries in the United States, I asked: “So,
Over the past three months, I have lost many nights of sleep, abandoned my favourite political TV programmes, and ignored household chores.
I am sitting at my desk, with a hot cup of tea, peering out at the foggy winter morning enveloping the placid Gulshan Lake.
Forty-eight years have elapsed since we overthrew the yoke of exploitation and oppression and gained our Independence, through blood, sweat, and tears.
Common sense tells us that life’s experiences should help us acquire a degree of certainty about most issues. However, I seem to be the exception to this conventional wisdom.