It was the shade of the ashwath that vanquished all one’s weariness from the fiery heat of Choitro. Or else it was not possible for fatigue to be eliminated so quickly.
In the psyche and schema of the average transnational Bangladeshi, rape is visible and legitimate only when it takes spectacular forms—violent, brutal, deadly.
For educators: My go-to text on 1971 is Jahanara Imam’s Ekattorer Dinguli. It’s a deeply personal and powerful memoir that I believe every student should engage with to truly feel the emotional and human cost of the war. The way she documents her experiences, especially the loss of her son, is heart-wrenching and offers a perspective that transcends history—it becomes deeply relatable and unforgettable.
I weave Hibiscuses in your hair and Along with them I softly weave the strings of my I love you’s. Your eyes are closed as you soak in my touch and Your lips are pressed thin as if imprisoning yours.
In classic Bengali fiction, the kitchen is a central site for conflict and community bonding.
I fell asleep to the chatters of cicadas on a quiet summer night
The night after the story got published, Jamal stormed to my home at around 11 PM, drenched in the rain. That was the first and only time Jamal raised his voice against me
A long stretch of time / passed in prison
One sits silently. Her eyes blink sometimes. Sometimes her lips tremble a little, or they don’t tremble at all.
Healthy water-bodies are sunk by envy-blind waste’s outburst
When Anne Carson said– All lovers believe they are inventing love, she was perhaps right
I carry them openly in these calloused hands and hold them out to you could you tell me I'm worthy of love
Bolstered, the six little mice lead their army up–up–up the trunk of the poor, ravaged oak they were so desperate to save.
After many years, Ira has returned to my town. She hops four towns to get here. We are supposed to meet today. I’ve been ready since morning. We will meet by the lakeside.
In the West, South Asian literature is primarily dominated by works from India and then Pakistan. This dominance has made it difficult for Bangladeshi authors to receive the attention they deserve for their work
He had consistently disregarded the villagers' accounts of bhoot-prets as local folklore. To him, they were just stories to scare the gullible
That night, the wind howled like the wolves as Shyam and Alameen rowed silently, their boat traversing through the misty air and the water rippling gently beneath them.
Mother woke before sunrise with the weight of the house pulling at her bones and moved against the cold floor, the chill biting at her ankles. In the corner hung the gutted rabbit, its blood pooling on the floor. Her fingers trembled, as she bathed herself in it, coating her skin red.
