This is an excerpt from Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay's short story "Abhishapta", translated by Dipty Rahman
When moon fades into dawn and when I pass away with it / Will you think of all that I was?
It was actually a bit of a relief to sit on the terrace of the Gezira Pension and have a quiet breakfast before plunging back once more into the traffic of Cairo in search of a carriage to the museum.
Where there's no scent of mother, but only a sweet sense of comfort in the touch I remember the warmth of my mother's lap
I jump from ship to ship, / fly dangling from the claws of a huge bird in the sky / till my toes scrape mountain-tips.
Nuri had just swallowed a little orange pill dry, when she noticed that the portrait of ‘The Sexual Revolutionary’ had been taken down from the wall of her childhood bedroom.
Wishing you a happy new year! / The coming year? No, years ahead—
It’s been so long since we last spoke that I don’t think I can talk to you without confessing something. There you were, standing before me
At last, God heeded Sisyphus’s prayer—a plea he had been making for countless centuries. Each time, he hoisted the rock onto his shoulders, convinced that this would be the time it ascended with ease
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.
My heart is an oligarch: A staunch, pot-bellied, knuckle-cracking middle-aged man lounging carelessly, lazily in his sitting room with his limbs spread out on a settee
Pale, aristocratic, seductive forces lurking in the dark—when we think of vampires, we often perceive them through a western lens
Behind the bangles that jingle ominously in the dark, there is a voice—a voice that has long been silenced
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
“Residents usually get 30 days of observation period,” said the man at the reception, “but since it’s a leap year, you get an extra day.
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
