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
I see her now, but not in the way I have always seen her—through the lens of service, of duty, of roles—but as a woman whose edges were softened long before I learned her name
'I dedicated a lion's share of the life I've lived to poetry. I've thought of poetry as a guiding star'
A lonely soul treads on the street cultivating the sweet pain of defunct love; like a solitary artist, he rambles through the alleys of the city
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.
I fell asleep to the chatters of cicadas on a quiet summer night
As I read Subimal Misra–I was therefore seized by the urge to bring out his stories, or "anti-stories", in graphic form
The question here should be: Why does the nationality of the poet matter if the sentiment and emotional dimensions are the central focus that keeps the dynamic of a national anthem active?
The audience for the jatra was all any Marxist theatre director in Kolkata could have wished for.
I am compelled to ask what being a Bangali even means today: What shapes our ethnic identity?
The recent attack on “Amar Shonar Bangla” stems from this type of attempt to categorise the national anthem, leading to further allegations against it
Saikat Majumdar writes with a sharp poignancy that arrows straight to the core of the heart.
