Ravindra's prose is brisk, smooth, and detailed, with numerous stories from traditional Nepali and Hindu folklore chipped in, adding layers as the story unfolds.
In dry, forgotten Shukhno Gram, a station master’s dull routine shifts when a runaway bride in blue arrives. Their unexpected bond, painted with longing, art, and fleeting rain, transforms solitude into a moment of magic.
Now, an automated metro-rail glides silently through the city. Conversations have become clipped, calculated. Efficiency replaces spontaneity. They call it peace. Rahim calls it absence.
Farid Shaheb earned a fair bit at the office today. These days, because of the Anti Corruption Commission and newspaper journalists’ incessant pestering, he can no longer directly take the money offered to him.
“Do you think they think about us?” Asgar muttered.
I love the texture of your hair and I wanted to tell you about it in far too many words than either you or I are comfortable with.
Beyond the celebration of Eid, this book also explores themes of love, loss, and the grief of spending a special occasion without a loved one.
I stared at the row of pre-peeled and packaged tangerines sealed tightly under plastic wrap.
You tell me stories of the sea—of its waves, of how it speaks to you in a language only you can understand—whenever you write back to me.
Catch more ghost stories like this from the winners of 'Winter Night Ghost Stories' competition all throughout winter, every weekend, here.
Luna strode then to the river’s bank, her loose-fitting blouse and petticoat flapping in the breeze that had speedily arrived. Her nupur, fashioned from mollusk shells, sounded in the wind like wind chimes, and more so when she moved.
Even the Bangladeshi protagonist—merely referred to as Agontok (a stranger)—is established as an anti-hero, in contrast with the traditionally heroic Hercules, which I thought was an exciting change.
I smoked and we stared. We stared and I smoked. One cigarette after another. To this day I’m not certain how the next two hours had passed, but I will never forget the blank look in its eyes and something that resembled a sneer that I never saw on Liton Mia’s face before.
The event saw the launching of children's books in both English and Bangla, namely Ami Bokul, Sun Moon Secret and Where are the Chonchols?
It is also etched in the corners of multiple pages of the notebook I am writing this draft in. It is on my passport, also on my pajamas. It is the word the world knows me by—my name. Specifically, my last name, Nuri.
The characters crackle with life, quirky and contradictory, despicable and sympathetic in turns.
When you go to a book-store, it is often difficult to choose from the plethora of newly released books available. The following list should help when deciding what new books to buy.
“Excellent! Come downstairs, we’re waiting for you.”
"What would be an absolutely perfect afternoon to you?"
