As the sky darkens and the familiar rumble of thunder echoes across the horizon, farmers and fishermen working in open fields and water bodies sense the imminent danger of lightning. In Bangladesh, lightning is one of the deadliest natural disasters, claiming hundreds of lives each year.
Estiak Ahmed Sajit is currently a third-year student at Khulna University. In 2007, his family was forcibly displaced from Rajbari to Keraniganj due to river erosion.
Imagine a world where everything looks faded. The colours around you do not seem as enchanting as they once appeared; your children no longer ask you to sew that hemline or help with the accounts. Memories fade fast along with your eyesight and you slowly begin to feel useless.
I remember the first time I stepped into the female compartment in the metro, I knew this marked a significant difference in the commute experience of women.
As dawn breaks and the first rays of sunlight streams through your window, you hear the rhythmic beat of drums and the joyful clanging of cymbals coming from a nearby temple.
A charcoal black druid’s bowl with a rough and aged look, caught my attention while surfing social media. Initially, I thought it must be an antique piece of medieval pottery up for sale on some transcontinental site, but instead, I found it to be a local product from the brand Boho Bangladesh, promoting a sustainable natural lifestyle; it blew my mind.
Sudiptta Apu, a graphic designer based in Khulna, was on the verge of completing a $600 project when everything went dark -- literally.
If journalism is my profession, wildlife photography is my passion. For me, it’s not just about snapping a picture -- it’s a form of meditation, a way to escape from the everyday noise and stress.
Bangladesh’s booming ceramic industry is as thriving as our readymade garment (RMG) sector, which I say from my many shopping exploits.
Surrounded by tall coconut and betel nut trees, picturesque ponds, and lagoons -- the green countryside makes Barishal a great city for local tourism.
There is a certain drama in being mystified with all things retro and vintage.
At the break of dawn, women of all ages -- daughters, mothers, homemakers -- set out in search for safe drinking water.
Dhaka's fading gaming arcades struggle against modern technology and economic challenges, yet remain nostalgic escapes for many.
Wearing shorts and playing football -- these reasons were enough for some locals to attack under-17 female footballers of Super Queen Football Academy at Tentultala village in Khulna in July last year.
Imagine vast, shimmering water reflecting a clear blue sky. Boats glide across the surface, carrying villagers through a network of rivers and canals teeming with life. Schools of fish, like silver flashes, dart beneath the water.
When the entire country is grappling with mosquito menace, a Bangladeshi entrepreneur and his team have come up with an ingenious solution that promises to be an effective tool in mosquito control.
From a distance, it appears as a forest. But as one gets closer, it becomes evident that it’s in fact a seven-story factory building covered with vines and leaves. After entering the premises, one will see a 30-foot-tall white sculpture of a woman.
For years, gaming in Bangladesh was seen as a waste of time -- often dismissed as a frivolous activity or a distraction from more “serious” pursuits. Traditional societal norms placed little value on gaming, perceiving it as an endeavour devoid of any real-world benefits.
I wonder what it is in a cup of tea that makes it so invigorating. The obvious answer would be the stimulant, caffeine, or the particular flavour of the leaves seeping into the hot water and the aroma that takes over your senses.
The first time I fell in love with plants was when I saw my mother’s glossy green pothos arranged in old porcelain bowls that were slightly chipped off.