A daughter’s identity is not defined by who she is fundamentally or characteristically, but who she should become to thrive in a man’s world.
If listened carefully, amid the maddening hustle and bustle, cacophony of sounds, one might find a strange harmony in the chaos -- a thing that links this place to a bygone era.
Wooden dolls painted in a crimson-red or saffron-yellow sari with a black hair bun are a traditional craft of Bangladesh and an integral part of every rural fair.
Here's to losing oneself in the sensuous sorcery of the pure, deshi taant saree and claiming what is truly ours.
Perhaps, there is a hidden farmer in all of us. Although suppressed under the urban rat race, many secret gardeners have decided they will create a garden, however small, within the confines of their buildings.
As far as their online activities are concerned, parents cannot possibly monitor it all.
I don’t want to be accountable for the bad fish curry, the pending electric bill, or the understocked pantry anymore.
It is as if I must have the information and facts to pass a comment or give an opinion on every issue under the sky;
A daughter’s identity is not defined by who she is fundamentally or characteristically, but who she should become to thrive in a man’s world.
If listened carefully, amid the maddening hustle and bustle, cacophony of sounds, one might find a strange harmony in the chaos -- a thing that links this place to a bygone era.
Wooden dolls painted in a crimson-red or saffron-yellow sari with a black hair bun are a traditional craft of Bangladesh and an integral part of every rural fair.
Here's to losing oneself in the sensuous sorcery of the pure, deshi taant saree and claiming what is truly ours.
Perhaps, there is a hidden farmer in all of us. Although suppressed under the urban rat race, many secret gardeners have decided they will create a garden, however small, within the confines of their buildings.
As far as their online activities are concerned, parents cannot possibly monitor it all.
I don’t want to be accountable for the bad fish curry, the pending electric bill, or the understocked pantry anymore.
It is as if I must have the information and facts to pass a comment or give an opinion on every issue under the sky;
Most people feel an unspoken need to belong to a certain group, usually one in which you believe you do not belong.
Back then, the concept of not hurting the feelings of a fat person did not exist. It was not even a thing to register. What’s body-shaming? And what does it mean to go into depression because of it?