Small dreams

On the heart of a place where heather blossoms, Dreams of scattered bodies and burnt heath Against the walls where children live

A pressed flower

Pressed between pages Of a heavy book, a rose-– Neither flourishes nor wilts.

A night at Hotel Kaalipara

An uncomfortable stillness emanated in the air around Rajpath road. I stood there with my suitcase in my hand, the hair on the back of my neck standing on edge. Glancing left then right, I crossed the road and entered the premises of Hotel Kaalipara.

Saints of gold

It was another early sunset on a rainy day in Dhaka. Alamin was walking with a polythene bag of groceries back to his small, rented apartment.

Small-town Blues

Spacious, shiny, new roads are built in my city to rent them for raw-markets

The Divine Feminine

I look in the mirror, and the tides start turning,

My London: An Immigrant Story

You Are a Rickshawallah

200 years of selected Bangalee literature up for grab

Bishwa Sahitya Kendra completes the mammoth task of compiling and publishing the 74,000-page compilation

Thoughts of an immigrant

She stands in front of the canvas and stares.

Jojo-Buri

the moon watches over you, when whales beach themselves, the tides wash them back home; the moon looks down

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