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When it comes to their names, most people in Bangladesh may find themselves in a convoluted situation.
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Prejudice is a monstrous thing, and so is the tendency to be judgmental—the mindset that allures us to put ourselves in the shining armor of righteousness.
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In a soggy London street he stood, shaking his dreadlocks like wind-struck branches of a willow and moving his weathered bow on the shiny strings of his broken violin.
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“Tell us a story, Khona apu,” Trina said. “You can’t go anywhere in this rain. I’m sure your flight will be cancelled. The runway has become a river by now!” She giggled. “Don’t give me that worried look! Mohon and I will drive you to the airport the moment the roads
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For orchid people like us, a tree from a land called home brings a sweeping breeze of mirth. That breeze dances around us and stirs our leaves of memories. Sometimes it comes in the form of a visual presence, sometimes as a crisp smell of some known delicacies, sometimes, as a familiar
