Noora Shamsi Bahar

Noora Shamsi Bahar is a senior lecturer at the Department of English and Modern Languages, North South University, and a published researcher and translator.

The attempt to poison Iran's schoolgirls into silence

As an Iranian woman living in Bangladesh, I weep for girls and women in Iran on International Women’s Day this year.

2w ago

Iranians are not “docile” bodies

The current revolution in Iran is one that will go down in history as evidence that human beings have indomitable spirits and aren’t just mere sheep-like, “docile” bodies that abide by the laws of an all-seeing authoritarian shepherd.

Media should be careful not to report in Iran regime’s favour

Reporters have to be careful not take away from the truth in the hopes of a sensational story/headline

The futility of oppression in Iran

Despite knowing that they may be arrested, beaten, or killed the way 22-year-old Mahsa Amini was killed by the Morality Police on September 16, Iran's women are protesting valiantly.

STAR Cineplex and the lungi-clad customer

STAR Cineplex’s act of benevolence confirms the power distance between the capitalist private company and the lungi-clad customer.

Moral policing: A zombie virus

What the Narsingdi Railway incident really reveals about our society's attitude towards women.

‘Hijra’: Is it derogatory or not? Let them decide.

Some time ago, I took to Facebook and wrote about an encounter with a member of the Hijra community, and how, because I didn’t have any change to offer, she (Ms Roy) told me she’d be happy if I could give her one of my makeup products.

Why it’s okay to forget the books you read

What makes them my favourites, if I can’t remember the names of the engrossing characters or the details of the intricate plots in some of my “favourite” books?

You’re obsessed with Wordle because…

Why is Wordle so addictive and why are a lot of people so obsessed with it?

Nothing is more alarming than when women do patriarchy’s work for it

A few days ago, a video that went viral showed a young college-going girl beating her harasser on a bus, ripping his shirt in the process, and making him beg for forgiveness.

Our selfish obsession with becoming parents

A nosy parker asks, “Why aren’t you having kids yet? You’ve been married for two years already! Why the delay?

The not-so-innocent side of mass-produced toys

We don’t normally think of toys from a critical perspective because, well, they’re just toys. But if one were to reflect on it, one might become easily disenchanted by these children’s playthings.

Mojaffor Hossain’s All the Sadeqs are getting killed

The most naïve boy of Dhabaldhola village had been murdered. The decapitated body lay on the demarcation line between the Bangari field and the Taro crop-field.

Five reasons why ‘safety zone’ for women is a bad idea

According to media reports, a 600-feet-long “safety zone” was recently allocated for women and children visiting Cox’s Bazar.

Schools must teach more than academic syllabus

The recent rape and consequent death of a school-going, 17-year-old girl fills one with rage and helplessness.

A Translation of Syed Manzoorul Islam’s “Seventy-One”

The title of the story could have been “Tiger,” just “Tiger,” as, for a few days in 1971, a tiger had been the cause of a massive terror to us.

A translation of Syed Manzoorul Islam’s short story, “Kathpoka”: Woodworms (Part II)

“I’m doing what I feel like doing. What’s that to you?” Aslam retorted. He opened the door and said, “Like mother, like daughter. Get lost.”

Woodworms (Part 1)

It’s been three nights that Aslam hasn’t been able to sleep. He has been trying so hard to fall asleep on the divan for three nights – the divan that he fancifully got carpentered and laid out in the study room of his gigantic apartment in Bashundhara, for the specific purpose of lying down to read and eventually doze off.

The Deer

We lived in Pirojpur then. Barisal is the land of rivers and nullahs, and Pirojpur is no exception. Unless you have been to this Southern region of the country, you cannot claim to have really seen the country. We were not used to seeing such multitudes of rivers and

After the Half-Time Interval: Part-2

The next day, Lebu had really blasted a peto at the party's office. Well, he had tried to. The peto had fallen off his maimed hand, right in front of the table. It didn't bounce — rather sort of slumped — like a ball in a slow spin. Everyone shrank in fear. Babluda, the secretary, had pulled his legs up on the bench. He pressed his palms against his ears and stared, wide-eyed.

After the Half-Time Interval (Part 1)

The alley is dark. Dim streaks of light trickle down from the street lamp at the turn.