On the heart of a place where heather blossoms, Dreams of scattered bodies and burnt heath Against the walls where children live
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.
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.
Bishwa Sahitya Kendra completes the mammoth task of compiling and publishing the 74,000-page compilation
the moon watches over you, when whales beach themselves, the tides wash them back home; the moon looks down
When I was born, my skin was dark, like my grandfather’s, in whose arms I discovered my first home. Relatives old and new, whose disappointment was being nursed by my parents’ fair complexions, looked from afar as my rotund cheeks melted into the sleeves of my dada’s discolored half-sleeve shirt.