Where the mangoes thrive: Rajshahi to Chapai Nawabganj
Mangoes might feel like just another fruit, but to the people of Rajshahi and its environs, they are a way of life. It is no wonder that the love for mango permeates Bengali culture, as witnessed by literature that is replete with references to magnificent mango trees and the sweet, cool and deep shade under the bountiful boughs, enticing the weary travellers to stop a while. For people like me, enjoying the fruits of nature are an act of devotion.
In search of a therapist navigating the crazy of Dhaka and some more (m)adventures in between
I woke up with a start at 06:09 am that morning on April 10. It was the sharp ring of the alarm clock going off at this ungodly hour that made me jump up.
Time and Space
Winter came early that year. Mid-October, a steady wind appeared and transformed Dhaka into a dust bowl; by November, a fog descended and obscured the moon.
The year I spent without Bangla
Growing up schooled in an English medium curriculum can bring with it a certain disconnect with the Bengali language. Or at least it did for me.
This isn't what I expected
Books and movies make pregnancy seem like a bout of ill-health, involving sporadic fainting spells, morning sickness and dramatic mood swings. I experienced none of those.
The Sisterhood of Survivors
Jabeda Khatun (77 years) and Anoara Begum (68 years), two Birangonas of the Liberation War of Bangladesh arrived in The Netherlands on a gloomy winter day to join the
Where the mangoes thrive: Rajshahi to Chapai Nawabganj
Mangoes might feel like just another fruit, but to the people of Rajshahi and its environs, they are a way of life. It is no wonder that the love for mango permeates Bengali culture, as witnessed by literature that is replete with references to magnificent mango trees and the sweet, cool and deep shade under the bountiful boughs, enticing the weary travellers to stop a while. For people like me, enjoying the fruits of nature are an act of devotion.
In search of a therapist navigating the crazy of Dhaka and some more (m)adventures in between
I woke up with a start at 06:09 am that morning on April 10. It was the sharp ring of the alarm clock going off at this ungodly hour that made me jump up.
Time and Space
Winter came early that year. Mid-October, a steady wind appeared and transformed Dhaka into a dust bowl; by November, a fog descended and obscured the moon.
Corrupt development begets corruption
What would we learn sitting in an air-conditioned and well-furnished classroom if the pedagogical practice remains the same—copy-pasted slides from SlideShare with watermarks still on them, exhibiting incompetence and indolence? Which path of knowledge would we be treading on, with a fancy library reading MP3 BCS guides, while a thick layer of dust covers the library books, longing for human touch? With teachers being transmitters of knowledge and students only passive receivers in a high-tech environment, would we not be annulling curiosity and participation—two fundamental qualities of knowledge as observed by the Brazilian educator Paulo Freire?
Things we lost to the fire
The distance from Lexington to Astoria is six miles; 1.5 hours by foot. On that crisp fall morning, it took twice that.
The issue of Kashmir hits close to home
Ahmad Shafi* sensed the unrest in Kashmir before it happened. An MBBS student in Bangladesh, he was in class at Dhaka’s Green Life
We are what we remember
When Nana was 24, he saw Muslims slaughtered in prayer. As men prostrated before God, the cold of steel met the warmth of flesh,
How the ceiling falling on my head taught me something new about commercial property
When the concrete casting of the ceiling at Gausia market broke off and fell on my head last week, I was determined to hold someone
A Perpetrator’s Prerogative
About a month back, a 20-year-old man—a university student—was accused of sexual harassment and assault by multiple girls who came forward on social media. Following the circulation of posts exposing his alleged behavior, he faced, at max, a blast of “angry” emojis and hateful comments.
The Rape of the Rohingya
When Rohingya refugees first enter Bangladesh, they are greeted with questions. What happened? Who were they with? Where?