I spent the whole day running on the roads near Ramna park. Riding a bicycle alone through the narrow alleys of Mohammadpur without the fear of anyone jumping out at me from the corners.
"The first book I had published comprised a short story. My second book of short stories came out 14 years after that", the writer said.
A daughter reflects on time and Bengali culture as she revels in the excitement of cooking her parents a meal.
Chughtai spoke about taboo topics such as homosexuality, abortion, female desire, and their rights and independence.
“Extra ghugni, no chilis,” he confirmed, his cyber-enhanced eyes ever judging.
She wakes up suddenly from her unnatural beeline posture, slowly and ever so gently, like a chained demon would after just hours of calculated slumber. I never look.
It was a time in the night where one can’t really tell if it’s night or eve. The sun is still sleeping in and it’s unlikely that it has any other plans anytime soon. Nothing but silence cloaks the wood and it is the time for the chatter of the owls and bats.
Once upon a time, in a small village nestled in the mountains of Afghanistan, there lived a little girl named Lila. She was a curious and adventurous child, always eager to explore the world around her. But there was one thing that Lila loved more than anything else, and that was winter.
Rahman emerged from his grave in the middle of the night. His return from the dead took place in no more than 10 days after his passing away.
I spent the whole day running on the roads near Ramna park. Riding a bicycle alone through the narrow alleys of Mohammadpur without the fear of anyone jumping out at me from the corners.
"The first book I had published comprised a short story. My second book of short stories came out 14 years after that", the writer said.
A daughter reflects on time and Bengali culture as she revels in the excitement of cooking her parents a meal.
Chughtai spoke about taboo topics such as homosexuality, abortion, female desire, and their rights and independence.
“Extra ghugni, no chilis,” he confirmed, his cyber-enhanced eyes ever judging.
She wakes up suddenly from her unnatural beeline posture, slowly and ever so gently, like a chained demon would after just hours of calculated slumber. I never look.
It was a time in the night where one can’t really tell if it’s night or eve. The sun is still sleeping in and it’s unlikely that it has any other plans anytime soon. Nothing but silence cloaks the wood and it is the time for the chatter of the owls and bats.
Once upon a time, in a small village nestled in the mountains of Afghanistan, there lived a little girl named Lila. She was a curious and adventurous child, always eager to explore the world around her. But there was one thing that Lila loved more than anything else, and that was winter.
Rahman emerged from his grave in the middle of the night. His return from the dead took place in no more than 10 days after his passing away.
Someone has to pay the price when traditions, community beliefs, and environmental issues are unheeded.