When moon fades into dawn and when I pass away with it / Will you think of all that I was?
1 and 3/4 cups of sugar, 2 cups of i-love-you
It was actually a bit of a relief to sit on the terrace of the Gezira Pension and have a quiet breakfast before plunging back once more into the traffic of Cairo in search of a carriage to the museum.
In the psyche and schema of the average transnational Bangladeshi, rape is visible and legitimate only when it takes spectacular forms—violent, brutal, deadly.
For educators: My go-to text on 1971 is Jahanara Imam’s Ekattorer Dinguli. It’s a deeply personal and powerful memoir that I believe every student should engage with to truly feel the emotional and human cost of the war. The way she documents her experiences, especially the loss of her son, is heart-wrenching and offers a perspective that transcends history—it becomes deeply relatable and unforgettable.
I fell asleep to the chatters of cicadas on a quiet summer night
The night after the story got published, Jamal stormed to my home at around 11 PM, drenched in the rain. That was the first and only time Jamal raised his voice against me
A long stretch of time / passed in prison
One sits silently. Her eyes blink sometimes. Sometimes her lips tremble a little, or they don’t tremble at all.
Glamorous lightweight raindrops from the October sky keep
As I read Subimal Misra–I was therefore seized by the urge to bring out his stories, or "anti-stories", in graphic form
The question here should be: Why does the nationality of the poet matter if the sentiment and emotional dimensions are the central focus that keeps the dynamic of a national anthem active?
As if playing a game of chess / Still the world waits for the next dawn
The audience for the jatra was all any Marxist theatre director in Kolkata could have wished for.
The recent attack on “Amar Shonar Bangla” stems from this type of attempt to categorise the national anthem, leading to further allegations against it
The first pulse, in the midst of a whipping maelstrom,
Don’t you see— I can only write dark.
Saikat Majumdar writes with a sharp poignancy that arrows straight to the core of the heart.
Resistance takes many shapes and forms, from taking up arms, to facing police batons, to picking up a pen
