Dhaka’s most-anticipated digital night unfolded as each look added to a textured, coherent visual story.
In Bangladesh, the hardest thing for many women to own is not a dream; it’s placing her name on a deed. Barir Naam Shahana begins there, with the stubborn courage it takes to write a woman’s name into a house, a life, a future. That stubbornness has carried writer-director Leesa Gazi from a 2011 novella to an Oscar journey she still calls “unexpected.”
In 2001, Chayanika Chowdhury hadn’t gone to “Light & Shadow” to direct – she had simply dropped by to collect a payment for another project. On that same set, a new script was being discussed, and she casually asked producer Mujibur Rahman about who would be directing it. His answer startled her: “You.” The old saying “Think before you act” never suited her. “I act first and think later,” she laughs. “Within two seconds I said yes.” That impulsive decision became the first step of a filmmaking journey she has now pursued relentlessly for twenty-four years.
“I spent most of my life studying and playing football,” Anonno Proteek Chowdhuri says with a small shrug. He trained as a chartered accountant and worked in the field long enough to know the claustrophobia it carried. “I kept telling myself that if I ever reached a point of stability, I’d make a film one day.”
“My father was a theatre actor, but he never had the opportunity to pursue acting and became a journalist instead,” shares Pranto. “I believe that his unfulfilled dream was passed down to me, and I was meant to carry it forward.” In recent years, few rising actors have been more determined to prove their range than Abid Bin Parvez Pranto. From TVCs to short films and eventually fiction, he has steadily marked himself as an actor intent on versatility.
“I wasn’t there to prove anything,” Manoshi Sarkar told The Daily Star. “I was there to reclaim the woman I’d put on hold.”
In a digital world that churns out creators by the minute, the label “content creator” has become both a badge of entry and a box. But for Rakin Absar, Kaarina Kaisar, Ridy Sheikh, and Nazia Hassan, that box was never going to be big enough. Instead of riding the algorithm wave into redundancy, they each pivoted; deliberately or instinctively, who outgrew the “content creator” label and built new identities entirely. Podcast host. Actor. Choreographer. Wellness educator.
To commemorate the 126th birth anniversary of Kazi Nazrul Islam, the National Poet of Bangladesh, the cultural platform Gems of Nazrul hosted a musical tribute titled “Ontorey Tumi Acho Chirodin” this evening. The event brought together prominent Nazrul exponents and emerging voices to celebrate the poet’s diverse musical repertoire and reflect on his unparalleled contributions to Bengali music.
Dhaka’s most-anticipated digital night unfolded as each look added to a textured, coherent visual story.
In Bangladesh, the hardest thing for many women to own is not a dream; it’s placing her name on a deed. Barir Naam Shahana begins there, with the stubborn courage it takes to write a woman’s name into a house, a life, a future. That stubbornness has carried writer-director Leesa Gazi from a 2011 novella to an Oscar journey she still calls “unexpected.”
In 2001, Chayanika Chowdhury hadn’t gone to “Light & Shadow” to direct – she had simply dropped by to collect a payment for another project. On that same set, a new script was being discussed, and she casually asked producer Mujibur Rahman about who would be directing it. His answer startled her: “You.” The old saying “Think before you act” never suited her. “I act first and think later,” she laughs. “Within two seconds I said yes.” That impulsive decision became the first step of a filmmaking journey she has now pursued relentlessly for twenty-four years.
“I spent most of my life studying and playing football,” Anonno Proteek Chowdhuri says with a small shrug. He trained as a chartered accountant and worked in the field long enough to know the claustrophobia it carried. “I kept telling myself that if I ever reached a point of stability, I’d make a film one day.”
“My father was a theatre actor, but he never had the opportunity to pursue acting and became a journalist instead,” shares Pranto. “I believe that his unfulfilled dream was passed down to me, and I was meant to carry it forward.” In recent years, few rising actors have been more determined to prove their range than Abid Bin Parvez Pranto. From TVCs to short films and eventually fiction, he has steadily marked himself as an actor intent on versatility.
“I wasn’t there to prove anything,” Manoshi Sarkar told The Daily Star. “I was there to reclaim the woman I’d put on hold.”
In a digital world that churns out creators by the minute, the label “content creator” has become both a badge of entry and a box. But for Rakin Absar, Kaarina Kaisar, Ridy Sheikh, and Nazia Hassan, that box was never going to be big enough. Instead of riding the algorithm wave into redundancy, they each pivoted; deliberately or instinctively, who outgrew the “content creator” label and built new identities entirely. Podcast host. Actor. Choreographer. Wellness educator.
To commemorate the 126th birth anniversary of Kazi Nazrul Islam, the National Poet of Bangladesh, the cultural platform Gems of Nazrul hosted a musical tribute titled “Ontorey Tumi Acho Chirodin” this evening. The event brought together prominent Nazrul exponents and emerging voices to celebrate the poet’s diverse musical repertoire and reflect on his unparalleled contributions to Bengali music.
As someone who never attended a formal music school but was instead homeschooled in melodies by his father, Jahid Nirob tread his own path into the world of music. He started out playing guitar at homely ceremonies, never imagining that one day he would step into the role of a music director.
How does a nation remember its artists? “What Novera is doing now will take us a long time to understand,” said legendary artist Zainul Abedin, decades ago. On Thursday (February 27) evening, as audiences watched the stories of Novera Ahmed and Monirul Islam unfold on the screen at Alliance Française de Dhaka, the weight of those words became clear.
