Shimulia was a remote village. A girl from this village was named Madhurilata. The origin of this name remained a mystery to most of the villagers. Nevertheless, they affectionately referred to her as Madhu, which meant honey.
The Polish nurse at the rehabilitation center asks her to decide. Does Neela want to have an abortion or wait for the delivery? “You’re almost seven months,” the nurse says in English. “An abortion would be very risky.”
Asif stares at the blank page, his chest tightening with that all-too-familiar dread.
“If my father had any unpaid debt to anyone, please contact me or my younger brother Hamza,” Omar said to the congregation at the funeral, trying to sound soft and loud at the same time, “And if my father ever hurt any of you unintentionally, please forgive his soul and pray for him. Thank you.”
Is he eyeing me?.That young man with the receding hairline, flipping through a paperback on a discount table. No, revise that. He is not so young really, as my second take reconsiders. A freshness in his eyes made him look more youthful. If not for his thinning scalp, that little paunch un
By the year 2035, Dhaka forgets the scent of the Gulshan-Banani lake.
Long, long ago, when the world was younger, wiser, softer, when the animals were braver and the people were gentler, when art lived and music sailed, and the skies were a true, honest blue, there lived a man who loved a woman, and they lived in a little house they loved very much. How they met o
Trigger warning: self harm, sexual and physical abuse “For a hundred million, Omar, are you ready?” said the host, with his everlasting grin.
The automated blinds of the penthouse in Gulshan, an upscale area, rise with a soft hum, revealing a picture-perfect Dhaka morning.
Every night, a market forms near the mill gate. When it’s time for that market to close, Fulbanu stands on the high bank of the pond, waiting for her husband’s return.
Saiyara didn’t wave a flag to voice her rights on the streets. She had never marched in a protest line, never chanted beneath the dark blanket of smoke-heavy skies. Her revolution was quieter, and it carried a little soul swaddled in a bassinet beside her, traces of milk on her lips and dreaming
As Fulbanu waited for Syed Ali, she thought about her only son, Suruj. She remembered that Suruj was the first man among five neighbouring villages to acquire his bachelor's degree
When Mr. Vik Roman looked at the time with flinching eyes, it was around 3:30 am.
Then you will vanish—becoming Amma, Chachi, Mami. No one will remember your name.
At a gathering in the unfinished community hall, Saleha raises a question: "They gave us walls. But what do we want to grow inside them?"
I made my first kite out of white paper scraps; on my 16th birthday, it came to me that they needed a pop of color.
