The loss of essentiality
Be a tree
THE OTHER WAY ROUND
My scarlet incarnation
How to write a love song
Small dreams
On the heart of a place where heather blossoms, Dreams of scattered bodies and burnt heath Against the walls where children live
A pressed flower
Pressed between pages Of a heavy book, a rose-– Neither flourishes nor wilts.
A night at Hotel Kaalipara
An uncomfortable stillness emanated in the air around Rajpath road. I stood there with my suitcase in my hand, the hair on the back of my neck standing on edge. Glancing left then right, I crossed the road and entered the premises of Hotel Kaalipara.
Saints of gold
It was another early sunset on a rainy day in Dhaka. Alamin was walking with a polythene bag of groceries back to his small, rented apartment.
Small-town Blues
Spacious, shiny, new roads are built in my city to rent them for raw-markets
200 years of selected Bangalee literature up for grab
Bishwa Sahitya Kendra completes the mammoth task of compiling and publishing the 74,000-page compilation
Jojo-Buri
the moon watches over you, when whales beach themselves, the tides wash them back home; the moon looks down
Homeward
When I was born, my skin was dark, like my grandfather’s, in whose arms I discovered my first home. Relatives old and new, whose disappointment was being nursed by my parents’ fair complexions, looked from afar as my rotund cheeks melted into the sleeves of my dada’s discolored half-sleeve shirt.
