Embers, ashes
THIS happened in the late seventies, when she was still married and living in the US and had not moved to Dubai, where she now taught comparative literature at the American University.
Eid Special: Embers, ashes
The darkness, free falling
MALINA picked up the phone and was told that the car her mother was driving, in which her baby boy was riding, strapped carefully in the back seat, had been in an accident and they were both, the caller was very sorry to say, dead…
The baltiwala
My maternal grandparents lived in Aga Sadek Road in the older part of Dhaka known as Old Town. If you chance to visit it now you will notice that the whole area oozes a stale smell of rancid food and festering garbage…
Of ties and terror
‘ALL passengers are requested to remain seated until the plane comes to a halt’, the airhostess addressed the passengers who were already on their feet filling the aisles and ready to snap open the overhead compartment as soon as the Emirates plane touched the ground at Dhaka airport…
Grassroots emancipation
MORJINA was scrubbing her cow when she caught sight of her husband walking along the embankment.
‘Oy!’ she yelled. ‘Wash your own clothes! Shona should be in school!’…
Gratitude for heartbreak
ABLEARY-EYED Intikhab checked his phone for the umpteenth time. It was 5:55 pm and the oppressing humidity of Dhaka summer was causing him to sweat buckets even inside his air-conditioned Hyundai Tucson…
The Shiva Linga
THE priest was happy to offer puja to Ma Durga, his heart was dancing in joy like a young girl in merrymaking. Hundreds of devotees were praying. He came down from the pandal after touching his head to the floor of the dais…
The final meeting!!
CRING! The phone rang with such fury at seven in the morning. Rajiv was about to take a quick shower before leaving for the airport. He had an important conference in Nepal at noon…
The spirit of Eid-ul-Fitr in modern Dhaka
SHUFFLING through her Ramadhan diary, the lady was pleased that she had managed to deftly balance her Ramadhan duties with such perfection. Juggling iftars, sehris, tarabi and shopping…
Mr Brown’s loneliness
MR WILLIAM Brown is a quiet type of man. He speaks rarely and reads all the time. He is an omnivorous reader. Even he reads every label in the packets and every literature that comes with medicines…
Poetry
Let’s call it an active day
and then the evening comes – dark
let’s call it love – this smell of ur sweater…
Poetry
My Death wasn’t too long ago,
Godless, I disintegrated slowly.
The earth swallowed my flesh;
Hungry and rejoicing, nature broke…
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