New in town
During Ramadan, iftar is when we are thirsty to its core. We need the perfect drink to quench our thirst first, before moving onto other things.
CONTINENTAL DRIFTER: SOLO TRAVELLER
Today, sitting on my balcony in Dhaka, with my face to the south looking down at the green neighbourhood park, I look back on my
MISTY SWEETNESS
The little girl in the yellow summer frock looks up at the floating fluffy clouds. Wide-eyed, head tilted back, smiling at the gliding, feathery edges of the dense mass.
A grain of salt
Unbearable sticky sweaty subtropical hotness of August. Disgruntled and disgusted at the shocking turn of events following the popular “Quota” and “Safe Roads” movements.
A lament for lost space
Last week, The Daily Star's investigative reportage exposed the work of criminal gangs and henchmen stealing rich top soil from precious arable land to sell to powerful, profiteering brickfield owners.
Shadowtime: Notes on living in two temporal scales simultaneously
Memories of my father are keeping me awake tonight. Two hours to Fajr Azan on the Friday before Independence Day.
A Requiem for February
Pahela Falgun, the first day of spring, did not work its magic of rebirth upon my soul. I felt no quickening, burgeoning re-awakening of the creative spirit in myself, nor did I find it in the natural world around me.
On the margins of ruin: War and displacement
and clothe and feed and succour the ruined, forlorn Rohingya, I cannot but feel anxious for our own swiftly depleting resources.
April 20, 2021
New in town
During Ramadan, iftar is when we are thirsty to its core. We need the perfect drink to quench our thirst first, before moving onto other things.
June 28, 2019
CONTINENTAL DRIFTER: SOLO TRAVELLER
Today, sitting on my balcony in Dhaka, with my face to the south looking down at the green neighbourhood park, I look back on my
October 19, 2018
MISTY SWEETNESS
The little girl in the yellow summer frock looks up at the floating fluffy clouds. Wide-eyed, head tilted back, smiling at the gliding, feathery edges of the dense mass.
September 7, 2018
A grain of salt
Unbearable sticky sweaty subtropical hotness of August. Disgruntled and disgusted at the shocking turn of events following the popular “Quota” and “Safe Roads” movements.
July 3, 2018
A lament for lost space
Last week, The Daily Star's investigative reportage exposed the work of criminal gangs and henchmen stealing rich top soil from precious arable land to sell to powerful, profiteering brickfield owners.
March 25, 2018
Shadowtime: Notes on living in two temporal scales simultaneously
Memories of my father are keeping me awake tonight. Two hours to Fajr Azan on the Friday before Independence Day.
February 16, 2018
A Requiem for February
Pahela Falgun, the first day of spring, did not work its magic of rebirth upon my soul. I felt no quickening, burgeoning re-awakening of the creative spirit in myself, nor did I find it in the natural world around me.
November 30, 2017
On the margins of ruin: War and displacement
and clothe and feed and succour the ruined, forlorn Rohingya, I cannot but feel anxious for our own swiftly depleting resources.
August 18, 2017
Bangabandhu and the birth of our nation
Incarcerated in the camps in (West) Pakistan after the surrender of General Niazi and the capture of over 90,000 Pakistani soldiers, the Bengali Armed Forces Officers and their families counted the days and months as they eagerly awaited repatriation to their newly liberated motherland.
June 6, 2017
Woodsman, spare that tree!
Did not Joyce Kilmer say, “I have never seen a poem as beautiful as a tree”?
Processing, please wait....
X