Maisha Islam Monamee

At a time when OTT platforms are overflowing with gritty thrillers and intense dramas, Netflix’s “The Royals” offers a much-needed escape into a world of luxury, romance, and family dynamics. At its heart, the series is a maximalist rom-com built on the most classic of tropes — opposites attract, rich boy meets self-made girl, palace intrigue meets pitch decks — dressed in some of our favourite buzzwords: feminist, queer-friendly, and unapologetically fashionable. It is refreshing to see a desi series embrace froth and flamboyance without constantly apologising for it. Then again, being aware of one’s aesthetic does not excuse narrative shortcuts. While "The Royals" delivers big on styling and spectacle, its storytelling often trips on its own heels.

Mothers on screen are often reduced to clichés — the sacrificial, saintly figure or the melodramatic martyr. Then again, Bollywood notably holds a growing archive of stories where mothers are full-bodied characters: flawed, funny, brave, and deeply human. These women love fiercely, fight quietly, and exist beyond the frame of just being someone’s parent. From fighting governments to challenging their children, they show that real motherhood is messy, resilient, and worth watching not just for sentiment, but for substance.

Ten years ago, a film about bowel movements, a road trip, and a Bengali father’s hypochondria quietly slipped into theatres. Then, like that one relative who would not stop talking about their digestion at family dinners, it stayed in our collective memory far longer than expected. Perhaps more than a film, "Piku" became a prolonged sigh shared across generations, smelling faintly of home and unresolved emotional constipation.

Rabindranath Tagore’s works continue to amaze literary enthusiasts even today and the Nobel laureate has been a major source of inspiration for several filmmakers, who have developed their own unique touch by traversing his works. On his birth anniversary, we look back at four such adaptations that make Tagore’s works truly immortal.

It may safely be said that few characters in contemporary television have managed to disturb and captivate audiences in equal measure, the way Joe Goldberg has. Across five seasons of Netflix’s psychological thriller "You", Joe – played with eerie precision by Penn Badgley – has stalked, manipulated, and murdered his way through several dream cities. From the literary enclaves of New York to the sunlit superficiality of Los Angeles, and from suburban chaos to the gothic eeriness of London, his journey has been as much about place as it has been about pathology. In the final season, the show returns to its original setting, New York City, and in doing so, reclaims the sharpness and thematic coherence that initially made it a breakout success.

There are few things as consistent as our unstable Wi-Fi, existential dread, and a go-to playlist of Korean dramas to cushion reality’s blows—especially for Gen Z, myself included. To love K-dramas is to willingly suspend disbelief, bask in a world where minor inconveniences spiral into grand epiphanies, and where misunderstandings are solved with monologues. The question is not why we watch K-dramas, but why, in a country that has its fair share of daily drama, we still crave more — and from 5,000 kilometres away, no less.

A. F. M. Shahen Shah, a Bangladeshi researcher based in Turkey, has developed drone-based technology that could significantly improve emergency communication during natural disasters. His work, which has gained notable coverage in Turkish media, addresses the critical problem of the collapse of communication networks following disasters such as earthquakes and floods.

Pakistani dramas, once a peripheral cultural product in this region, have seemingly surged in popularity among Gen Z viewers in Bangladesh. Not in a nostalgically indulgent way, but with the kind of fervent devotion that leads to 1-billion-view YouTube milestones, fan edits on Instagram, and TikTok videos that reimagine tearful climaxes as memes. The real question is no longer whether this trend is genuine, it is, but rather why now?

Bangladeshi-led startup Octolane secures $2.6M to launch the world’s first self-driving AI CRM, transforming how sales teams engage with customers.

"When Life Gives You Tangerines" has sparked a frenzy on social media, quickly becoming one of the most talked-about K-dramas of the year. It is not just the powerhouse performances of IU and Park Bo-gum or its beautifully shot cinematography that have captured the audience’s attention but the way the series lingers, offering a meditation on love, family, and time that feels both universal and deeply rooted in Korean culture. The show, which takes its time to unfold, has become a viral sensation, with fans and critics alike drawn to its emotional depth and understated storytelling. But beyond the buzz, this show’s quiet power lies in the way it draws you in, inviting you to reflect on the intricacies of life, love, and the enduring bonds that shape us.

Business competitions are among the most rewarding experiences a BBA student can have. Participating in these competitions provides exposure to real corporate problems often presented by leading companies.

The world has changed, and with it, so has Eid. Yet, paradoxically, technology is bringing back the very elements we thought we had lost.

Netflix has long been at the forefront of digital entertainment, leading the shift from DVD rentals to streaming dominance. But its latest move—integrating user-generated content (UGC) into its platform—is perhaps one of its most ingenious strategies so far.

One ought to adhere to a certain level of reverence when talking about Hayao Miyazaki. The man has dedicated his life to a form of animation that values patience over production speed, detail over efficiency, and emotion over mere aesthetics. Back in 2016, he made a public statement regarding AI-generated art, where he called it an “insult to life itself”. To therefore understand the weight of the proclamation itself is to understand the nature of his art.

This year "The Electric State" arrived as one of Netflix’s most expensive gambits, a film burdened not only by a budget that exceeds $300 million but also by a creative lineage that promises much. The Russo brothers, known for their mastery of blockbuster spectacle in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), bring their vision to a film set against the dystopian backdrop of a desolate, near-future world where robots and humanity are in a state of uneasy coexistence. Based on the acclaimed illustrated novel of the same name by Simon Stålenhag, the film stars Millie Bobby Brown, Chris Pratt, and Anthony Mackie. Despite the star power, the enormous investment, and the high expectations surrounding its release, "The Electric State" struggles to live up to its ambitious premise, leaving us to wonder where it all went wrong.

"Adolescence", the Netflix miniseries created by Jack Thorne and directed by Philip Barantini, is an emotionally charged and deeply unsettling drama that tackles complex themes surrounding masculinity, identity, and societal failure. It presents a raw and unflinching look at the pressures faced by contemporary youth, particularly boys, and examines how these pressures can lead to radicalisation and violence. With a narrative rooted in realism, the show takes a refreshing, albeit harrowing, approach to storytelling, steering away from the expected tropes of crime dramas and police procedurals. It is a series that captivates not through high-stakes thrills but through its careful, painful exploration of human emotion and the systems that shape us.

The Netflix series "Dabba Cartel", currently trending within the top 10 most viewed in Bangladesh, attempts to carve out a unique space in the crime drama genre by marrying the mundanity of everyday life with the high-stakes world of drug trafficking. Set against the backdrop of Mumbai’s middle-class neighbourhoods, this Hitesh Bhatia directorial explores how five women from vastly different social backgrounds come together, not out of greed or ambition but out of necessity. Their journey, marked by unexpected alliances, betrayals, and moments of startling agency, should have made for a riveting watch—to some degree, it does. However, as the show unfolds, it becomes clear that its ambitions exceed its execution, resulting in a concoction that is fascinating in theory but flawed in practice.

Cinema has long been shaped by the male gaze, a term popularised by Laura Mulvey in her seminal essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” (1975), which dissected how classical Hollywood positioned women as passive objects of desire while men drove the narrative forward. This framework dominated filmmaking for decades, reinforcing a voyeuristic perspective where women existed primarily to be looked at, consumed, and defined in relation to male protagonists.

Bollywood gets many things wrong, but imbuing romance into love stories isn’t one of them. In fact, if this genre had a physical form, it would probably be a man standing in the rain, holding a mandolin, waiting for a train that has already left. Or, more accurately, it would be Shah Rukh Khan, arms wide open, standing in the middle of a mustard field. If there is one thing Bollywood has perfected over the decades, it’s the grand, sweeping, goosebumps-inducing love stories that make real-life relationships look like dull PowerPoint presentations. However, let’s face it—whether we admit it or not, we love every second of it.

The global job market is changing faster than ever before, driven by shifts in technology, demographics, and the rise of new industries. These changes are not just limited to advanced economies; they are impacting countries like ours, where rapid economic growth and a young, ambitious workforce are driving conversations about the future of work.