Sohana Manzoor

Atia crossed over to the window and looked out into the rain-soaked streets. A rickshaw-puller had taken refuge under the mango tree and was huddled in the passenger seat.

That’s it. Aura looked with slit eyes at the blabbering boy sitting across her. What was wrong with him? Every other afternoon he sat with Aura to prattle on his crush. He went on and on about Rimi with a wide-eyed enthusiasm that made Aura’s blood boil. She

Quite a few of Rabindranath Tagore’s dance dramas and poems develop around the idea of Buddhist philosophy that induces people to lead a simple life, to gain an understanding of the injustice and inequality prevailing in society, and to acquire knowledge and develop a deeper insight about the universe.

My mother told me to get a big Ilish maach for Pohela Baishakh. My face went pale. However much I claimed to love my mother, I had no wish to go to the maachher bazaar.

The picturesque mountainous area in the north-west part of England, commonly known as the Lake District, is a top favorite tourist

In a previous article, I wrote about my visit to Haworth, Yorkshire, home of the Brontë sisters. Now I think that if I don't write about the Big Smoke, I will be leaving out a big part of my experience in England.

Around 2014, while working on my dissertation on Emily Brontë, I suddenly realized that it was rather strange that I had never been to Yorkshire.

I was just up from bed; even the sun was not quite high yet. Some shalik birds were quarreling on top of the trees near the backyard gate and I was wondering how to ask mother for the plantain chops that were kept in the shika from last night's dinner.

I met Olga Grjasnowa early this November when she came to a program at ULAB jointly hosted by the University and the Goethe Institute Bangladesh. She had a couple of sessions at the Dhaka Literary Festival too.

A reader can perhaps assume from the back flap of Fayeza Hasanat's debut collection of short stories that the pieces revolve around a woman's position in society, familial relationships and identity that is constructed for her.

It was Ramadan. It was hot. Even though I was sitting inside an air-conditioned car, I could feel the heat. I was dozing and counting minutes and wondering how much time we Dhakites waste everyday in commuting.

September 12 marks the 124th birth anniversary of author Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay, best known for his novel Pother Panchali. This week's In Focus explores how the devastating Famine of the Fifties was reflected in Bibhutibhushan's writings and how he humanised the suffering of the victims of this "man made holocaust".

The grove of Srish Poramanik was renowned for nuts. It was right by the roadside and full of ancient trees. It was dark like the night even during day time.

Lina slumped into the chair as Chameli left her room. She did not know how to tell her mother that she did not like to visit Reba

The life of refugee people has always been difficult, and in the current world it has taken on a monstrous form across borders.

It is perhaps redundant today to analyse the remark quoted above from the Introduction of Rabindranath Tagore's Gitanjali or Song

Since the Liberation War in 1971 the readers in Bangladesh have seen many narratives on 1971 and 1952. In most of these, the central

The historic announcement of March 7 by Bangabandhu was, in fact, the call for the independence of Bangladesh. The speech inspired

He did not look at me once. Or even if he did, I doubt he saw me. His eyes were engrossed in deep thought; to me he seemed to be dipping in the deep waters of memory. Bent with age, he sat at his desk.

They sit on the veranda every afternoon; an old man and an old woman. The man is in his seventies with white hair thinning in the