He had been practising saying his name out loud every night before going to sleep so that his ears remained accustomed to hearing his own name

It said, my body was no longer needed. / “This is the age of freedom. Let me go, and explore.”

The monsoons have passed. Moti has grown so healthy, so strong and so big that no other cocks even dare to be near him.

As we remember the joys and the agonies brought forth by 16th December 1971, we often forget or, rather, neglect the nuances embedded in the struggle

“It’s a type of Brazilian music, this elevator is playing The Girl From Ipanema.”

For the first time, I also found myself giddy over a male protagonist from the world of my father and uncles. The character of Nadeem, Selina's boyfriend, can be best described as a "man written by a woman".

As long as the problems addressed in Sultana’s Dream continue to exist and be relevant, we must uphold Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain’s work, values, and ideologies

What makes You a boy, me a girl; Me a popper, you an Earl?

Crimson blood splattered amongst the ravaged lands

An interesting concern in contemporary children’s literature criticism is the discussion of power. Do the fictive children in children’s books, conceived and delivered by the adult author, have the ability to exercise their will and possess a voice?

She walked, entranced, into the water until it reached her chin, the wing of her little pink butterfly stuck out like a shark fin.

Oh that angelic call, yet I cannot respond. I cannot open my mouth in fear of the burning pain overpowering my senses.

Talespeople presents The Screaming Shorts, partnered with Daily Star Books and Star Literature.

Baldwin was sitting right beside, smoking, killing time, thinking of love and loneliness, friendships and misfortunes. Of Martin and Malcolm.

Talespeople presents The Screaming Shorts, partnered with Daily Star Books and Star Literature

After my death, Nana sent a notice of eviction to all the tenants.

The dumpster diver and the plastic smoker raised their fists. I was in the solemn, trapped

Dad, do you know how to build a rocket? Seems, you do not. You know nothing. You are good for nothing.

Ratan Da walked away, waddling the way he came from, whispering, “Don’t let it go to waste, don’t let it go to waste.”

Back in 2006 at the age of 11, I was introduced to faith, in the most domestic way possible.