You Are a Rickshawallah

Sameer’s mother looked at her husband before quickly stepping in and attempting to defuse the situation. “You know it’s just a heritage thing. We’re not really Biharis".

The door didn’t fully click shut. That was an ordinary affair in the house because the door locked to prevent escape. But, by chance or sheer good luck, it didn’t fully lock this time. The click was off. Someone hadn’t done their job correctly. Bloody hell, no one does their jobs correctly in this godforsaken country.

But I guess Ivan did not choose wisely. It was a series of unfortunate events with him and now, he was stuck with Rebecca–and there was still six hours 46 minutes left in this office cubicle.

The lad appeared to be very humble and slowly took a seat. But I noticed that he did not take his eyes off my face even once. He kept on staring at me through his glasses.

Veering off from stories for a bit, Fahim Anzoom Rumman’s “The Secret” was a breath of fresh air. The piece seemed to be a cross between a poem and the kind of fable your grandparents would tell you as a kid to get you to fall asleep.

His face was growing warmer, it seemed as though the intangible entity that was stinging his closed eyes was growing stronger.

Love is the enormous mango tree growing directly from an ancient grave, so old that no headstone remains at all.

I found a gold pendant which I decided to keep. I wore it around my neck and looked in the mirror. Did my mother ever wear this pendant?

Suddenly, a giant shadow covered up the ground beneath their feet. When she looked up, she couldn’t see the face of the figure until it came closer and sat on the edge of the branch they were sitting on.

Sentiments are best preserved for people who can pay for extra baggage.

I am asked where I am headed. The expression in the lady’s eyes suggests this is not the first time I was asked the question. I stand there, wondering if the pits around her eyes—white as the sun—are caused by the likes of me, and I tell her where I’m headed.

You were chosen because of your heart. Because of the incredible love you carry, despite the cruelty of this hungry city. Because of the strength you have, forged by the trials and tribulations of Dhaka.

Shiraj’s only consolation was that he was almost at the end of the line. Just the couple in front of him, and then he would finally be free. Otherwise, he was fuming. Someone had picked his pocket.

“Listen, I have a plan but you have to say yes,” said Naya as her eyes traced Noorie’s computer screen, checking to see if she finished typing the rest of the sentence. With a last click on the full stop, Noorie bent backward to see Naya’s face gleaming.

The girl stared back at her and asked a question that made Mrittika’s heart beat faster. “Don’t you recognise me?” 

“Can’t a man even get payesh and shemai on Eid in this house?” Altaf Shaheb screamed from the drawing room while watching the news, “There used to be so much joy in this house. It used to feel like Eid. But your mother has grown so sluggish now, Saadat! She used to be such a good cook. Our neighbours back in the old neighbourhood were crazy about your mother’s chicken bhuna. But now I can’t even get a plate of payesh the night before Eid.”

Suddenly, the shadow became larger on the wall. At that exact moment, something felt heavy on Farid’s chest–and got heavier by the minute. Everything was still, and in that silence, a silhouette slowly grew over Farid’s  body. 

The trader decides not to return home. He sends a message to his wife: "Do not worry about me. I am going to the capital of Kishkindha with Devraj horse. I will return with a sack full of money in 15 days."

The farm had transformed overnight into a spinning wheel of fear and intrigue. The mother cows' hushed grunts weaved an elaborate tapestry of tales.