Arif Shahjahan

In my wildest imagination, away from all rhyme or reason, I weave my realm, unbridled and free, craving for the unfelt and extreme, by all standards but my own.

By the way, this writing is solely mine. I didn’t seek any assistance from AI. Do you write in your own words?

These are our shared dreams that inspire a sense of community–we are all in it together.

In my family, short trips were the norm. I would tag along with my parents even on some business trips. These were not exactly sightseeing trips, although some side excursions were always baked in. Those visits, prosaic to some, still drew me because there were always a few things in them that excited my senses. I’d scoop up and relish every opportunity just as the thirsty hands collect water and stay tightly together to keep every bit from slipping through. Lush countryside dotted with little villages, roadside hot tea, and unpaved roads bisecting the green fields were all a treat.

Tucked in a quiet corner behind the busy chatter of urban Dhaka, she is truly a hidden gem that speaks elegance and gastronomy in the same breath. It’s like finding a cute little European family home that beckons the oft-finicky gourmet to a few tricks up her sleeve. You can easily mistake her for someone’s house in Dhaka, and drive right past it.

Certain aspects of travel are better left to imagination, but what happened this time threw us off balance.

Many of these environmental disasters seemed distant once, they are now increasingly closer to home in the shape of more severe natural calamities often rattling us. To forestall such disasters, it’s imperative that we wake up to the existential threat posed by nature, abused for years.

The noise of every shifted gear was awesome. On a zigzagging upslope, playing catch-up to keep the car from rolling back with the perfect mix of clutch and accelerator wasn’t easy.