FLASH FICTION / Chand raat at Mohakhali

The silky skinned beauty went galloping through the prairie

Sharif and his wife Ankhi were at the chamber of a reputed Sydney oncologist to discuss the MRI results of Sharif's suspected colon. On the wall hung a board which displayed a large number of his colon's images taken at different angles and perspectives. Sharif tried to get the underlying message emanating from the images. Each image had a few grey or dark spots which looked ominous to him.

What makes travelogues intriguing still? Why do people still make an effort to read when complementing images alone can take one through a journey into the unknown— the chaos of a city; the sublimity of wilderness?

Aahana took short agitated steps around the back courtyard of her house. She paused for a few seconds, to clear her head which was spinning, either because of the circles she was taking around the yard or because of the information her husband had given her the that morning.

Sometimes when there is no rational explanation behind certain happenings, we call them supernatural. There might actually be some justification, but they elude our sense of logic.

When my son turned into a marriageable age, all our friends, relatives and acquaintances started asking the inevitable questions, “When will he get married?”

Darkness thickens on the sky once more, Light's enigmatic sister— this darkness.

FOUR POEMS

I hope that you are well in London town — and that you are missing me! Let me say at the outset that this message comes to you

Her bedroom door burst open. She was silently crying on the bed when her mother stood in the doorway of her room. She didn't dare to look at her mother.

It seemed as though my little sister had climbed the five and a half stories from out of the dark recesses of the road where they were digging in the light of lanterns.

The dark rain clouds gradually spread across the blue expanse of the sky. The earth was engulfed in darkness. The rain started pouring. It was not a storm, though the wind blew in violent gusts.

Don't watch Okja if you are one of those with big plans of making the best out of all the surplus meat that will dip into your deep fridge.

Over the past one year, I have greatly enjoyed my role as part of the team at Star Literature, first as deputy editor, and now as editor.

We Bengalis think that no one can match us for our addas. If you were growing up in Dhaka in the 1950s or the 1960s and happened

Where at the end of the earth lie scattered A cluster of patios—silent—in ruin—

Kaiser Haq (non-fiction)

This is no doubt one of the most enjoyable stories in Anderson's collection – brief, uncomplicated, hilarious. It's only recently that I began to have doubts about its purported significance. Let us begin by reminding ourselves of the salient features of the tale.

It was a crisp midday. The scorching sun sat right in the middle of the sky, watching over the homebound school children.

When I first came to the US for college, I was perplexed by the physical education requirement: we had no such thing in Bangladesh.