Chughtai spoke about taboo topics such as homosexuality, abortion, female desire, and their rights and independence.

Language trickles down the routes that blood took through Time. They say it’s a linear path, and yet I, a reluctant servant to the wiles of Time, find myself laid out in loops and slopes.

Hasan Hafizur Rahman's 'Ekushey February' created huge turmoil and faced police persecution.

Professor Islam sheds light on English writing in Bangladesh, its future, and the influence of the language movement on the Bangladeshi psyche.

“Extra ghugni, no chilis,” he confirmed, his cyber-enhanced eyes ever judging.

'In Extreme Need of Guidance', the book being serialised here, captures the first sixteen years of Sultana Nahar's life. "Mercolized Wax" is the second chapter in the book.

Come, if you may, with swords or guns. Remember, I won’t cry and run; I will rise from the depths of the land.

She wakes up suddenly from her unnatural beeline posture, slowly and ever so gently, like a chained demon would after just hours of calculated slumber. I never look.

There's something more to it that trammeled his existence, and he wanted to escape the suffocation.

This Valentine's Day, we're swooning over books - the joy and the power they bring to a whole spectrum of readers, from teachers to editors, writers and book bloggers. 

All of it–the material right for my level, the books a bit too adult for me at the time, the texts where I could only guess at the brilliance but would have to shelve until I could revisit them a couple of decades later for better comprehension–all of it has led me to become myself: For better or for worse. 

I was nine years of age the first time I set eyes on a Dhaka street. I received my first welcome from a group of beggars tapping on my car window.

It was a time in the night where one can’t really tell if it’s night or eve. The sun is still sleeping in and it’s unlikely that it has any other plans anytime soon. Nothing but silence cloaks the wood and it is the time for the chatter of the owls and bats.

When I think of the thick limestone walls of the house now I think of the essence of the generations of our family that it has absorbed.

Are ghosts real? This was the question Mollie, a little 8-year-old girl who lives at the end of our street asked me in a–real–letter she wrote me recently. I had apparently included a book of ghost stories in a bag of books I had given her.

Depiction of such problematic forms of ‘romance’ and relationships surely distort the judgement of readers regarding love and romance.

The dance of the tongue is just as beautiful as the word itself. Effulgent wind, effulgent rain of twilight moon, effulgent sky.

The gravity of writing has always come from the writer. A piece of literature cannot be judged without the whys and hows, and these questions are impossible to answer without sentience.

Break me into numbers and spirals, and blood and flesh make me all that I don't wish to be.

Someday, I will write about those places, the cities, monuments, and faces.