Tagore has remained ceaselessly relevant to us not just for his contributions to Bengali literature but also for issues relating to society, politics, gender, education and even environment.

Doctor Mahtab Uddin looked at the luminescent hands of his watch: 9 pm. Not that late, he thought and sat down on the circular cement platform not far from the patient’s house.

We reached the crematorium on the riverside that takes a mischievous turn near a local market. The hushed night was deep and dark.

The intellectual killing had left the country with severe brain injury in December 1971. We were devoid of cultural, moral and professional leadership all at once.

As the guitar strikes And we enjoy its dulcet tunes, My mind wanders someplace else, slowly jamming.

The police flagged down our driver, who ran a red light on the flyover one cloudy December afternoon. “Didn’t you see the STOP sign?” one of them yelled, as soon as the driver rolled down the window.

You are stuffing gunpowder into the silent cannon All by yourself. Now that the winter is over

A few months ago, during the height of the pandemic, my teacher and mentor who is now a UGC professor called me up one morning to convey to me that he has finally finished reading Akhtaruzzaman Elias’ novel Khwabnama.

Children will be more interested towards exploring Bangabandhu’s life owing to the Graphic Novel “Mujib” and his childhood stories will be intriguing to them, said eminent litterateur and educationist Dr Muhammed Zafar Iqbal yesterday.

What does it mean to read a book in a public place these days?

Love is ok till it becomes like the curiosity of country-lads when they go to airports just to see how aeroplanes fly

Does Time have the time To ever stop by the Clock? Take a little break? Drink a cup of tea? Come Time, come relax with me.

I got a visitor today. My mother. It was a bright morning, one of those days when you get a feeling that something good will happen. And then mother came. And mother looked perturbed. And I realised it will be like any other day with nothing but madness all around.

The 45th edition of the International Kolkata Book Fair, to be held in July this year, will be dedicated to Father of the Nation Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman and Bangladesh will be the country-in-focus of the event, said organisers yesterday.

It was that time of year again. I woke up to a furry snout nudging my hand. Lhyelhing the wolf was eagerly trying to get me up; so I pulled off the cover and then immediately went under them as a cold breeze blasted my body.

Writing is not an art suddenly discovered. It’s a craft gradually developed. Writing–both creative and critical– is formulaic, the way math is.

Turbulent, murky, and eccentrically wide at this time of the rainy seasons, the river Padma flows incessantly. Lashing with fury at its banks on both sides the river flows swallowing fertile lands, homesteads, settlements. It is a different story at Mawabazar though, where humans endeavour to tame the river.

“Chotto Kaka, I’m not afraid of the bogey-bug (coronavirus) when I have a tummy full of ice cream.” When my seven-year old nephew made this demand, I thought, he could really have taken a leaf out of Ulysses – a masterpiece by the great Irish maverick, James Joyce.

“Have you met Mr. Skunk? In case you have not, he is a short black and white fellow that you might often see at the bottom of the stairs, or near the dumpster.” Joe paused for breath.

Mashrur Arefin’s 2019 novel, August Abchhaya, is full of moments that evoke the blood-stained memory behind the language of conflict.