My father reasoned that he had grown up in a poor land that had been plundered by the colonial powers and he was not going to give away another national treasure

Shimu and Tushar had grown up together on an alley in the Mirpur area of Dhaka city. Their neighbouring houses were separated only by a brick wall, about two meters high. The branches of a tree growing beside Tushar’s house overhung the wall, its foliage shading a part of Shimu’s courtyard.

The beast bellowed below Mushfiq’s bedroom window, propelling rushes of tingles within him. He smiled.

Jhumpa Lahiri has always been the rare author whose prowess in the art of the short-story far surpassed her novelistic talents.

Some of these works have inspected the complex lives of modern Bangalis while some have traced the contours of our past often not examined. Here’s your chance to read some of the releases of this year by Bangladeshi authors, if you haven’t read them yet. 

I’m not sure when I first realised that we’d met before. In the beginning, you were just the elderly man I often noticed pottering around our communal rooftop.

The slamming of the front door sounded an ominous note, warning of trouble to come.

Today, I am covered in lines. Rust from the rain, and the occasional overflowing water from the drain paint my feet in unchangeable colours.

What I loved most as a reader about her is that her strength was not displayed in the conventional ways that most fantasy books tend to use to depict a powerful woman.

He had been practising saying his name out loud every night before going to sleep so that his ears remained accustomed to hearing his own name

The monsoons have passed. Moti has grown so healthy, so strong and so big that no other cocks even dare to be near him.

“It’s a type of Brazilian music, this elevator is playing The Girl From Ipanema.”

More than anything, Suzuki shows that the key to being an alien is not to be outlandish but to be sickeningly more human.

She walked, entranced, into the water until it reached her chin, the wing of her little pink butterfly stuck out like a shark fin.

As a juvenile bibliophile, I used to see the copies as a delicate object greeting with utter care and affection.

Overnight, the saffron summer afternoons and evenings of dreamy stargazing tumble into a tale of grief, guilt, and pain.

Talespeople presents The Screaming Shorts, partnered with Daily Star Books and Star Literature.

Talespeople presents The Screaming Shorts, partnered with Daily Star Books and Star Literature

The two friends grew up together playing cricket in the garage, watching Pokémon routinely at 6 PM on Cartoon Network at Zuhayer's flat, and chasing stringless kites.

Ratan Da walked away, waddling the way he came from, whispering, “Don’t let it go to waste, don’t let it go to waste.”