LIFE AS IT IS

There are not many moments as beautiful as waking up early when most of the world is still asleep. I tiptoe to the kitchen lest my footsteps would wake my husband and daughter. Then through my small kitchen window, I try to catch a glimpse of the world outside: the tall pines, maples and birches, the grey-roofed houses and the azure sky.  Every morning, the sky dons a new canvas - an endless canvas, I must add. On that endless canvas, a young child paints; he paints with oran ge, pink and yellow, haphazardly and on top of one another.  On days when he is grumpy, he smears the canvas with blotches of gray - on those days you know the sky will burst open and drench everything below!  During the summer months when the sun is up very early, the 6 o'clock sunshine glides through my kitchen window and floods the house. The yellow light falls on the cherry wood floor, the beige wall, the round dining table and the teal sofa. Tiny particles of dust dance in the air - a dusty

There are not many moments as beautiful as waking up early when most of the world is still asleep. I tiptoe to the kitchen lest my footsteps would wake my husband and daughter. Then through my small kitchen window, I try to catch a glimpse of the world outside: the tall pines, maples and birches, the grey-roofed houses and the azure sky.  Every morning, the sky dons a new canvas - an endless canvas, I must add. On that endless canvas, a young child paints; he paints with oran ge, pink and yellow, haphazardly and on top of one another.  On days he is grumpy, he smears the canvas with blotches of gray - on those days you know the sky will burst open and drench everything below!  During the summer months when the sun is up very early, the 6 o'clock sunshine glides through my kitchen window and floods the house. The yellow light falls on the cherry wood floor, the beige wall, the round dining table and the teal sofa. Tiny particles of dust dance in the air - a dusty dance

By the time a young gamer reaches his fifteenth birthday, he has already killed thousands of his so-called enemies. Even though he kills all of them virtually, he still feels the adrenaline flowing through his blood every time he makes a kill. His young brain derives pleasure from wiping people off the face of the earth, on a digital screen. When he fires his AK-47 or Colt CM901, his pupils dilate; his heart rate, breathing rate, and blood pressure increase every time he slays. And even though he slays people day after day, he is never punished for the brutality he commits. In fact, he is rewarded with points. He also moves to the next level of the game! The Daily Star link August 9, 2016 Video gaming is a multi-billion dollar industry. According to Newzoo, a global leader in games, e-sports and mobile intelligence, the worldwide revenue of the gaming industry is expected to reach 107 billion in 2017.  But children's access to violent video games is a debatable subject

I am not an unsocial woman, trust me, but my mental peace is important to me, so important that I can easily shun individuals who leave me sad and irate. I do not attend large, boisterous 'deshi' parties anymore. I carefully choose my company. My conclusion from three years of attending such parties is that most people arrange and attend these get-togethers to gossip about other people's failures and inadequacies, to flaunt their own culinary accomplishments, and to flash their new wardrobes, of course.  I have realised over time that I am a complete misfit at these 'deshi' parties. I do not fit into the stifling status quo - I am not a great cook, I wear very casual clothes, and I am not an expert gossipmonger.  Also, I enjoy talking about world politics, technology, climate change, and healthy eating more than I like to talk about divorce, infertility, break-ups, extramarital affairs, clothes, jewellery, and the latest Bollywood flicks.  If I am not a misf

PART I When Fahmida left her home that morning, she was not feeling very well. She was not only a little feverish, her migraine had also returned. With a throbbing head she lay in her bed the night before, rewinding events of the last two years. Fahmida's face broke into a smile from time to time as she visualised her journey to the present. Her biggest dream was finally taking shape -- she would attend her first class at the Law Department of Dhaka University in just less than two months.  But that morning, she wished she could stay home, and spend the day arranging the clothes in her wardrobe, washing the dirty laundry, and tidying up her reading table, which had not been dusted in a week. In dusty Dhaka, where furnishings needed to be wiped daily, a week without dusting meant an accumulation of the grey, powdery city dirt on everything -- from beds, chairs and tables to candles, plants, and picture frames. However, Fahmida could in no way afford the luxury of being at h

I am a parent, and as such I feel the onus to teach our children the difference between good and bad is squarely on us. We the parents, both fathers and mothers, are our children's first teachers, and it is our responsibility to inculcate the right kind of knowledge into them, so they can become worthy members of the society when they grow up.  As a parent, I also feel that if my child fails her society, I am also partly, if not fully, responsible for her failure.  We now live in a fast-paced, selfish, materialistic world where we are so busy making money and living our own lives that many of us have no idea what our children do on the Internet all day long, what they play, read and watch, who their friends are, and how they spend their free time.  We do not sit together at the dinner table, we do not watch movies together, and we do not chitchat over breakfast on weekends. We do not know if our children are depressed or secretly frustrated, or if all they want is their paren