LIFE AS IT IS

When I  first s tarted writing for The Daily Star’s (DS) youth supplement, the Rising Stars (RS), back in the late ‘90s, it was business as usual. I mean, those were the days when a writer still used to pen an article using a real pen, so did I. I hand-wrote my articles, placed them in envelopes, and dropped them in the mailbox outside DS’ then office in Dhanmondi.  After I joined the RS team of writers/contributors, I began to type my write-ups on our desktop computer, save them in a floppy disk, and take them to the DS office. A floppy disk? Yes, those were the days of floppy disk. Looking at a floppy disk would probably leave a kid of today wondering if it is some kind of a 3D model of the ‘save’ icon!  In the 2000s when email became a popular mode of communication, I no longer needed to carry floppy disks to the DS office. I would just write an article on my computer and email it.  It saved time, money, and also the occasional trouble of a floppy disk not responding in a computer o

W hen she sleeps in my lap, I gaze at her. I gaze at her because I still find it hard to believe that I carried her for nine months. I touch her soft hair, her tiny fingers and toes, I pull her little round nose, I squeeze her cheeks and gently massage her arms. No, nothing wakes her up. She squirms for a few seconds but does not become fully awake. She perhaps knows that she is in a place that is as safe as it can be. The pain was harrowing, nothing I ever felt before. The twenty-three hours of labour seemed like twenty-three days of suffering. Her back was against my back when her back should have been against my belly. The result? Back-breaking labour. Yes, I had back labour, which is far more painful that normal labour. I thought I would pass out. A few times I thought I would die giving birth to my daughter. In spite of everything it was the first time in my life I thought I was strong. I always had an idea that I was physically weak but the birth of Wareesha just blew that idea a

This is the season for the leaves to turn gold, scarlet, caramel and crimson. The chlorophyll breaks down in silence and gives way to the majestic fall colours that leave us in awe of the season. However, this autumn is different from all the other autumns I lived. There is a tinge of melancholy in every flaming orange, fiery red or warm yellow leaf. Last autumn, did we have the faintest idea what the next autumn might look like for us? Here in the US, COVID-19 has claimed more than 200,000 lives. As America braces for a likely second wave of the coronavirus, I see death, disease and despair in every yellowed leaf of maple, oak and sycamore.  I look forward to the kaleidoscope of colours autumn offers every year, but this year, I cannot rejoice in the bounties of nature. I am just not in the right state of mind. Instead, wherever I look, I perceive pain, loss and malady. When I call up family back home in Dhaka, I hear the news of another person falling ill to COVID-19. This has been a

I asked around, I asked Bengali-speaking female friends and acquaintances from Bangladesh and India what they understand by the word, Freedom.  The Daily Star link When asked what freedom means to her, Ranita Ghosh Chakrabarti, an Indian American working in higher education, said, “To me, freedom is my ability to make my life’s decisions by myself. Although I will welcome suggestions and advice from family and friends, I should be able to make my own decisions without hesitation or regret. I should be the driver of my own car.”  Photo credit: Tithi Living without the fear of men eve-teasing, staring with lustful eyes, or sexually assaulting them is what many modern women understand by the word, freedom. However, “My body is mine” or “No means no” only exists in a utopian world.  Angira Nandi, who works for a Business Processing Outsourcing company in Kolkata, India, believes that financial independence is what makes a woman free. “But when her very right to safety is at stake, how can

 Painting flowers is relaxing... is it the same for you? 

The lockdown condition of spring and summer seasons was bearable, thanks to long, sunny days and warm weather. However, as I look to the future and think of the cool-cold days ahead, I feel that spending the next six months within four walls could become challenging. I almost want to beg to these sunshine days, "Please stay a bit longer." America is fearing a second wave of the coronavirus in the fall. Health experts are worried about how dire the situation may look like in the fall and winter, the seasons when the influenza virus also circulates. Second wave or not, my daughter's school is not reopening for in-person classes this year and my husband will continue to work from home until at least the end of 2020. I am preparing myself for the frigid, housebound days. I am a warm weather person all in all. I like to keep my windows open and let in the fresh air. I love summer mornings when sunshine pours through my east-facing windows. However, as cold days arrive and temp