Bangladeshi Ranna

Mejbani Mangsho

And meet my mother-in-law, T announces. The septuagenarian lady who walks out to the living room is an ...

It is pouring outside. The sky is a canvas of monochromes, dull shades of grey, punctuated by ebony, the ...

It is a time-stops-still Sunday afternoon. Lunch has just concluded, Maas lip-smacking chicken curry ...

I rattle off the steps once again in my head. Remember to marinate the meat overnight. Cook the meat. Low ...

Come the first showers and the soulless dust bowl that our backyard had degenerated to in the scorching blaze ...

Bapi chose to remain uncannily reticent whenever Dada and I quizzed him about his and Grandma's migration ...

I am hardly ten. Just the age when the tragic enigma of Death has started to loom large on my psyche. I am ...

Bapi hardly spoke of his growing up years in what is today Bangladesh. Grandma would inevitably slip into ...

There’s a melancholy despair about Bijoya Doshomi. It’s meant to be a day of festivities and celebration, ...

Was your homeland more beautiful than this? A curious eight year old me asks Grandma one autumn afternoon, ...

Playing with dough is my favourite pastime these days. I tear a frugal bit from the ball of dough Didi has ...

Dida's days were busy, helping in cooking and cleaning, fussing over the the GuhaThakurta kids and pampering ...