শরতের ভোর, শিউলির গন্ধ আর বীরেন্দ্রকৃষ্ণ ভদ্রের সেই চিরপরিচিত কণ্ঠস্বর— “আশ্বিনের শারদপ্রাতে বেজে উঠেছে আলোক মঞ্জীর...” বাঙালির মনে সঙ্গে সঙ্গে বেজে ওঠে দুর্গাপুজোর আগমনী সুর। আমরা বলি, “শুভ মহালয়া!” কিন্তু কখনও কি ভেবে দেখেছি, মহালয়া কি শুধুই পুজোর আগমনী বার্তা? নাকি এর গভীরে লুকিয়ে রয়েছে পিতৃস্মৃতি, কৃতজ্ঞতা আর মানবিকতার আরও গভীর কোনও অর্থ?
Mahalaya is more than the dawn of Durga Puja; it is the awakening of Bengal’s soul. Through Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s timeless voice, the fragrance of shiuli, the artistry of Maa Durga’s idols, and the sacred remembrance of our ancestors, we rediscover our roots. Wherever life takes us, Mahalaya reminds us that home is not merely a place, but an eternal feeling of belonging.
Sometimes history does not arrive with a trumpet. Sometimes it arrives quietly in a barrel. Bengal rum crossed an ocean as cargo and arrived in Australia as something far more powerful—money, influence, leverage, and eventually rebellion. What began as molasses and commerce became entangled with the making of a nation, reminding us that history often hides inside the most ordinary things.
দুর্গাপূজা শুধু উৎসব নয়, বাঙালির আবেগ ও শিকড়ের সঙ্গে জড়িয়ে থাকা এক চিরন্তন ফিরে আসা। কিন্তু সময়ের আয়নায় সেই চেনা উৎসবের ছবিই কি বদলে যাচ্ছে? এই তীক্ষ্ণ, ব্যঙ্গাত্মক কবিতাটি গণেশের অভিমানের মধ্য দিয়ে আমাদের সমাজ, উৎসব, মূল্যবোধ ও বিবেকের পরিবর্তনকে প্রশ্ন করে—আর মনে করিয়ে দেয়, অসুরবধ আজও প্রাসঙ্গিক।
What begins as a routine post‑surgery check‑up for my mother quietly transforms into an unscripted exploration of Delhi—its temples, bazaars, forts, and cafés unfolding one by one. With a caring local guide, family, and old friends shaping the days, the journey reveals a simple truth: sometimes it’s the broken sandals, blistered feet, shared meals, and unexpected pauses that matter far more than the monuments printed on any itinerary.
I went to Baghdad in 2007 as a banker, expecting banks, technology and work. Instead, I encountered a city layered with history—beneath blast walls, armoured vehicles and uncertainty. I came to know its people, its evenings, its Tigris, and slowly, another Baghdad emerged: the Baghdad of scholars, manuscripts and memory. I left Baghdad, but somehow, Baghdad never quite left me.
A devastating flash flood in Nepal has once again exposed the fragility of the Himalayan ecosystem. An ice-and-rock avalanche unleashed a torrent through the Bhote Koshi and Trishuli rivers, destroying homes, bridges and livelihoods. Beyond Nepal, the disaster carries a warning for South Asia: a warming Himalayas demands stronger cooperation, real-time monitoring, early-warning systems, and urgent action to protect vulnerable communities downstream
Every generation believes it is the first to wake up. Gen Z has hashtags and reels; earlier generations had pamphlets, placards and campus marches. The technology changes, but the impulse remains: to challenge what seems wrong and demand change. Yet rebellion is only the beginning. The real test comes later—when idealism meets responsibility, and slogans must become systems, institutions and lasting change.
There’s something magical about a Thakali thali in Kathmandu — it doesn’t just feed you; it grounds you. The buckwheat aroma, the ghee‑kissed dal, the tang of the achar, the slow comfort of the saag… it feels like the Himalayas decided to cook you a meal themselves. Kathmandu has many thrills, but that thali is the one moment where the city pauses, the traveller breathes, and the plate becomes a small, warm universe.
Erbil didn’t introduce itself through monuments that afternoon, but through a plate of roasted chicken, Kurdish rice dotted with raisins, and the quiet confidence of a friend who said, “Let’s eat at Habib.” In Iskan’s lunchtime bustle, we carried our plates through a maze of tables, found a corner, and discovered a truth: sometimes a city reveals itself most honestly at the dining table.
