Imagine it’s raining cats and dogs The hilly river has let the hair loose
This is an excerpt from Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay's short story "Abhishapta", translated by Dipty Rahman
Protecting translation is a commitment to fostering empathy, understanding, and creativity in a globalised yet divided world.
When I come to you, I become a tree Trees have roots
Healthy water-bodies are sunk by envy-blind waste’s outburst
Irrespective of the ambivalence that marks Metaphysical poetry of the 17th century, Selim marvels us with his choice of words and precision of utterance.
After the previous tenant vacated the house, Khan E Alam decided not to accommodate any younger residents.
I wove necklaces of lyrics/ Which you'd wear beautifully
You know how that day the wind brought out/ The crazy thoughts I had in me all the while.
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.
Self-confidence shaken, some shattered memories in their side bags
Massacre, murder, torture, violence, bayonet, bloodshed, grenade, displacement, death—these words bring to mind a war scenario.
Wilson hasn’t written a retelling from the perspectives of the subjugated but has rather been true to the original, although she doesn’t shy away from acknowledging the sheer misogyny of the Homeric period.
There is no denying the truism that translation historically served the best interest of the colonisers.
The lad appeared to be very humble and slowly took a seat. But I noticed that he did not take his eyes off my face even once. He kept on staring at me through his glasses.
"This book is a way for me to express my own emotions associated with Tagore’s lyrics”, Fakrul Alam shared his thoughts at the launch of 'Gitabitan'.
I proposed a panel at a North American Bangla literary conference. ‘Is translation itself a form of activism?’ I queried.
This poem has been translated by the author from Zahir Raihan’s poem, ‘Kotogulo Kukurer Artonad’ on account of the novelist, writer and filmmaker’s birth anniversary.
The motor car is always a thing of darkness, In the sun and lighted roads of day And in the luminous gas at night though
