This flash series explores with hilarious tropes the state of things in Bangladesh, indeed all over he world, especially of writers , artists and freedom of speech.

I rushed to your picture frame first, but it yielded nothing. No, not nothing. A certain distaste, that felt like tar in my mouth, heavy, unrelenting, dark, putrid, unpleasant.

Bambi hugs the soft animal of her body, her skin dreaming of love...

This flash fiction of a so-called godwoman unmasks the underlying hypocrisy, selfishness and the greed for power and control.

Your body and mind are exhausted from the week that sits heavy on your chest like the old mortar in your kitchen your grandmother left you. Sometimes you wonder if she shifted her own weight in that lifeless object, something for you to carry.

She stares at the screen, shaking his words as though they have pockets and will surely release something secret if she keeps at it long enough.

Is this why people have children? To seek what they have lost.

You have always felt you have an ordinary face, brown, with round, brown eyes that turn a shade lighter in the sun, and sparkle when at sea, even teeth behind full lips that break into a smile, giving your face a momentary beauty.

They all look the same with different colours. Like my friends. All different. All same.

I can’t really talk like myself with anyone here. Neither my wife nor my son has learnt Bangla. I discuss their things in their language.

I often feel the character that I play has not been written for me.

I left home one evening to head to the river, and then something strange came to pass, the river was nowhere to be found!