We know that education is the backbone of a nation. But sadly, in our country things don't quite go as said. The 2018 HSC examination were no different. During the Biology 1st paper exam, a number of

It is not for nothing that Dhaka is called a “jadur shohor”—a magical city. No, I don't say this to exoticise a city from the Global South out of any unconscious colonial hangover. I believe in the city's “special” abilities that are crucial in defining the urban pathology and behaviour it generates.

Like humans, gods too die. Gods are not immortal. They do not die as frequently as humans do but they die after all—in centuries. Through the ages, thousands of gods have died or rather been forgotten. A god dies when there is no worshipper because the relevance of any god is sustained by the number of devotees.

I was chasing a new light led by a star a couple of years ago. Born and raised in Naogaon, I later migrated to Dhaka. Shaken by the gravity, I started exposing films on a plastic medium format camera and a mechanical SLR. Negatives were full of evaporated, burnt memories. I loved experimenting with multiple camera types and different film formats and making it into one visual narrative.

Lighthouse

A few days ago, I came across a viral video by Mikko Foundation, an organisation run by a brother-sister duo from Seattle with a “burning desire to give back to community.” The video showed the founder, who is white, trying to persuade locals in Gulshan neighbourhood to wear t-shirts designed by the organisation, supposedly as a humanitarian gesture of giving back to a struggling community.

“Apa, please come in,” a young man gesturing to his small print and copy shop in Nilkhet's Bakushah market. “What do you need—term paper, project report, master's thesis, internship report, research monograph? Just name it,” he asks swiftly.

Annoyed at seagulls that pester its patrons, a restaurant in the Australian city of Perth arms customers with water pistols to stop the birds from ruining the waterfront dining experience.

Simulacrum

I am a Bangladeshi born of a Muslim family. My ancestors were Hindus and, somehow, I have inherited their philosophical instincts. Although professionally I am an engineer with advanced degrees from the USA, and remain a practicing Muslim, at some point in my life I was drawn to the Indian philosophy and devoted myself to studying Hindu and Buddhist scriptures, seeking to understand the fabric of life.

Giving birth was nothing new to 32-year-old Somuda, a mother of six. The only extraordinary circumstance was that she now lived in a small shack on a hilltop of Balukhali which merges with the Kutupalong settlements to make the largest refugee camp in the world.

Nuclearism is the ideology of nuclear weaponry and nuclear arms-based security. It is the most depraved, shameless, and costly pornography of our times. Such an ideology cannot be judged only by the canons of international relations, geopolitics, political sociology, or ethics. It is also a well-known, identifiable, psychopathological syndrome. The following is a brief introduction to its clinical picture, epidemiology, and prognosis.

I am distraught by the latest news of the deaths of Rajib and Rozina who succumbed to their injuries in gruesome road accidents. Victims of such fatal road accidents regularly appear on social media and newspapers

Millions are now addicted to the pink pills. They take it as stimulant and end up with organ damage and mental derangement. The Daily Star has prepared a three-part series on the invasion of yaba and is running the third part today.

It was like wooing customers to have kebab and biriyani at popular Bihari restaurants. Only a few steps into the Camper Bazar, youths in small groups were looking for potential customers, holding packets full of pink tablets.

It's called crazy medicine. Produced in Myanmar, the dangerous drug very easily crosses the border and reaches cities, towns and villages of Bangladesh through various channels -- sometimes in full knowledge of law enforcers. It now seems unstoppable and is poised to cripple the country's biggest hope -- the youth.

The figures are alarming. Every year, an estimated Tk 6,000 crore worth of yaba is sold in the country, which would come to 30 crore pieces of the drug. It is a back-of-the-envelope calculation. Last year, 40 million pills were seized by different agencies, which according to standard calculation is about 10 percent of the total drug that got into the market.

Bengali folk songs, which have their roots in rural Bengal and are inspired by Sufism, often talk about another entity that lives inside each human being. Poets lament about never seeing or fully understanding this entity. Being the uprooted person I am of a busy metropolitan, I have never been very spiritual; I have never felt sure about the presence of this entity. Sometimes, however, I feel it lurking in the shadows, hiding behind everyday objects. Who is this person? Where is the rest of her?

On the busy Mirpur Road of Dhanmondi, students mill around outside a standard university building, converted from a shopping mall. Standing out, yet blending in, among the students are several Somali and Nigerians students—a small but growing body adding to foreign students studying at public and private universities in Dhaka.

Very recently, I completed a course on acting at a renowned theatre school in Dhaka. I joined the one-year course with a motive to regain 'myself' after being bogged down with depression and anxiety triggered by multiple factors.