Subaltern Stories

As the sun sank beneath the skyline, the port city of Chattogram was showered in a brilliant hue. The scent of salt and spice blends into the talk of the city, mixed with the mutter of ships and the thunder of the evening swarm. Within the middle of this chaos, Arif stood at the edge of the wharf, overlooking the Bay of Bengal. The waves whispered many insights to him, but the words were bizarre and unsettling. ... Arif murmured, "Conceivably. Composing in English feels like walking a tightrope. One wrong step, and you lose your balance." ... The pieces fell into place. His verse started to reflect the duality of his life - the amalgamation of his legacy and his yearnings. ...

"Out, out, you damned spot," she had cried, and so do I tonight. Spreading through my veins is a story not just skin-deep but rooted to who am I and where I belong. Come follow me there....