It is an unstructured prose style outside of the traditional story, developed in the manner of the Uttampurusha… Although various conventions are spoken - yet an attempt has been made to outline distinctive features in his own manner of telling. How the reader receives it will determine his reading limitations. Nothing can be an all-round improvement. My mental illusion is a mystical city—the Dead Sea or the vanished Garden of Babylon.Even in the midst of the world's most catastrophic disaster, the human struggle for survival, the struggle for survival runs far beyond the boundaries of invented ideas.Parigraha and Nigraha Impediments—where survival and survival are not guaranteed, so much glory speaks of possibilities contrary to absolute realization.What the stories here are like, how far they pass in terms of quality is the responsibility of the reader. I have written from a place of contemplative thought—I have no qualms about whether or not the reader can understand the result in a given context. I don't have time to think about what features, what materials, if a comprehensive story doesn't become prose rather than a story, or nothing at all. The narrative structure of the beginning, end or interior of the story is essentially the logistics of the story. Without conflict of ideas, innovation does not happen. Different thoughts result in different creations.Reader, let's get lost in a faraway land—Naguib Mahfouz's growing childhood, a village far from Cairo's roundabouts, Al Aqaleta of Nilan. Mehrun Nesa's Past, Days of My Lost Memories.Cover: Pure silence People: Stories Page: 112

The daily scripts were compiled and became the 'Katipay Brihaspati Dilipi'. That means not just the daily draft, but the same circle, not the daily talk in turn—diaries, diaries, diaries, calendars, journals, whatever you want to call these writings. One whose thinking confines itself to procedural practice—needs not to be told again and again how many bends the broad path of art!When I realized what I wrote on the diary page, as if no one else could hear my depression or my happy time, only the guileless, fascinated audience.It can also be said like this:Today is Equinox or Thursday. For example, my 'Katipaya Brihaspati dinilipi' can also be called 'Katipaya Bishyudbar dianilipi'. Yet the same gloom still stands in the verandah of the madrasa. A sad day like the unstitching of a panchakali hat or a sad cry like ink smeared on the nib of a pen in Jubba's book pocket.The diary pages are essentially self-talk—phone conversations, late-afternoon upsets, and sick-day celebrations. Napa tablet, soaked bread in plastic glass in the afternoon, Bakrakhani in the evening.The book has been republished. Available at various online bookshops including Rockmarie. Cover: Pure silenceBody price: 200Page: 128Genre: Diary

Next to any memoir is my fifth book of prose. I don't want to get into the maze of whether these prose materials are essentially allegorical features or what. Industry has various branches and branches. Not just topics. There is no alternative to reading to know. Conscious readers should know - what is the standard of my prose!The book is published by Darul Ilam Prakashani. Available at various online bookshops including Rockmarie.Cover: Faisal MahmoodPage: 48Genre: ProsePrice: 120

Mehrun, how to define the dearest flower—if called by any adjective this 'dearest flower' can become dearer, closer—closer to the chin. I can't say Whether Mehrun is not a specific woman or whether such a woman actually came into my life is irrelevant. Like a newly wedded bride, I'm a bit shy. That's why I said-Mehrun Nessa is not a specific woman's name. Every new lover of mine is named Mehrun. But Mehrun, whom I have known till now, is not mine, but a sunny afternoon. Has become the faded sky of the evening. One by one, how many hours passed - the desired flower did not bloom. As if there is a great sickness in my mind. Everyone in the world got what they wanted, but I didn't get it. Because my mind is chirping like a sparrow flying from here to there, from there to here.One day, in the simplest way possible, I wanted you to be mine—I'm yours. However, everything changed. I don't know what happened. Because, I am not the initiator of social evolution - idiots. Everything is not like itself—squeezes like an invisible myth, which I think I sit alone. Although I had a path—I had a world of thought—today there is nothing. My mind is enlarged like a new born tree. Where there is no permanence, what is the mind?And when I sit very quietly, I write like this:"I am looking in a deep meditation in the indifferent air of the afternoon, the starry path floating in the raft of the mind. He has been my neighbor for a long time, a golden line of light every morning the morning sun touches my window. Then he remembered. And yet, the life that has been shattered never comes back, all the time I just lie in endless darkness, languishing across the abyss of oblivious absorption.The eighteen essays collected in this book—the reader may be disappointed to find the distinctive features of each—because each essay contains a sense of life, an outline of ideal living, the scent of a lover's hair, the sadness of a failed lover, the intense reminiscence of another day. Or, losing and finding Mehrun Nessa again. Through these different definitions and conclusions is the journey of 'Meherun, Priyatam Phul'. The prose here is undoubtedly more beautiful than my other prose. This made me very happy.The book is published by Chandrabindu Publications.

This book is basically a collection of ideas. When I thought about it, it created an overwhelming scene. Nature, love, country, women, sex, many more.Days of Wildflowers, Narratives of Long Retirement What is mentioned here is not bound by any specific customs, it may be the expression of my life. It could also be that this is my sleeping bed.Cover: Pure silenceGenre: ProsePublisher: RepublishPage: 32Price: 50

The wind in the dusty path—the expression of my long life. What I want to tell you is recorded here. I'm sad, sick of not seeing you. Read me, don't believe my cherished consciousness. What I want to say, what I say—is the note of life painted on a completely imaginary canvas or the echo of an invisible cry. Here is the sky full of water, the lively faintness of the rain. Unknown sun flower. The exposure of long hair and the quiet lifeless noise of the afternoon. It's like a dangerous environment.On a windy day on this dusty road—a day of rustling dry leaves. The afternoon of Hemant is ending winter eveningGenre: ProseCover: Pure silencePublication: Behula Bangla PublicationsBody Price: 250

Discussion by Zahidur RahimLiterature is born from literature in solitary and endless forms: what to write, the world or life or world life or world nature tells the poet from ear to ear; But in the case of literature, what-to-write and how-to-write are indivisible, unless the ideal of writing is not clear in the mind" - Buddhadev Basu ['Kavita' magazine/ Ashwin 1353 issue.TS Eliot, one of the most influential poets of the 20th century, wrote, "Good poetry approximates a condition of good prose". Eliot himself is a great poet, even after being a Nobel laureate, I have thought a lot about why he gave so much importance to prose in literary discussions. In literature, 'fiction' and ' Before the division of non-fiction, everything was together. This poet of Bacon's own language understood that the father of modern English prose, Francis Bacon's 'essay', was different from the 'essay' of French prose. . And this is not to speak of the 'dull', 'dull' world of the English language. I think the reverse of Eliot's statement is also true, and at the same time To be united with the reader in a different tone. Writing like 'lovely prose' or 'intimate prose' is more useful than Bengali dictionaries. The writer's writing is more useful Clarity of vision is not only needed to create, but also to guide the complex divisions of modern literature. I would like to say something about these words as an introduction.He has soaked the truth of individual life, world and human world in the juice of his heart and offered it to the branches of time in the 'world of lies'.Two days ago, I got Atiq Farooq's prose book 'Here some more sunshine'. Having witnessed my personal 'anarchy' in both reading and writing, I read this book along with a few others. As a reader, while reading any prose, I want to see the 'flow' or 'order' of the prose. Accepting the importance of subject or aspect, I would like to say that the first condition for the writer to develop as a writer is to be dynamic within the writing. Evaluating any writing requires a great deal of discussion, research and time-consuming analysis, and some may do, I just want to identify the traces that Atiq Farooq walks in this book.Two contrasting philosophies operate in the perception and expression of prose and poetry. Poetry draws the light of all external senses and holds it in the heart. Prose does the opposite. Prose conveys a particular feeling by covering it with external visual gaiety. Atik has merged himself in the familiar ground formed by the mixture of time, life and sense. That is why the tone of his prose is different, soft and sincere. He has soaked the truth of the individual life, the world and the human world in the juice of his heart and offered it to the branches of time in the 'world of lies'. That 'nature of truth', 'density of juice' and 'magnitude of the branch' - whatever a professor or researcher writes, I will only write what is in that branch.As if the writer is looking for a way to create a different version, there is a strange urge to express himself.In the book 'Here's a bit of sunshine', the author forces the other-minded eyes and ears to pay attention with 'clean one sense'. And shake the reader's feelings in such a way that they come back into balance. As if what the reader expects, if it doesn't seem like it (the reader) will find himself in another thought and world. And that's why it becomes a more fascinating, unexpectedly exciting journey for the reader. Why do I feel that Atiq's prose is "oversophisticated" in some areas, there are "prose contexts" and "context breakdowns" in some places of the writing. The author has repeatedly stepped into that gap, willingly or unwillingly.In prose I look for promise, I look for an 'alternative ideal' of my own liberation.In prose I look for promise, I look for an 'alternative ideal' of my own liberation. It's your own. If that is not grasped, the prose language, no matter how rusty, no matter how easily digestible it is, has no staying power for me as a reader. In the book 'Here is more sunshine', the author finds his 'prose voice' in every letter. There is an urge for self-discovery, where he wants to go. There is a sense of caring and kind presence throughout all of that pursuit. As if the writer is looking for a way to create a different version, there is a strange urge to express himself. Searching for that path is the real path, the creation of this search is the art.Books published in 2019.