HeyJaredTiasha Idrak
- Indexed articles, last 90 days
- 4
- Latest publication
- Aug 30, 2026
- Outlet visibility, for The Daily Star
- Top 50K sites
- Earliest in this view
- Aug 17, 2026
Latest articles
‘Baramkhana’: Lalon’s life, legacy and loss honoured by Theatre (opens the original)
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The moon shines brightly upon the stage as people of different ages gather deep inside a forest. Their faith matters not; their gender matters not. These people—of different backgrounds and ages—encircle a man. With long hair, a beard, and an ektara in hand, he sings: "Jaat gelo, jaat gelo bole, Eki Ajob Karkhana." Fakir Lalon Shai sings of humanity, of how we all leave this earth without the markings of caste or religion. On August 29, Lalon Shai’s life was brought to life through Theatre’s pro
‘Ekshathe Choli, Ekshathe Bachi’ challenges barriers and calls for inclusion in theatre (opens the original)
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On a dimly lit stage, actors appear, their bodies entangled together as they move towards something. They run, chained by circumstances; some in wheelchairs, some able-bodied, some visually impaired – yet all are moving towards the same destination. Another actor comes forward. Visually impaired, she begins to recite verses from “Nirjhorer Shopnobhongo” by Rabindranath Tagore. A poem that sings the song of freedom, about breaking the shackles of isolation and liberation. That is how the play, “E
‘A museum of genocide’: ‘Nimojjon’ depicts the darkness of human history (opens the original)
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A lone traveler arrives in a strange country, guided only by a letter from an old friend to meet him after decades. The state has no name; it is neither here nor there. An ominousness hangs over every scene as the traveler navigates this unfamiliar land. Even the audience cannot locate exactly which nation this play is taking place in. Is it Bangladesh? Rwanda? Palestine? Or is it everywhere all at once, yet none at all? It matters not, for this strange nation bears the signs of human atrocity a
‘Tobuo Jege Uthi’ portrays the violence and objectification of womanhood in the maw of patriarchy (opens the original)
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In a dimly lit room, bodies of women and men lie on the ground, arms tucked to their chests, knees folded, bodies curled into a foetal position and a rope, an umbilical cord, as though they are still in their mothers’ womb. They rise, awoken from their slumber. These children of humanity roam the stage aimlessly, playfully. They giggle and skip, hand in hand as they circle the stage, unaware of their differences, for there are none. Until the forces separate them. The beat of the drums parts the
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