FABLE FACTORY | The Daily Star
  • Victorian nose drop

    Ponzi schemes and Freud's dreams, Mr Alan had suffered from a shrink flop, From voodoo nymphs and herbal creams, He mixed a Victorian nose drop.


    Depression is the only true friend. I have finally come to embrace it. I truly would rather be eternally depressed instead of being caged by the fallacies of affiliation. I am not understood just like everyone else, but I refuse to live in denial. I am not a happy person just like many others and I refuse to be in denial.

  • Anjum Surfers & Co.

    They thought she was possessed by her son's ghost. The sand coloured saree that she wore far too often, and her curly, greyed, short hair added to this belief of theirs that settled as sediment in their hearts.

  • An often told tale of a rich girl and poor guy

    When our hero first crashed into our heroine in the middle of a corridor in their college, none of them were aware of the life-altering incidents were about to follow. Our hero was annoyed because this hold up meant he would be late for class and our heroine was annoyed because she was now late to her first date with her seventh boyfriend in as many months. Oh and by the way, our hero is called Raja because apparently that's what lower middle class people name their sons. Our heroine is called Tina because that's what rich businessmen who are often called Chowdhury name their daughters.


    Never again was the night void, The stars were the only witnesses, Of my existence.

  • To My Author

    The book is opened and the story starts, With your words, but with my voice, With the plot you wove, but with the life I live, A story that is both of ours.

  • A Deal with the Henna

    It was late noon or early afternoon in an insignificant city, and a certain rickshaw was roaming the insignificant streets of that insignificant city with an unsettling smugness.

  • Where Did I Put That Damned Pendrive

    I remember the first time I saw Rafiul bhai. We just moved into our new Mirpur house, and I accompanied my mom when she decided to visit our next door neighbours. Rafiul bhai was sitting in front of a


    Where all light streams into one place, Where all love heals itself, Where no one dare hide their face, There will I meet myself.

  • Letters of a daughter

    I keep staring at the fidget spinner in my hand. It keeps me focused. I wish it kept me distracted. It's funny how people keep advising me on how to cope up with my loss, without even understanding it.

  • Mutual Feelings

    After so many years of our marriage and some years after our kids got married, I realised one night while we were having dinner that we don't talk much like we used to. Sometimes I forget what your voice is like, until you call for me. Must be the old age.

  • Numbers of Melancholia

    I woke up the minute the alarm went off. It was 5:55 AM. I have always been the disciplined kind. Unlike his number two, who I've heard, had always been more outgoing and extroverted. Perhaps my sense of punctuality came from having a father in the Navy. But I have seen lazy kids being born in such families.

  • Everyday Night Lights

    What am I losing so much sleep for? Is it for the life I was promised? Or is it to make up for

  • Petals of a black rose

    On the first night of spring, My petals begin to dream, Like an ornate orb— the full moon shines.

  • Rainy day musing

    I am standing on the edge of the window as usual. It is the only humongous window without any grillwork in the house. The sunlight always falls on me without any shape, with its arms and legs stretched out. As of now, the sun is not visible. The clouds are guarding the sky, grumbling with unequal intervals. Some are static, some are floating slowly but surely, like ghost ships. I want to be up there among the grey explosions bleeding into each other for as long as they are there. I want to ride one of the clouds, and lose my direction marvelling over the cityscape.

  • Sandcastles

    Today, after so many years, I'll get to see him again. I try to walk quietly, but my arthritis affected knees make it an inconceivable task for me. My lucid, floppy arms grab on to the walls for support as I stumble on air.

  • Reflections

    Sometimes I try to find myself, Amidst the still water of the river. Sometimes I wait for myself to appear, In the mist that takes us nowhere.

  • Super Massive Black Hole

    The sun was just about to set. Violet skies streaked with wispy clouds, a perfectly circular gradient of orange, blood red and violet on the horizon. The trees underneath a dark shadow, barely moving, as if forcing itself against the violent gusts of wind. I dangled my legs over the edge and felt the rocky uneven surface beneath me, my hand coming away yellow with dirt.

  • Mirage

    Darkness engulfs me, Heart screaming with pain, Frantic head looking for a coup d'oeil of hope, When I realised, wasn't I always chained in this maze?

  • Meander

    We set letters on fire, Paper catching flame like melting volcanoes; Watch the blue as it bleeds dry, Holding onto roses that expire.

  • The Abandoned Ship

    I sail on this abandoned ship, Which sails no more, The wind stops its howling, And the ship already left the shore.

  • Thoughts of a Hilsha

    You know they're coming for you. By now, they've taken most of your siblings. Last time, you managed to slip out somehow. It was pure luck, really. But the big day is getting closer and they are desperate. They need to round up as many of you as they can.

  • The Plastic Whale

    Swimming in water bodies abloom with plastic was very common for Subhash and his father. They depended on any salvage they could find from the plastic controlled territories on the island they lived in. The plastic materials were everywhere—in the ponds, in the forests, on the roads, on the puddles, in places where they shouldn't be. It was as though they were manmade creatures walking all over the earth and ultimately settling where they find it comfortable to create a colony of their own. They came in various shapes and sizes. Though diverse, they all existed for the same purpose.

  • You want my saree

    Hello. My name is Katan Benaroshiwala, and I'm the best saree salesman this country has ever seen. It all started when my dad bought me a branded lungi with the money he saved by not sending me to school.


    A pleasant flow Was diving into the Weddell Sea, Wandering among creatures of species


    I woke up with a start. It seemed to me that I was drifting between the past and the future, interspersed with fleeting glances of the present. Through my blurry vision, I could see a ceiling fan droning on with its blades, as if it was trying to suck in all the air in this little room along with the smallest wind of life that was still left within me.

  • Makeshift Oxygen

    “Why do you write?” someone once asked me. “To leave my mark,” I shrugged, “Maybe to create something that will outlive me?” “Stop it. Writing won't ever make you money,” another quipped.

  • Dream Dates and More

    At that point a bike flew past me on the sidewalk, making me jump sideways and onto a puddle of mud. My shoes were drenched, and some of the goo had seeped in between my toes. The overpowering smell of the biker's cologne, mixed in with the familiar “city smell” of exhaust fumes, sweat, and crushed dreams, disoriented me.

  • My Rosemary Bird

    Blink, my rosemary bird! Blink again and repeat it.

  • Post-travel melancholia

    There are various stages in a successful tour that we all remember fondly. Even the inconveniences that may have been there are seen in a warmer light. However, there is one part associated with traveling that is hardly talked about and certainly is its most painful derivative. I'm talking about the post-travel melancholia.