‘Tara pore giyechhilo akta moydar jar-e. Tai jar theke
berolo tintey sada beral’
Sasha loosened her pigtails and lay down next to Baba.
It was his favourite book. Na, wait. It was Dadu’s. Russian folktales,
translated into bangla. Baba looks so
peaceful when he sleeps. His phone is switched off, he isn’t scolding ma for
forgetting to take her pills, neither is he shouting at Mu for leaving pug
marks over his papers.
Sasha wiped her eyes. They were stuffing cotton swabs into
his nostrils.
“Joley porey gechhilo-tai jol theke berolo tintey bhije
beral”.
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