About two and a half kilometres southeast of Dulahazara Bazar in Cox’s Bazar’s Chakaria upazila, along a winding rural road, lies Paglir Bil Road.

As dawn breaks over the rolling hills of Chittagong University, the campus awakens to more than the footsteps of students.

Illegal stone and sand extraction continues across Sylhet despite bans, court orders and crackdowns

As elephant numbers grow in the forests of the Mymensingh region, shrinking habitats, blocked migration routes and escalating human-elephant conflict are threatening the future of one of Bangladesh’s last remaining transboundary elephant populations.

Every day, Safia Khan, a 30-year-old corporate professional in Dhaka’s bustling Mirpur neighbourhood, moves through a world saturated with plastic.

They move through Dhaka’s streets largely unnoticed, searching roadsides, drains, and piles of waste for discarded plastic bottles.

On the way to Sonargaon in Narayanganj, time seems to move backwards.

From tea stalls under blue tarpaulin shades to posh cafés serving salted caramel frostinos, Ruppur’s Green City has transformed a sleepy village into a cosmopolitan enclave.

The wait lasted four years, or 1,460 days. On Thursday night, it finally ended. With the referee’s whistle, the World Cup, the “Greatest Show on Earth”, began.

My social media feeds are awash with reels of posh dinners: elegant homes, exotic menus, perfectly styled tables.

Like every other day, farmer Abul Kalam was carrying water in two tin jars from an artesian tube well to his betel leaf garden.

It is a coastline defined by water, an endless horizon where the sea meets the sky and waves roll as far as the eye can see.

A wooden boat rocks on dark tidal waters, its hull brushing mangrove roots as dawn thins over the Sundarbans. On the boat, men sit barefoot and alert, eyes fixed on the green shadows. Somewhere above them, wild bees cling to a hive heavy with honey.

Chattogram, long known for its undulating hills and hillocks stretching towards the Bay of Bengal, is gradually losing one of its defining features.

Old Dhaka is where history refuses to stay silent. It breathes through narrow lanes, faded facades and river-worn walls.

My earliest memory of Baishakhi Mela takes me back to the late 1970s. I was riding a rickshaw with my father to Bangla Academy, clutching green glass bangles and little terracotta toys.

In Adui Para, a remote village in Alikadam upazila in Bandarban, the road to school is a hill path of stone, dust and patience.

Vast fields stretch along the banks of the Mongla-Ghashiakhali channel, where Aman rice was harvested nearly two months ago. While most of the fields now lie barren, ripe wheat can be seen swaying in the wind in a few plots.

Rajshahi does not reveal all its beauty at once. At first glance, it is the city’s orderly avenues, flowering trees and well-planned streets that draw admiration.

The Chalan Beel was once no less than a natural wonder -- a vast expanse of water where fishermen thrived, kingfishers and egrets hunted, and life moved with the rhythms of ebb and tide.