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Mother's hand semai is the most delicious

by endroar
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When you are hungry, the same fire burns in everyone's stomach. All food is the same in the stomach.

Your son Vasudev teaches at Tejgaon College in Dhaka. Both Eid and Puja will be equal to him.

Mother means festival. Utsav means return to mother.

The sweat of the forehead wiped on the mother's lap.

That's why your Basu rushes to you in Puja or Eid, Sholakiya.

And 12-year-old happiness doesn't feel like a holiday, it's like a sweet bug!

Your boys like Semai. You know that.

You were so busy with Semai in the morning of Eid. Semai was frying the anchal around his waist, stirring the knife with his mind.

Khokon Khokon Dak pass

Whose home has the baby gone?

Come home baby…

You will bake bread. Sifting the flour. Shubo was rolling a small loaf of bread by himself on the straw sitting next to him.

Vasudeva wants you to take bath in the morning. Friends, Aslam, Parvez, Ronti, Liton will come after the prayer. Throwing the towel around his neck, Basu shouted, “Mom, where is my lungi?”

You took the pan off the stove and ran into your room.

The mother hen with chicks crowed in the courtyard.

brick house

Drum cupboard in the window.

The bullet entered through that closet.

Once you cried out, baby!

Your floured hands slowly turned red.

The body fell on the floor.

Your father-in-law came running into that room.

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