Taslima Nasrin (Bengali: তসলিমা নাসরিন, Arabic: تسليمة نسرین, Hindi: तसलीमा नसरीन, Toslima Nasrin) is a Bangladeshi author and former physician who has been living in exile since 1994. From a modest literary profile in the late 1980s, she rose to global fame by the end of the 20th century owing to her feminist views and her criticism of Islam in particular and of religion in general.
Since fleeing Bangladesh in 1994 she has lived in many countries, and currently (June 2011) lives in New Delhi. She works to build support for secular humanism, freedom of thought, equality for women, and human rights by publishing, lecturing, and campaigning. Her name, Taslima Nasrin, is also spelled Taslima Nasreen.
Early Career
She was born to Rajab Ali and Idul Ara in the town of Mymens ...
She may be a hardcore feminist associated with some of the most contentious social issues but to credit her as an intellectual with literary skill is just a load of rubbish! She is just a below medio core writer. She is simply an opportunistic person enjoying a luxurious life in Europe - using the sentiment of some over enthusiastic feminists as well as some pseudo liberals who have been dreaming of having romance with women from Indian sub-continent! So annoyed to see her name here!
Life facet one-Truth is truth. Life facet two-False is false. Life facet three-Truth is false. Life facet four-False is truth.
How do I follow you on poemhunter? I am new to it. I love your work. Lots of love and blessings to you.
LOVE HER and HER WRITINGS VERY MUCH. Hopefully Govt. of Bangladesh will bring HER back very soon. LONG LIVE Taslima Nasrin for HER RIGHTEOUS writings
Taslima Nasrin One of my favorite poetess. specially I like her STRAIGHTFORWARD writings Her crystal clean poetry is WORLD APPEALING really. I think for her BRAVE-HEART POINTING OUT writings on WOMANHOOD RIGHTS have showed the true path of Bengali women and only SHE is to be PRAISED for the present PRAISEWORTHY PLACE of BANGLADESHI Women.
Happy Marriage
My life, like a sandbar,
has been taken over by a monster of a man
who wants my body under his control
so that, if he wishes,
he can spit in my face,
slap me on the cheek,
pinch my rear;
so that, if he wishes,
he can rob me of the clothes,
take my naked beauty in his grip;
so that, if he wishes.
he can chain my feet,
with no qualms whatsoever whip me,
chop off my hands, my fingers,
sprinkle salt in the open wound,
throw ground-up black pepper in my eyes,
with a dagger can slash my thigh,
can string me up and hang me.
His goal: to control my heart
so that I would love him;
in my lonely house at night
sleepless, full of anxiety,
clutching at the window grille,
I would wait for him and sob;
tears rolling down, I would bake homemade bread,
would drink, as if they were ambrosia,
the filthy liquids of his polygynous body
so that, loving him, I would melt like wax,
not turning my eyes toward any other man.
I would give proof of my chastity all my life.
So that, loving him,
on some moonlit night
I would commit suicide
in a fit of ecstasy.
a GREAT WOMAN and an excellent poetess