To my dear reader,

It is 1:36pm here in Dhaka. The weather is pleasantly warm, the sun shines in neat, clear strokes, emblazoning everything with its heat. I have been nestled in an auditorium listening to art critics speak of finding form. And I was privileged to hear a presentation by Salima Hashmi that involved her reciting her father, Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s letters sent from Hyderabad Jail in the late 40s, early 50s, to his wife Alys. The exquisitely crafted postcards were written in English but published in translation in 1972. The originals were eventually infested by termites. Some 29 survived.