12/04/2025
As salamu alaikum bhai, you—my family, my Bangladesh—welcome to Bhor Skill.
We are working for Bengal’s dawn, like Nazrul’s call—‘Bhor holo dor kholo!’ We wake BD’s youth with skills, eco-crafts, peace films, bold ideas. Rise with us!
I’m nobody big, just a guy from our soil, heart heavy with love. You know how it feels when the rain won’t stop, and your baba’s out there, saving the last sack of rice? I’ve watched my little sister tie her dupatta tight, walking to school through mud, dreaming of more. My neighbor, old uncle Rahman, he’d sit me down, share his only mango, and say, “We’re tough, bhai—we bend, never break.” Hindu, Muslim, didn’t matter—his smile held us together. That’s my Bhor, our dawn, burning inside me.
I’m starting this with my friends, and my hands shake sometimes. I want our bhai-bon acquiring skills reading books and taking experts guidance. And i want our bhai-bon speaking foreign language, building lives in far-off cities, sending back enough for amma’s medicine. I’m shaping bamboo into brushes, jute into bags—tiny bits of our earth to show the world we’re strong, we’re green. I’m filming stories—a mother giving a handful of rice to a stranger, peace in her eyes like the Islam I know, like the Bengal we live. I dream of a corner where we think bold—ideas to make our home a light for all.
I see you too—your late-night worries, your cousin’s empty pockets. I’m no different, scared but stubborn. Tell me below—what’s the Bangladesh you carry? Let’s weave this dawn, shoulder to shoulder, one hope at a time.
Yours, always,
[Bhor Skill]
