Where a literary adda offers more than literature

 Ask someone what happens at a literary adda and the answer will probably involve books, poems and a lot of talking. Ask what they remember afterwards, though, the answer might be a new friendship, an argument over a poem, or a recommendation they had never heard of. 

Literary culture does not end with the finished work. It lives in the conversations around it, in the people who gather to discuss it, and in the relationships that form through a shared interest. In Dhaka, literary adda offers more than a place to discuss books and writing. It gives people a way to find readers, exchange experiences and, sometimes, find a community. 

This is part of what draws people to the gatherings organised by Small World City, an online literary magazine that also hosts writers' meets and workshops. Although the magazine exists online, its editor, Mehrul Bari, says the intention has never been to remain entirely virtual. At a time when opportunities for in-person interaction are becoming fewer, these gatherings allow writers to share and exchange thoughts without worrying about ticketing or subscription fees. 

The discussions usually begin with a theme, but rarely remain confined to it. Conversations can move from creative writing to sociology, philosophy and politics. "Writers, as do all humans, exist within a community, and politics will inform their writing and their reading," Mehrul says.

Perhaps this is also why the setting of a literary gathering matters. 

Kazi Sayeeda Sofia Islam, an artist and content creator, also has taken up the mantle of arranging such gatherings. As an organiser of poetry gatherings dedicated predominantly for women, she says that space changes how we behave. 

A glimpse into her instagram account unravels the unconventional ways she navigates these addas. The spaces barely remain in the confinements of a library or a gallery; one such event shifted to the beach. Sayeeda points out that formal literary events can create a sense of distance between performers and audiences. 

"At the beach, however, poetry unfolds alongside waves and sunset. People are more relaxed and the surroundings become part of the gathering". 

Poetry remains at the heart of the experience, but it no longer has to be the sole focus of attention. For some, the significance of the space lies in who gets to occupy it. Sayeeda points out that women already engage deeply with literature, yet often lack the opportunities and platforms to participate publicly. 

"Women engage deeply with literature, yet they remain underrepresented on literary platforms because they often lack the opportunities and spaces to participate," she says.

The women-only gathering seeks to create that space through listening as much as performance. It becomes a place for "listening and grieving with each other", while also inviting a more difficult question: what are the voices that still remain unheard? This particular edition of gathering creates a space for conversations that otherwise remain unspoken. Discussions around identity, body, loneliness and memory among other topics, foster a deeper understanding of belonging and community. 

Sayeeda explains that there is a sense of recognition about watching women become cheerleaders for one another and discovering others who carry similar questions, emotions and dreams.

Access, however, is shaped by more than gender. Mehrul recalls that, in his early days as a writer, many literary spaces felt difficult to enter, shaped by closed circles and participation fees. Keeping Small World City's events free is one way of challenging that exclusivity. 

The magazine has also hosted gatherings in different parts of Dhaka, with hopes of reaching areas further south. Despite the prevalence of elitism in wider society, Mehrul believes Dhaka's literary community is "largely spared of this". He points to the diversity of participants at these events and the emphasis on treating different viewpoints with respect.

Yet making an event accessible does not necessarily mean everyone feels they belong. Class continues to shape who can participate in cultural life long before someone arrives at an adda: for some, attending a literary gathering may be an ordinary part of social life; for others, it means navigating financial constraints, unfamiliar social codes and the feeling that these spaces were not designed with them in mind.

The ability to keep showing up matters, too. Developing as a writer requires more than talent. It can demand time to write, money to sustain creative work, access to books and editorial guidance, and connections with people who can help bring that work to an audience. When literary culture relies on informal networks, the advantages of already belonging to a circle can accumulate over time. 

Someone who attends events regularly may build friendships, receive feedback and discover publishing opportunities, while someone unable to participate consistently may struggle to access the same networks. Exclusion does not always take the form of an explicit refusal; it can emerge through the ordinary ways opportunities circulate among people who already know one another.

These inequalities also shape which voices make it into print. Mehrul has heard powerful poems and stories at these gatherings from ethnic minorities, queer people and other underrepresented communities, yet finds many of these works difficult to locate in mainstream publications. 

"I've heard many great poems and stories in our meetings from such communities, and then I go home and I struggle to find them published in a great many places," he says.

An adda cannot resolve this absence, but it can offer a space where these voices are heard and recognised, even before they reach a wider readership. In this sense, its value lies not only in making literary participation possible, but also in creating opportunities for writers whose work might otherwise remain outside the mainstream. Whether those opportunities translate into lasting recognition, however, depends on what happens beyond the gathering itself.

All in all, such gatherings are also a way of making room for experiences that rarely find space in mainstream literary culture. In a space where getting published can be as difficult as finding the right audience, sometimes the first step is simply having a room where someone is willing to listen.