Why is the average Bengali Bhodrolok such a Sulk Smitha? He can convey 50 degrees of hurt with his eyes. His sigh is heavier than a boulder that proceeds to place itself on your heart. His slow gait is like the screeching sound of chalk on a board.

A client is looking for a “budget studio apartment”. Have you ever heard anything so hilarious? I have a closet at Pali Naka she can rent out with the amount of money she has in her bank account.

France 2019 has been a revelation. This edition might go down in history as the tournament that raised up women’s football to where it belongs, alongside men’s.

The sharp rise in #lynchings in India, and the details that have emerged following the Hapur exposé, are cause for alarm. How have we suddenly adopted this reputation for mob justice in 2018? And how do we stop it?

My sons and I love watching Bollywood movies together, but finding a film devoid of misogyny, objectification of women, and innuendo is a task. How do I explain to my kids what is wrong with “6 din, Ladki in” when SRK is mouthing it as if it’s the most chivalrous way to woo a girl in Kal Ho Naa Ho?

Disguised as a love story, Sandeep Reddy Vanga’s Kabir Singh justifies what Indian men have been trying to normalise since time immemorial: That anger is a man’s birthright. That rage is necessary for a man to exert his dominance over a woman and the world needs to accept it.

In Prayaag Akbar’s Leila, now adapted into a Netflix series, the journey of its protagonist Shalini, echoes the social deafness of most privileged men and women in India. People who over-elaborate their progressiveness but remain blind to the segmentations that widen due to their choices.

How long is it appropriate to mope over a broken relationship? “Forever,” the abyss of pop culture seems to be telling us.

When my five-year-old niece confused India with South Africa while watching a World Cup match recently, I realised that none of us are born with a sense of nationalism. Instead, it is something that is taught to us, piece by piece, line by line, until it becomes a part of our identity.

My husband couldn’t get out of bed and spent most of his waking hours in silence or crying. He experienced panic attacks. Soon my empathy for him began morphing into a dark affirmation – I didn’t deserve this. Then I realised I needed therapy too.