Our films make us believe that university is like a rave party that goes on for months, where insignificant things like tests and projects barely register. But hostel wardens are worse than Capt Russell – they’ll charge teen guna lagaan and still give you hell if you’ve returned two minutes later than the deadline.

Even as we debate how to keep the #MeToo momentum going, the best way forward probably rests on our ability to be relentless with our rage, our demands, and our solidarity. Our refusal to let go of our long overdue rage could possibly lead to a culture where angry women aren’t dismissed as hysterical.

India’s #MeToo moment has been built entirely on the back and labour of its women. But the most dispiriting part has been the lack of support from some outliers – women who refuse to believe the testimonies of survivors.

I’ve tried medication, sought therapy, read books on how to survive anxiety. Nothing helps. So I’ve learnt to coexist with it. For my permanent companion, this friendship is not getting cancelled anytime soon.

Think long and hard about the way you – all of you, men – have abused, harassed, molested, and hounded women. The floodgates have opened. India’s #MeToo moment has arrived. There’s no going back from here.

The rules written all over your office walls or the eager instructions sent out by HR in emails matter little. What’s important are the unspoken rules framed by your colleagues: Never leave your lighter unattended, office chairs are not public property, and the AC remote can turn into a weapon of mass destruction.

I’m an impulsive person who sees no point in wasting hours overthinking something, so naturally, I’m told that I should seek a “cure”. But what exactly is “dangerous” about my personality and why is everyone so hell-bent on treating it?

As an elder sister, I am constantly bailing my brother out of sticky situations. Which makes me wonder, if I am his protector, shouldn’t he be tying a rakhi on my wrist, instead of the other way around? All traditions need an update and Raksha Bandhan is no different.

For someone who hates being touched, dating feels a lot like being an out-of-place cactus in an overcrowded local: There’s absolutely no way you or your companion can get comfortable. The hardest part is explaining to people that it’s neither a condition nor a disease.

As a five-foot-nothing adult with a face that makes me look 14, I’ve been called everything from “chota recharge” to “aw baby”. Even though I work in a legitimate office, my baby face ensures that total strangers inquire about which school I go to.