Without uttering a single word, Barbie, who turns 60 today, gave us hair goals, waist goals, and even boyfriend goals. Who doesn’t want a boyfriend like Ken – tall, broad, well-dressed, slightly younger, and most importantly always silent?

The constant supervision to create a model kid, robs children of solitude: A solitude that will overwhelm them with its monotony before getting them to move their ass to experiment in the kitchen, scribble Rupi Kaur-like poetry on their notepads, and perhaps discover the true meaning of life.

Every lunch, chai, and dinner invite to an Indian household unfolds in just one way: You are offered 15 dishes and when you manage to croak, “Hey, I can’t finish all of this,” everyone laughs. You put your hand on top of your plate to avoid an avalanche of more food and feel the steaming hot chhole being ladled on your hand itself.

Is it a surprise that India tops the charts with the lowest divorce rate of any nation in the world at just one per cent? This glorious achievement could not have been possible without the steady support of “log kya kahenge”.

Robert Vadra already has all the necessary qualifications to run for office – he boasts of several well-endowed and disproportionate assets, and has bought so much illegal land in Gurgaon, they should rename it Jamaika. Just give him a ticket already!

In the year 2025, PG hostels for our treasured dairy cows have been established throughout Haryana and Delhi. But what are the conditions really like in these boving living quarters? We visit the Working Gaumata Hostel and investigate.

After 50, fast-fashion brands are passé for old-fashioned folks like me, and what the hell am I still doing with those crop-tops and coloured tights? I can sense millennials grasp at my audacity. You see, if I refuse to abide by this cultural construct, I’ll promptly  be labelled as yet-another-hilarious casualty of the “mid-life crisis”.

Men like Hardik Pandya are simply by-products of decades of patriarchy that has always seen women as somebody’s property – not somebody. And they will continue to air their dirty mindsets in private even after their public censuring.

Is it time for “hum aapke hai gone” for dearest Gai? The electorate that was promised vikas and given bullshit instead, felt udderly cheated and chose to give the ruling party the boot in five states. And if it is time for you to go, may we humbly nominate the cockroach as our new national mother?

A man falling sick follows the same pattern as Cinderella’s transformation when the clock struck 12. He turns from a golden, imperious-looking carriage into a pumpkin. One minute he is swerving through traffic like Schumacher, and the next minute he is lying helplessly on the bed with his tongue hanging out.

We have little tolerance for disruptions and would rather spend our time and energy on the new and exciting. Why should I stick to a cranky piece – of a gadget or a person – that demands constant attention when there’s a sleeker, more seductive version in the market?

Is it it too unreasonable to hope for a man like Ranveer Singh who will happily share my wardrobe? Couples that have been married for long, begin looking like each other. Wouldn’t it be better if we started wearing the same clothes as well?

Delhi air quality was bad, is bad, and will always be bad. All I need is to give two tights slaps to my lazy lungs to stop them from acting tantrummy.

The soan papdi is the nice guy of mithais. Humble, always available yet taken for granted and dumped the moment an exciting option like kaju katli or rasmalai makes an appearance. Soan papdi is like the human soul: It can never be destroyed, it simply takes on a new life as it moves from neighbour to neighbour.

I truly admire the man with gutkha spit swirling inside his mouth. He is the undisputed leader of India’s #MeThoo movement. It requires a dogged devotion to cancer to ignore those ghastly images of half-eaten faces plastered on gutkha packs before emptying that thing into your mouth day after day.

Lanka is not Ram’s favourite holiday destination, but I somehow convinced him to make a trip again. I promised him it won’t be like his last visit – no building bridges and fighting 10-headed macho men. We hired a cabbie to take us around and he reminded me of home. He fleeced us. I miss the days Hanuman would fly us around.

If you think you are a “nice guy” who doesn’t harass women, please stop behaving like you have a halo around your head. And if you are eager for the great guy tag, you will have to do much more than look the other way when you see any woman getting molested and humiliated.

The adultery verdict has acknowledged that I am no longer my husband’s property, and can have sexual desires of my own. But look at the choices around me. What do you expect from men whose idea of funny is a sexist WhatsApp forward that reduces the wife to a scheming shrew who shops all day and says no to sex?

When you love your city, you fight for its well-being, demand accountability from its administrators. Like Mumbai takes pride in its spirit, I’m hoping there will come a time when the residents of Gurgaon will say, “Yeh Gaon hamara hai.” That’s the only way to save our cities from imminent decay.

Can we please stop the hand-wringing over Suhana Khan on the Vogue cover? Don’t blame the magazine or nepotism – blame yourselves for falling over each other to see her #AirportLook. This is a classic case of the privileged, whining on about the super privileged.

The only flying creature that gets more hate than the pigeon is the mosquito. But in just a few weeks of the gutter birds taking up residence in my Gurgaon high-rise’s balcony, I was ready to put pigeons on top of my shit list.

Let’s get it clear once and for all – anybody who’s portly, balding, and oldish-looking is not your uncle or aunt. Especially when they are rank strangers who had no role to play in your growing-up years. It’s not respectful either; you are resorting to lazy stereotyping based entirely on how they look.

How does every mistri, mali, or kabadiwalla in the city automatically become a bhaiya? It’s either that, or abbey oye and abbey hatt. It’s crucial to remember that the term bhaiya comes with a guarantee of indifference and zero trace of compassion.

As Indians, we know time is fluid, which makes things difficult for us punctual ones. Once I managed to reach an hour late only to realise that, no matter how late you are, others will be later still. We have to be the only nation where everyone is in such a tearing hurry and yet always behind schedule.

When Sinead O’Connor sang “Nothing Compares to You” for her love that walked out of her life, she had obviously not discovered the orgasmic pleasure of slipping into soft pyjamas and a braless tee after a long tiring day. Especially when the pyjama is as old as the Big Bang and the top has as many holes as there are stars in the sky

My journey to fame, success, and greatness is plagued by self doubt and questions like, “Did I lock the main door when I left the house” or “Have I left the gas stove on” echoing in my head in full Dolby fidelity.

Dogorrhea is a medical condition that affects one in every twenty humans on the planet. If you are a dog owner, you are most likely already infected. Dogorrhea makes people believe that anyone who isn’t besotted with canines is an asshole. And anyone who isn’t a canine is an idiot.

Safaris start with a lot of excitement and end up in complete disappointment. At the end of it all, you emerge dustier than Gurgaon in peak summer. And all you spot is tiger poop, pug marks, and indifferent deer.

Spider-Man is on a new mission now. After setting the world right, he’s ready to set his home right. What good are his superpowers if he can’t make the dishes sparkle, the carpet bright, and the floors shiny and white?

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.