It scares me that Western civilisation has hung out on the moon, built the fastest cars, and continues to innovate at technology’s cutting edge, but still fails to grasp the concept of the humble jet spray. They won’t do the dishes without running water, but are frighteningly happy to go without it while doing their business.

While my friends moved abroad to study at 18, I’m leaving only at 26. Uprooting my life at 26 makes me feel like a cross between two kinds of people: a child that’s practising cutting vegetables, and an entry-level yuppie sage.

The average Indian between the ages of 20 and 34 works 52 hours a week. That is 30 per cent more than the mythical 40-hour work week that the goras seem to have. What’s more, this is not exceptional, it’s the mean. It’s what’s expected, it’s the norm.

We think nothing of sticking to each other in a queue. Rank strangers will put an arm around you when they want to read the newspaper over your shoulder. Why don’t we get the concept of personal space?

I wasn’t the sort of person who went out alone. But is it anywhere on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs to do things with someone you’ve already gone out with eleventeen million times?

Most millennials seem to have missed the memo about money being important. They believe small, large, and medium caps are things you get at the neighbouring Nike store.

Who is Gen X to go pointing fingers at us millennials? This was a generation that would voluntarily watch films starring Mithun and Jeetendra.

Balding in your 20s is years of being hustled oils by barbers balder than Anupam Kher and getting “treatment” in shitty buildings likely to collapse faster than you can say Dr Batra.