Anand Patwardhan’s 1990 documentary In Memory Of Friends made me realise that the alienation and othering of Sikhs reached alarming levels during the ’80s. As Sajjan Kumar is sentenced and Kamal Nath’s role is under scrutiny, we continue to feel the fallout of the violence of 1984 even today.

Nita Ambani has shimmied her way to the front of the celeb mom line, just like she edged to the foreground of the Ambani-Piramal engagement photos. Even in the veritable galaxy of stars that thronged the shaadi, Mama Ambani shone brighter than the rest.

In recent months, as #MeToo has scorched Bollywood – but only a little bit – our celebrities have responded in the most underwhelming ways. Priyanka Chopra is the latest one to indulge in whataboutery. Seriously, Bollywood, here’s how you should be responding to #MeToo-related queries.

Why can’t Bollywood filmmakers seem to give disabled protagonists challenges other than overcoming their disability? It isn’t as if we don’t have precedents. In films like Sparsh and Jagga Jasoos, the leads’ afflictions don’t dominate their characters.

Most kids complain about their grades, their history homework, their annoying PT sir. Being homeschooled, I complained about being taught embroidery and having to draw the entire history of ancient Rome in charcoal. But most annoying were the aunties who asked the question, “Do you have any friends?"

GDP is to economists what e=mc2 is to physicists, or the “Single Ladies” dance is to Beyoncé fans. But how does one trust the figures? There is the issue of reported data, the methodology, and the unorganised economy. It’s like when my friend tells me he earns less than one lakh rupees a month and then comes to pick me up in a Bentley

A generation of millennials like me, has grown up on the belief that if we “do what we love, we’ll never have to work a day in our lives”. But here’s the thing we forget while we’re busy chasing the job that’s supposed to shit rainbows and unicorns: The bills aren’t going to pay themselves. It’s time we stopped romanticising work.

The “joy of missing out” is cutting off deliberately and not regretting it. This joy comes with respecting your time and dedicating it to pursuits of pleasures meant not for display – but for yourself.

#ThisWeekOnArré: On my 30th birthday, I realised that I was exhausted of pretending I enjoyed being in the rat race and I finally admitted that I was unambitious. It was the best investment I’ve made in my mental health.

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?