Twenty-one-year-old Zanziman Ellie suffers from microcephaly, where a baby is born with a small head. Shunned by his villagers for “being different”, Ellie, who can’t speak, spends most of his time in a jungle. Now, a crowdfunding campaign to help him is gathering steam.

Bafflingly large in scale, immaculately detailed, resoundingly acted, Shoojit Sircar’s Sardar Udham is revolutionary filmmaking in the context of the patriotic Bollywood film.

I tried to be rational when I found out that my father was having an affair. But I was only drawing more lines for him to toe, for his halo to remain untarnished.

Four years after the MeToo, not much has changed, except men’s ability to readily claim victimhood when confronted and the ease with which - thanks to the pandemic - they can expect women to play second fiddle.

Rashmi Rocket, despite its predictability is shouldered by excellent performances and a crucial question that applies not just to the world of sport but more so, outside it – the question, what constitutes a woman?

Aryan Khan’s arrest and the debate over the morality of the elite that has followed is symptomatic of a new national pastime – holding celebrities to moral standards we won’t demand within our families, in our neighbourhoods or from our politicians. It’s pointless, but there are enough profiteers, who’d rather have this circus go on and on.

Kylie Jenner didn’t just have a baby, she launched a new vertical in the sprawling Kardashian media empire. At this rate, there’s going to be too many Kardashians to keep up with by the end of 2018.

Like every outsider I believed Navratri in Gujarat was about music and mating. But after attending a garba night in Baroda, I learnt it wasn’t the sausage fest everyone thinks it is. It’s just all of Baroda having the time of its life, soaking in the music, twirling, skipping, and jumping.

The attitude of most Maharashtrians can be summed up in two words: Ughich kashala? Literally translated, it means “needlessly why”? It is the reason why we Maharashtrians are diabolically lazy and spectacularly unambitious.

The 21-day lockdown is a difficult time for India. But beating up citizens is not the way to fight this pandemic. Our policemen need to be sensitised now more than ever.

Khoon Bhari Maang marks the very pinnacle of ’80s Bollywood — a time of big hair and big pearls, padded shoulders on gaudy-gauzy outfits, shiny reds, and avenging female leads epitomised by Rekha, the camp queen.

In a world where we are talking about sex more than ever only to find it just as frustrating to navigate, Amia Srinivasan’s 6-part essay collection The Right to Sex serves as a manifesto on what direction this conversation can, perhaps, take.

Usually, pop-culture has an archaic way of portraying older women on screen, depicting them as women who are devoid of desire. That seemed to change this year. In shows like Fleabag, Succession, and the Morning Show, middle-aged women wore their desire like second skin.

In Soorma, Sandeep Singh’s wife – Harpreet Kaur in the film – abandons her husband soon after he is paralysed. She is also painted as a distraction for Singh’s goal-scoring abilities. I’ll let you guess what happened in real life. Hint: None of it.

In Gujarat, Marwari women lead dual lives. They fast with their mothers-in-law and sip mojitos with their friends.

A year into our arranged match, my husband and I decided to get into an open relationship. It’s done wonders for our marriage.

A lot of men like to think they are feminist because they order in groceries and do the dishes once in a while in the absence of the maid. But subsequently, the burden of carrying the domestic front falls on the woman. The pandemic has perhaps changed that in my home, but for most women it will only be a wishful blip on the radar of responsibility.

The long weekend begins to unleash havoc with the three most dreaded words in holiday history: “Let’s plan something.”

Even as a kid, I knew that the secret to gorgeous hair was my dad’s heavy-handed Parachute champi and that the tastiest fish was fried in coconut oil. So it came as a rude shock when Harvard professor Karin Michels denigrated coconut oil as “pure poison”.

As the onslaught of English continues, many a local word has disappeared from our lingo. But there are three words that even the kale-consuming, chia-seed-loving hipsters can’t let go of – chape, chamdi, and chutiya.

Murder mysteries land on OTT platforms these days with frightening similar numbers to FIRs in police registers. Only Murders in the Building, is a radically inventive show that aptly critiques this hunger for bloodlust.

I was 12 when my father first touched me inappropriately. It took me reading about Lolita, more than a decade later, inciting and luring her stepfather into intimacy to realise that my first experience of any form of sexual pleasure came from my own father.

Dear salaried person in your twenties who is pre-approved for a credit card, take it from me, it’s a trap. Between tempting EMI schemes and seemingly endless cashback opportunities, the more gullible ones among us tend to fall prey to getting a credit card. Exhibit A: Yours truly.

In Guy Ritchie's Aladdin, we look at Princess Jasmine through the prism of a feminist gaze: The Sultan’s daughter isn't ready to accept that she can never claim the throne. Yet, the problem is that the reimagination of Jasmine, exists in the film to convey just one thing: Disney’s earnest attempts at a progressive rebranding

For years I followed the dictum that rejecting Bhagat’s work was some sort of qualifier for a better, more intellectual palate. It is perhaps ‘woke’ to trash his books. But it took me years to realise that he may have done more for reading in this country, than any other author writing in his time.

In a world overrun with links and emojis, I want to resurrect mix-tapes, love letters, and physical greeting cards, not out of a misguided romantic notion of the pre-digital era but as tangible evidence of the relationships I’ve had and worked hard to keep alive.

At the Kumbh Mela, I was caught unaware by a daunting display of dicks only to realise that here, the penis is neither a fetish nor a symbol of sexual prowess. In the world of the spiritually striving, it’s a repository of sacred power and ascetic control.

A youngster traverses the distance from a shady “massage parlour” in Siliguri to a plush New Delhi spa.

Fleabag has emerged as the literal last word in feminine black comedy – more universal than the self-indulgent whiners in Girls and more visceral than the witticisms of Broad City. Perhaps, it’s because Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s show has both the sharpness and the courage to identify problems with millennial feminism as we know it.

There is no one way to remember a war. For Colonel K’maneck, who served in Bangladesh in 1971, memories of the war are linked to rifle muzzles covered with condoms.