Dear Men, I support your movement. I just want you to stay true to it, for a while, for a long long time actually. We don’t deserve you, yes we don’t.

Filmmakers these days want to espouse social issues and stigmas but if Atrangi Re’s treatment of mental health is anything to go by, these issues would be better left to those who know a thing or two about it.

After his deportation from Australia, the world’s best tennis player, Novak Djokovic looks set to also miss the French Open. The Serb has not always been likeable, but in flouting Covid rules, and endangering others he has crossed a line from where his legend now seems irredeemable.

Corporate influencers are moved by garden-variety philosophy and spout vague quotes at the drop of a hat. Usually, none of their rhetoric means anything, but it’s a sacred quality – to say more than you do.

Gadgets today look, sound and feel like each other, but only a decade ago, one of them stood out from the rest, most incredibly for seeing the future but failing to jump on its wagon.

The third wave is here. It’s screeching through India’s cities and smaller towns, but the suffering of these two years, has perhaps, inured people to respond with anything but a shrug. It’s still life and death, but we are now struggling to even care.

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.

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.

Hotstar’s Human asks the all-important question about what it means to be human. That it is set in the world of pharmaceutical opportunism and intrigue is just a coincidence, for this terrific show headlined by Shefali Shah and Kriti Kulhari is a winner.

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

Indian families are diverse in every way, especially in how they choose to express affection. There are the boisterous, pappi-jhappi ones – and then there are the quiet, awkward-hug kind of families who pass on a strained emotional inheritance to their confused millennial children.

The ideology of Savitribai Phule, whose birth anniversary we celebrate today, was very simple: To have people treated as equals. In a time when discriminatory laws are being passed and the definition of citizenship is being amended to suit the establishment's narrative, it’s an ideology that demands our attention.

My parents have adopted the television as their own child. From 8:00 am to 11:00 pm, there’s a constant hum of static in the background, punctuated by a laughter track every 10 minutes. It’s ironic that the biggest consumers of the television today are the same parents who hated it.

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.

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

In a world obsessed with the new and uncharted, with moving on and around, I’m the kind who likes the idea of home and history. And now when it’s time to leave my childhood home behind, I wonder... How do I pack in all my memories? How do I take all this history with me to a new house?

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.

One night in the heat of passion and out of personal lubricant, I turned to the most unlikely candidate on my bathroom shelf: A bottle of Patanjali almond oil.

I wish someone had introduced me to weed on those nights I spent prowling around Haryana like a disoriented panther looking for my children. Think about it: If I was high, and Shardul announced right after his Grade XII exams that he wants to be a truck driver, I probably wouldn’t lose my temper.

I was 17 when psoriasis, a chronic skin condition that causes itchy patches, arrived unannounced, putting me in a permanent state of discomfort. Perfect strangers would ask me what I had on my elbows, leaving me mortified. I refused to take a seat on public transport because I didn’t want people to avoid sitting next to me, or worse get up if my skin showed.

In the two years since our wedding day, my husband has maintained his role as my counsellor, chef, doctor, philosopher, guide and storyteller. But before you serenade me with all your “awws”, I have to admit, this tendency to be more parent and less of a partner is a bit of a problem.

Engineers, or techies as we call them are everyone’s idea for a joke or a gateway to better, more humane things. Cubicles, bravely, tries to tell the stories of those who stay and in doing so, humanises them to an extent.

Biking is often identified with callousness, but it was in my case, a domestic inheritance. My father trained me to be a biker long before my feet could touch the ground on one.

Like everyone else, I grew up watching films, reading books, and listening to stories that eulogised the “spark”, the firsts of love. “First meeting”, “first eye-contact”, “first kiss” and so on. How often to we give up on relationships because the elusive spark seems to be missing?

Legend says that every night, Krishna descends upon a forest in Vrindavan to dance with his gopis. But in a town dependent on its faith economy, does it even matter if it's true?

Every summer vacation, we’d take the train; the journey would be a lesson in national integration. By the end of the journey, everyone knew everyone’s political leanings; debates would break out on whether Azhar was better than Sachin; or if the south was culturally richer than the north.

Legendary playback singer SP Balasubrahmanyam passed away at a private hospital in Chennai on Friday at the age of 74. Winner of six national awards, Balasubrahmanyam sang songs for five decades, for generations of actors, from MGR, Shivaji Ganesan and Gemini Ganesan, to the stars of the day.

A new category of friendship has emerged during the pandemic: The Covid friend, someone whom you connected with over the last year and is now more than an acquaintance. I’ve a bunch of Covid friends – women I met at an online book club, a man I met via a dating app, and a host of home cooks who had joined a Mumbai foodies’ Whatsapp group during the lockdown.

What’s up with the new PM-CARES fund created for those who wish to contribute to India’s fight against Covid-19? And how different is it from the Prime Minister’s National Relief Fund?

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