By Bikram Vohra
Someone who smiles too much may well be making faces behind your back. Have you ever had that uncomfortable feeling that this colleague, partner, staffer, is just too nice, too flattering — oily little sod — but it is still a nice sensation to be given such homage and even if he is a bit transparent in his adulation, what the heck, give him a raise.
Continue reading Sycophants and soda water… with some cynical rocks in it
By Anamika Chatterjee
Four years ago, my personal Mills & Boon romance came to life when I got married to someone who was well worth the plunge. Marriages, as many romantic novels — except 50-Shades-of-Absurdities — will have you believe, are the beginning of happily ever afters. Turns out marriages, more often than not, are the beginning of the hunt for a happily ever after, especially when they entail wrapping up your life of 28 years in two suitcases and moving to a new country. It’s that feeling of graduating from a journalism school and finding yourself editing readers’ queries on romance in your first job. Continue reading How I learnt to love this city, bit by bit and on my own
By Suresh Pattali
My daughter just joined the #MeToo movement.
Sadly, the incident happened while the ink of a column I wrote in this space was still wet. It was headlined: When will they learn, women are not their birthright? There were letters of angst, agony and shock from our readers after reading that article. And one of them, Sherley A Varghese, a mother so paranoid about her ward’s safety, wrote: “Every word sent shivers down my spine. I refuse to send my daughter to India for doing her undergraduate course.” Continue reading Why is this an everyday experience for women?
By Sushmita Bose
I’m not particularly fond of Doritos — flavoured (and processed) tortilla chips, produced by Frito-Lay, a wholly owned subsidiary of PepsiCo. The only time I bite into them is when I want to hear a “crunch”. Continue reading Oh, please. Don’t tell the ladies they can’t crunch
By Allan Jacob
Finally, my writer’s block has crumbled and it’s exhilarating to take that leap of faith to offend the liberals. I love the creative process, you see; I love the savage critical process even more. It may sound puerile to say I love watching pseudo-liberals flagellate themselves into a frenzy and then cower in agony when their hypocrisy is exposed. Now, if you allow me, I will confess that I tried loving those fake liberals earlier, but in vain, when even criticism of the world’s favourite whipping boy (Trump, who else?) failed to get me started.
Continue reading I have a thing for criticism and you are free to hate me for it
By Nivriti Butalia
There are levels of deceit that can corrode your tongue. I am not talking about those. I am not talking about having a parallel life or a second family tucked away. No extreme duplicitousness, none of the Nirav Modi-like behaviour, the jeweller who allegedly swindled Punjab National Bank of Rs280 crore, and who likes to see his name on hoardings in south Delhi. Nothing too vile (this is subjective) or murderous (less subjective). I am interested more in the run-of-the-mill deceit, everyday acts of subterfuge. The compliments without heart, good manners for show, the empty smiles and the fakery. Anything more dramatic I prefer to see when it’s no skin of my back, or on screen, which is why films like Phantom Thread linger in memory. Continue reading Don’t judge me, but here’s how I fell in love with deceit
By Harveena Herr
This one is an easy confession to make: I’m quite addicted to Sudoku. There’s something about the game that checks all the boxes for me. It is, to me, a square dance of logic. Continue reading My son and I are both fixated on Sudoku, but differently so