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A heartfelt, simple confe ion. A stumbling rejection. An awkward handshake. And a surprise hug. This is one of the most beautiful scenes in Dear Zindagi, a film that addre es i ues that most of us fac...
When I look around at the confused state of couples who are stuck between progre ive feminist ideals and the socially conditioned "it's always been like this" comfort zone (this includes the current s...
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Farts are funny. Talking to your toddler about farts is even funnier. They laugh when they fart as it is a funny feeling. And also a kind of relief. They giggle and they announce proudly that they have farted. They announce even louder when it's you who has farted.
Mr Shah Rukh Khan has been one of the few constants of my life for the past 15 years. All through my teenage years, relationships, loves, careers, marriage and now parenthood, I’ve felt his presence in my life. To say that I am a "fan" is pretty much undervaluing what I feel about him. So, when he called my name not once, not twice, but four times, my impossible dream came within touching distance.
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Salman Khan has uttered some very disgusting statements, and the latest one in which he compared himself to a rape victim has resulted in plenty of outrage. But here's the thing: we are part of the problem. We let these things happen. We let him get away with it. Us, the average, level-headed, middle-class, literate group of people, who while making Salman's shenanigans a topic of discussion at the water cooler, refuse to give up our weekend fix of entertainment.
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I look at videos about women's empowerment, I read stories about it, I start believing in it and yet when I open my ears a little in the real world, I see the same old crap. Women still work 20-hour shifts, divided between their job and housework, people still think rape is all the victim's fault, wives are still beaten as par for the course. Closer to home, my husband still thinks that him taking care of his child is "baby sitting" or a "favour" to me.
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A vocal feminist, a rebel with a cause, someone who thinks for herself (or stubborn as an arse depending on who you ask) are some of the tags I've always worn with pride. With these ideals in mind, I tucked in my hypothetical pallu when I stood over the "dehleez" of my marital life. After becoming a mom, it became my mission to rear my daughter strictly by the principles of "gender neutral parenting"...
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There's a new playground, people. A new cafeteria. A new battleground. It's a bit like <em>Mean Girls</em>, a bit like <em>Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi</em>, a bit like <em>Game of Thrones</em>, with a dash of <em>Dr Spock</em> thrown in. There is drama, nail-biting action, tears, laughter, friendship, gossip. It's a place where the gloves come off, and the claws are unsheathed. Yes, I am talking mommy groups on social media...
It's almost bedtime for my two-year-old daughter. But if you're imagining a nursery in pastel shades, soothing lullabies and butterfly kisses, I'd advise you to channel some of <em>The Terminator</em> into the scene.