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Last summer, I got lucky. My company sent me to Milan for a conference, and for four days I walked around a city where every man on the street looked like he'd wandered out of a magazine shoot and forgotten to go back. Linen trousers that fell in a clean line from...

Picture two plates of Chinese food.One is at a roadside stall, eleven at night, served on a steel plate with a plastic spoon and an ice cold Thumbs Up. The noodles are slick with oil, the chilli hits the back of your throat, the chair wobbles, and the whole thing costs barely anything. It...

For twenty-five years, society dictated what I wore. White shirt, olive green shorts, tie knotted just so for school. A slightly better fabric in the form of trousers was college. Then came the office, which dropped the tie and called it freedom. It wasn't. It was tyranny parading itself as free will.

Circa 2005, there was a trip to Goa. Nothing remarkable about it except that I came back with harem pants. Not one pair. Three. In hindsight, this was either the best decision I'd ever made or the foretelling of a very long dry spell. Probably both. 

There are two cupboards in our bedroom. Hers is on the left. Mine is on the right. The arrangement suggests separation of property.The arrangement is a complete work of fiction. 

We all had a James Bond phase. Some of us are still in it, if we're being honest. The tuxedo. The composure. The ability to walk into any room and immediately become the most dangerous person in it, sartorially speaking. As a kid, you rehearsed it in the mirror. You had the look down. The posture. The...

Think about the last time you actually thought about your internet speed. Not complained about it at someone else's place with their suspicious Wi-Fi. Actually thought about it — as a thing that changed, slowly, without even you realising it. You didn't. Because at some point, it got good enough that your complaints disappeared into the background of...

Every Indian cricket fan carries the same image somewhere in their memory. Sachin Tendulkar, mid-innings, doing that discreet little squat-shuffle, adjusting his abdomen guard with the quiet efficiency of a man who has done this ten thousand times and will do it ten thousand more. You watch it happen, and you think: even...

I have a very specific image in my head when someone says the word 'jacket.' Everest base camp. A giant parka. Steam curling off a tin cup of tea. The kind of cold that doesn't just touch your skin, it gets into your bones and makes you wish you were back in Mumbai.