2 and 2 are five

(All views are personal.) The Oscars 2025: The Grand Scam, The Ultimate Illusion, The Year We Pretended It Mattered.   This is not an award show. This is a gladiatorial battle disguised as a champagne party. A place where egos duel in tuxedos, and careers are made, saved, or quietly buried under a standing ovation. And this year? This year is a masterpiece of self-delusion. Let's dig in. BEST PICTURE – The Movie That Will Be Declared “A Generation-Defining Masterpiece” Until Next Week Winner Prediction: Anora. Because Hollywood loves an indie movie just enough to keep film students hopeful. Sean Baker made a film that feels too real for the people voting for it. They’ll give it the trophy as a symbolic gesture, then go back to greenlighting superhero reboots. Personal Narrative: I watch movies because I love pain. Not the physical kind, but the existential kind, the why-doesn’t-the-world-appreciate-greatness kind. Watching Anora win is like watching an underdog boxer knock out th...

 The 31st Century: Humanity’s Final Patch Update.   A brief history of the 31st century that no one could have predicted but all of them tried anyway. The 31st Century: A User’s Guide to Humanity’s Final Patch Update. History is a predictable bug in the software of human civilization an endless loop where we convince ourselves that this time, we’ve really figured it out , only to crash spectacularly. Medieval monks debated how many angels could dance on a pinhead; 21st-century billionaires debate which planet to colonize first. Both groups assume their concerns will define the future. Both are wrong. By the time we reach the 31st century , humanity has either ascended to godhood or become a footnote in some alien historian’s PowerPoint presentation . If history teaches us anything, it’s that no civilization survives the belief that it is eternal. But let’s assume, for entertainment’s sake, that humans are still around though what exactly counts as "human" is already up for de...

 Game of Thrones vs. Breaking Bad: The Ultimate Showdown   This piece is a satirical comparison of two iconic television series, infused with a blend of intellectual critique and desi humor. Reader discretion is advised. In the grand arena of television epics, two giants stand tall: Game of Thrones and Breaking Bad. One boasts dragons, political intrigue, and enough backstabbing to make even the most seasoned politician blush. The other chronicles the transformation of a mild-mannered chemistry teacher into a meth-producing producing overlord, all while maintaining a family life that would put any desi household to shame. So, which of these behemoths truly deserves the Iron Throne of television? Let's dissect this with the precision of Walter White and the ruthlessness of Cersei Lannister. The Devil is in the Details Game of Thrones began as a masterclass in weaving intricate plots, with storylines so tangled that even a seasoned soap opera writer would need a flowchart. The e...

  At precisely 4 AM give or take an hour I found myself in a war-torn Middle Eastern city, suspended precariously between journalism and tourism, because nothing quite encapsulates the absurdity of modern adventure like missile smoke and skeletal ruins masquerading as infrastructure. I was there to report, to witness, to distill chaos into coherence for an audience continents away. Yet, in that moment of existential irony, I was merely a man in desperate pursuit of bananas. The grocery store, a defiant relic at the periphery of devastation, stood like an island in an ocean of debris. Inside, the shopkeeper a portrait of wartime pragmatism, bereft of expression or indulgence—received my modest request: two kilograms of bananas. With the efficiency of a seasoned capitalist in an era of scarcity, he handed over the fruit and declared the price—$120. Ah, of course. The immutable laws of supply, demand, and the inelasticity of human desperation. With the resignation of a man who had lon...

 Perilous Dichotomy (I'm twenty) There are two roads, the drivers are twenty, Two diametrically opposed avenues with inexorable calculus of consequences, Glaring, untamed, booted by savant, and barred, other by unnamed. Equilibrium leads to duality, Duality of purpose... Collapse... Offers transition, offers midway, right ahead. Why linger in the middle, when extremes shape your legacy? Indecision is decay, victory and defeat, mere shadows. The end demands either sacrifice or surrender. Written by: Vaibhav Upadhyay.

 THAT 45 MINUTE SCAM. I    closed my eyes for 45, or so I told myself. But sleep had other plans, it stretched, expanded, fooled me into three hours of nothing and everything. And then dream. There she was. Not just any girl. Her. She wasn’t dancing this time. She was winning. The Best Folk Dance Teacher in the country. The President of India handing over that gold, people clapping, cameras flashing, the whole moment wrapped in some god-level energy. And me? Sitting there, camera in hand, clicking pictures like my job was to remember. Not the hero, not the protagonist  just the guy behind the lens, the witness to something bigger than himself. But it was enough. Because she was happy. And somehow, that made me whole. I don’t know what was more real  the dream, or the way it made me feel. Because in that second, it wasn’t about trophies or titles. It was just completion. Then the phone rang. Not in the hall of fame. Not where history was being written. Just besid...

  Kitchen confessions. The collars of containers wear the blame of privilege, Stacked high in roof-touching cabinets, Housing the finest, untouched for everyday hands. Coriander wilts over sprouted grains, While the canister rusts with forgotten horse grams. Chickpeas and kidney beans grow restless, Crowded into a tin of quiet rivalries. Cinnamon and cardamom build their citadel, Bayleaf watches with a wary eye, And clove rolls away, unmindful of hierarchies. Gajar ka halwa and pulao sit in quiet discord, Pav bhaji is not denouncing barfi but looking for justice, Each waiting for a moment to outshine the other. In the stillness, the bangles fall silent, And the utensils gather, A muted witness to hunger unspoken. -vvunous.