This is a column about current times, sometimes referred to as end times.
We live in a world. Or do we? I cannot confirm that for you, because facts aren’t facts anymore, and physical reality is currently in dispute. Some say this is level seventy four in the nightmare scenario of a higher being who took shrooms laced with some kind of shoe polish from Neptune (there is no other possible explanation for the continued existence of the man that is Elon Musk) (Also, I’ve always been suspicious of neptune, considering how little people seem to talk about this particular planet).
The fever dreams of higher beings aside, what can’t be argued is that it’s 2025, and we live in a world that is in a state of freefall.
We tumble headfirst from one catastrophe to the next without fully registering each stab wound tearing away at the social and moral fabric of our being, of this thing we call humanity.
To put it mildly, we are like fucked up versions of Caesar, getting stabbed again and again and again; except instead of dying we resort to shrugging and saying okay well… and doing our taxes while trying not to let the blood from the stab wound stain the MacBook because let’s face it: no one has Apple Care. Not in this economy. But hey, can you blame us? Would the revolt of 1857 still have happened if they had reels? Girlies would be unboxing and taste-testing those cartridges.
So this column is an attempt to register the happening of things, the things that really did happen and the ones that make us go did that really happen for fucks sake? This is an attempt to reconcile with reality and possibly commiserate with it in the hopes of feeling a little less deranged. Because in lieu of the fact that the world is getting very royally and unceremoniously fucked what is it that one can do? Write a column! Read one! After all, during the fall of the Roman Empire, columns still held things up, didn’t they? Maybe this one will help you hold on.
I’m calling it the ray of cope. You know, because it doesn’t necessarily give you hope, but there is a chance it will help you cope, which is what us wokes are supposed to be doing all the time anyway.
Things that happened:
The BMC, in an unprecedented display of visibility, held a public meeting. Attendees were stunned. Not by the agenda, but by the revelation that the BMC actually exists, and is not, as previously believed, a malevolent spirit, cackling as it unleashes chaos and horror upon the city.
For a brief, blinding moment, hope fluttered as the officials actually showed up for the meeting (albeit an hour late, which is basically on time for Bombay). But the shock wore off quickly and normalcy reasserted itself. Within minutes, both officials performed the Mumbai classic: evasion, deflection, and a tactical exit before a single meaningful answer was given.
Climate change, (having taken a conversational backseat in light of market crashes and trade wars and actual wars), made a brave attempt to remind people of the ongoing march towards planetary ruin. This comeback involved Bombay rains arriving much earlier than usual, making no difference to the BMC’s plans, since they never had any in the first place. Meanwhile, the rain destroyed the Alphonso crop and sparked a crisis in Bandra, where the seasonal mango matcha latte died a slow death at the farm-to-table cafes that are the lifeblood of those flocking to the by lanes of roads named Turner, Carter, and Perry.
Contrary to popular belief, things also happen outside of Mumbai.
India and Pakistan almost went to war a few weeks ago. A widow was trolled for not wishing death and destruction on innocents who had nothing to do with her husband’s death. A foreign secretary’s family was abused for doing his job and helping to prevent a war. And in yet another blow to dash-shaped punctuation (following the great cancellation of the em dash, thanks to ChatGPT), the hyphen was attacked. Apparently, we’re no longer supposed to hyphenate India-Pakistan anymore. Who knew even punctuation could be unpatriotic.
Most tragic of all, Fawad Khan’s re-entry into Bollywood was cancelled once more. And because I still somehow possess the will to live (getting shot on a morning walk is not my preferred way to die) that’s all I’ll say on that matter.
But speaking of films, Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound went to Cannes and offered a rare glimmer of hope for Hindi cinema, only to be quickly drowned out by the chorus demanding, "What are all these influencers doing on the red carpet? How dare someone from Kandivali make it to Cannes?" And - "Is it okay to hate on Nancy Tyagi now or not?! Just tell us!"
Stealing designs is only acceptable if you’re poor; once you’ve made it, you have to fully embrace capitalism and never try to save money ever again.
Meanwhile, Israel continued the flattening of Gaza, and we all collectively said hey stop that and just moved on - but if I write about that i get angry and take it out on my keyboard, which might break, and I don't have AppleCare, so I'd suggest you go read about it yourself. Maybe it will give you the courage to tell your uncle on WhatsApp to stop being a war-mongering genocidal maniac. Or not.
What can we do about any of it anyway? Not unlike Alice Walker, who said that the most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any. But what did she know?
About the author : Aashna Sharma (she/her) is a writer, researcher, and creative producer from Mumbai who has previously worked at places like Vitamin Stree (which shut down) and VICE Asia (which shut down), and is now working for herself™ (which, hopefully won’t shut down). Having recently completed a master’s degree, she’s currently trying to master the art of not compulsively recontextualizing everyday occurrences into manifestations of late-stage colonial hegemony.
Support the author :
We're an independent magazine that is finding its footing and here's how you can help- Shatter the illusion of capitalism with one contribution at a time and consider supporting this writer who made you laugh/cry directly : aashnapsharma@okhdfcbank