Entertainment

In recent years, online spaces have blurred the lines between humour and harm. Jokes about women’s safety, harassment, or assault aren’t new but their steady spread across meme pages, comment sections, and even influencer content points to something deeper. A cultural reflex. A discomfort masked as humour.

At first glance, it might seem harmless, a flippant comment, a sarcastic reel, a “dark joke” shared in the replies of a woman’s post about feeling unsafe. It’s “just humour,” they say. “Don’t be so sensitive.” But if you stop scrolling for a second, something deeply unsettling emerges.

Why is it so common, even normal to see men make jokes when women talk about their own safety?

You don’t have to dig deep. A tweet about catcalling gets quote-tweeted with, “Should’ve taken pepper spray lessons instead of makeup classes lol.” A video on stalking is met with, “Maybe stop thinking everyone’s obsessed with you.” A comment about fear while walking home alone becomes an opportunity for a guy to post a clown emoji or crack a joke about “attention-seeking feminism.”What’s scary is how little it takes for real fear to become a joke.

 These aren’t faceless trolls. These are boys you went to school with. The guy in your building who waves at your parents. The friend of a friend who sends reels and says “u up?” at 2 a.m. These are regular men, smart, “chill,” usually the ones described as “harmless.”

But the minute a woman opens up about her discomfort, their instinct is not empathy. It’s sarcasm. They’ll mock her tone. Question her experience. Minimise her fear. Not because they’re heartless but because it’s easier to dismiss a problem than to accept that you might be part of it. And if you call them out? The defence is instant: "It was just a joke."

But here's the thing, when jokes only go one way, they're not jokes. They're power plays. They're a way of reminding women, “You’re not supposed to take up this space. You’re not allowed to be loud about your pain.”

Being a woman online means being hyper-aware of tone. It means writing and rewriting captions to avoid being called out. It means double-thinking your stories, knowing there’s always someone waiting to laugh at you.

It means waking up to a message from a guy saying, “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” It means having to defend why a “casual grope” in a crowd is not supposed to be casual. It means constantly being told, “Don’t think too much.”

Whenever a woman shares her story, you’ll hear it - “Not all men.” Of course, not all men. That was never the point. The more urgent, more heartbreaking truth is that all women, at some point, have felt the need to be afraid of all men. Not because they want to, but because they’ve had to. Because they’ve been followed, touched, stared at, harassed, sometimes by strangers, sometimes by people they trusted. 

The point is that enough men joke about these stories to make women scared to tell them. Enough men turn pain into jokes. Enough men are silent when their friends joke about rape or stalking in a group chat. Enough men mock women, then post "Justice for her" when a tragedy goes viral. The point is that if you’re a man reading this and your first instinct is to get defensive instead of curious, maybe you're not listening at all.

The truth is, most women don’t expect every man to be an activist. But they do hope (deeply) that the men around them will, at the very least, believe them;

That they’ll stop laughing.

That they’ll start noticing.

That they’ll speak up when it matters 

even if it's just in a comment section.

Humour is not harmless when it punches down. Mocking women’s fear doesn’t make you edgy. It makes you part of the problem.

And if that makes you uncomfortable? Good. Sit with it. That’s how change begins.

By Aditi Sawarkar

 Horror isn’t what it used to be. And no, that’s not just nostalgia talking. If you've been watching horror films for years or even just comparing horror films then vs now you've probably felt that the vibe has shifted. They unsettled you slowly. They relied on silence, dread, and atmosphere. The Exorcist, Psycho, The Shining,these weren’t just horror films, they were experiences. They crawled into your mind and stayed there, lingering long after the credits rolled.

Fast forward to now, and much of that has changed. The evolution of horror cinema hasn’t just been about better cameras or CGI ghosts but it’s also been about changing priorities. In trying to appeal to broader audiences, many horror films have lost what made them special in the first place.It’s not that horror doesn’t exist anymore. It’s just been diluted.

The Golden Age vs. Today

The decline of horror movies isn’t really about quantity (there are more horror films than ever); It’s about quality, intent, and originality. Today, horror is often treated like a genre that needs to be softened. Add some comedy, a romantic subplot, a jump scare every 15 minutes, and maybe a “relatable” character who never makes logical choices. It’s designed to be watchable by everyone, including people who don’t even like horror. In that process, it stops being scary.

A big part of the problem is that too many horror films feel the same. When you compare the old horror films vs now, you notice a formula setting in. Ghosts in white sarees (in India), haunted dolls, “inspired” plots that are just remakes in disguise and there’s nothing new to see, only recycled ideas. And when something truly bold comes along-like Tumbbad it often gets lost because it doesn’t fit the commercial formula or doesn’t get enough backing from mainstream platforms.

There’s also the issue of genre blending. “Horror comedy” is popular now, and while it has its place, it’s often used as a safety net. Horror, by nature, requires a certain discomfort. When that discomfort is constantly interrupted by punchlines, the mood breaks, and the scare is lost.

The history of horror movies shows us that good horror reflects the fears of its time.  The '70s and '80s gave us slasher flicks ( a subgenre of horror films involving a killer stalking and murdering a group of people, )that explored social panic and individual vulnerability. Even supernatural horror used to be grounded in something that could be religion, culture, trauma, isolation. But when that emotional depth is replaced by predictable tropes and empty jump scares, the genre becomes shallow.

And let’s not ignore how the business side affects the creative side. Many filmmakers now design horror to pass the test of mass consumption. Global markets, streaming algorithms, and safe returns on investment. There’s less room for psychological horror or slow-burn storytelling when everything needs to hook the viewer in under five minutes.

This isn’t to say all horror today is bad. There are brilliant exceptions. Some indie films and international creators are still pushing boundaries. But they often go unnoticed because big-budget horror dominates the conversation, and audiences are conditioned to expect certain beats.

Ultimately, horror isn't supposed to be loud, fast, or funny. It needs to be honest. It needs to be specific in what it’s trying to say and how it says it. The genre isn’t dying, but  it is definitely struggling with identity.

Maybe the next great wave of horror won’t come from bigger effects or higher budgets ,but from remembering what made it work in the first place

By Aditi Sawarkar

During the early 2000s in India, many of us remember the serials Ramayan and Siya Ke Ram – ancient stories were adapted for the television sets in the homes of everyday folk. These shows were cultural landmarks in their time. It was announced that Nitesh Tiwari would be revisiting the Ramayana, this time with a production scale that India has yet to witness.

His casting choices further claim this project is already turning heads, the first part set to feature some of the biggest names in Indian cinema. Ranbir Kapoor as Lord Rama, Sai Pallavi as Sita, and Yash as Ravana. Other prominent actors in supporting roles include Sunny Deol as Hanuman, Ravi Dubey as Lakshman, and Lara Dutta as Kaikeyi. 21st century audiences would be delighted at the casting of Arun Govil, who played Ram in the iconic 1980s television series. He will now play Dashrath, blending nostalgia with star power.

A.R. Rahman and Hans Zimmer are now onboard to score the film, which adds global appeal, and is a collaboration most didn't expect. Ramayana is being produced with next-gen VFX, IMAX cinematography and AI multi-language dubbing on a staggering combined budget of ₹4,000 crore (close to $500 million). This officially makes it the most expensive Indian film to date.

The story will unfold in two parts with the first scheduled for Diwali 2026 and the second for Diwali 2027. The festive timing for this release is intentional to capitalize on a period of heightened national sentiment and cultural bonding.

However, this ambition goes beyond India alone. As per reports, the film's producers are negotiating with a prominent Hollywood studio for international distribution, wanting to take this uniquely Indian tale to the world. With Ramayana, Indian cinema is attempting something unusual: turning a religious epic into a cultural export like The Lord of the Rings and Dune.

Needless to say, a production of this magnitude carries enormous expectations—and risk. The budget alone exceeds that of Baahubali, RRR, or Adipurush. Even the highest box office earners in India could not hope to make ₹4,000 crores just through domestic viewership. This means that the film will need to be viewed favorably outside of India, as well as in marketing and receive positive criticism.

The most recent teaser trailer put out by Sony Music India has gained more than 16 million views within two weeks. This shows that there is significant interest. But hype and interest on the internet does not always lead to actual purchases. It remains to be seen if the final cut can meet expectations or if it will fall victim to the controversy that surrounded previous adaptations.

This film goes beyond just being a cinematic venture; it is a cultural declaration as well. Ram is treated as not just a character, but a divine figure by many Indians. His tale showcases elements of faith and moral philosophy. Regardless of whether or not one accepts his divinity, Rama’s journey is seen as a pathway to self-discipline, love, loyalty, and duty.

The stakes are also raised by that emotional bond. Every artistic choice, including those related to script, costumes, and casting, will inevitably be closely examined. Nonetheless, recognition of the enormity of the endeavor is growing. Indian cinema appears prepared to give mythology the depth, richness, and grandeur it so richly deserves after decades of reserving it for devotional dramas.

It's simple to have doubts about a movie that costs ₹4,000 crore. However, Ramayana may be the only Indian tale that merits that degree of emotional, cultural, and cinematic investment.

Ultimately, there is just one question left: is it possible for this movie to deliver more quality than controversy?

By Jishnu Mukherjee

A government school in Kerala has made national news for transforming the classroom experience, quite literally. Breaking away from the conventional idea of "backbenchers," Ramavilasom Vocational Higher Secondary School (RVHSS) of Valakom, Kollam, has designed a creative seating system in which all students are placed at the front row, PTI says.

Chairs are then placed on all sides of the class, giving every child an equal view and access to the instructor. The idea was borrowed from a scene in the new Malayalam film Sthanarthi Sreekuttan, where a Class 7 student proposes the setup after being ridiculed for sitting at the back.

"It was out of his experience of being demeaned from a backbench that he formulated such a concept. I never expected it to reach such heights. It is not a concept evolved by us, but we did have such a seating arrangement in the past in classrooms under the District Primary Education Programme (DPEP), and we had lost it somewhere in between," opined Vinesh Viswanathan, director of the film.

"I have got a message that a school in Punjab has also adopted it after the principal saw the movie on the OTT platform. He even showed the movie to the students. I am happy that it gained national exposure," he added.

The model was first promoted by Kerala Minister K. B. Ganesh Kumar, whose family runs RMVHSS. A year before its release, the Minister had caught a glimpse of the movie and initiated discussions with the faculty of the school and introduced the new model in one of the lower primary classes. The result was so encouraging that the system has been introduced in all the school's lower primary sections.

Sunil P. Sekhar, the headmaster, told IANS that it aids them in giving equal attention to every child and remove the impression that backbenchers are neglected or diverted.

"I can take care of every one of the students in class and provide better care to every one of them. The students are also content as they get to see the faces of all the students in the class and keep a close watch on the teacher," said experienced teacher Meera, who has close to 30 years of experience.

The concept is now catching up at least eight more schools in Kerala and is also being monitored by teachers elsewhere in India. While social media critics continue to question its feasibility in classrooms that have too many students, Viswanathan holds that such a scenario goes against school rules and the authorities are taking note.

In a surprising turn of events, even Anand Mahindra welcomed the idea on Twitter, calling it a good move, although he did admit to having a fondness for the "backbencher" label.

While RVHSS is basking in the glory of former pupil G. P. Nandana's remarkable feat of securing rank 2 in Kerala and 47 at the national level in the Civil Services Exam, it is also earning brownie points for the innovative and bold move in education.

Fairness sounds good in theory. Like something critics should strive for. But in the world of film criticism, “fair” isn’t always the point,and maybe it doesn’t need to be.

A film critic isn’t there to give out stars like a teacher grading homework. They’re reacting, analyzing, connecting what they’ve seen to everything else they’ve ever watched or read. That means their take is shaped by context and what the film is trying to be, what it could have been, what it reminds them of, and how it lands in the current cultural moment.

To a filmmaker, that might feel unfair. Even to an audience. Maybe a silly comedy made you laugh your guts out, but the critic calls it “uninspired and lazy” Or maybe a slow indie gets five glowing paragraphs, but you walked out bored. Critics and audiences often live in different worlds,one built on references, history, and theory the other built on vibes and free time. That disconnect causes a lot of friction.

There’s also taste. Every critic has it, and none are above it. What one person sees as a bold experiment, another might call a pretentious mess. That’s normal. But it becomes a problem when personal dislike is disguised as objective failure. Or worse,when critics talk down to audiences for liking something fun or “lowbrow.” That’s not a thoughtful critique. That’s  definitely gatekeeping.

Still, being fair doesn’t mean blindly agreeing with the masses either. Critics shouldn’t be cheerleaders. If a film is lazy, harmful, or riding on nostalgia , someone should say it,even if it’s making money. The job is to look at the work honestly, not to protect anyone’s feelings.

Take Jawan, for example. It thrilled fans with action, emotion, and Shah Rukh Khan’s heavenly presence. Some critics praised it for being a mass entertainment story,others dismissed it as formulaic. Same movie, different takes.

Or look at La La Land. Loved by many, hated by some. Some called it magical but  others found overrated. Both views exist for a reason. Both are valid in their own way.

Are critics always fair? No. They’re human. They have biases and off days. Some chase controversy for clicks. But the best ones,the ones worth reading,aren’t trying to be “fair” like a referee. They’re trying to be honest. Clear about what worked, what didn’t, and why.

That honesty can feel generous, harsh, or just totally different from how you felt. And that’s the point. A good review doesn’t end the conversation,it starts one.

Movies are personal. What hits home for one person might miss completely for someone else. So maybe fairness isn’t the goal.

By Aditi Sawarkar 

Masala films have been around for decades. And despite all the new trends in Indian cinema like slow dramas, indie storytelling, international-style thrillers, these loud, dramatic, over-the-top movies still pull people in. Sometimes more than anything else.

You’d think the formula would get old: Hero, Villain, Family problem, Some comedy, a few big songs + action scenes that make no sense in real life. But for a lot of people, THAT is the fun of it! Masala films aren’t meant to be realistic; they’re supposed to feel big and emotional and satisfying. And when done right, they deliver all of that.

There’s something comforting about knowing what to expect. You sit down, and you know there’s going to be a dramatic story, a big fight, a moral victory at the end. It doesn’t matter if the storyline feels familiar. What matters is how it's told and how the emotions hit, how the hero enters, how the music swells at the right moment.

That’s what masala films do well. They know how to create moments.

They’re also built for the BIG screen. These aren’t quiet, subtle films. They work best when watched in a packed theatre where people clap, cheer, even whistle. That shared energy is the major part of the experience. Even someone who usually watches movies at home on Netflix might go out to catch a masala film just to be part of the crowd. 

There’s something special about sitting in a room full of strangers and feeling everyone react to the same scene. Whether it’s a cheer, a gasp, or laughter, it makes the whole moment more alive. It’s that collective buzz that makes the film feel bigger than just what’s on screen.

Sometimes you just want to laugh out loud, feel the tension when everything’s at stake, or sit back with goosebumps after a powerful one-liner from the hero. They’re not trying to mirror real life. They’re built to be larger than life, loud, emotional, and meant to leave you feeling something strong.

Surely, it’s a bit extra, bright visuals, big emotions, over-the-top scenes but that’s what gives it heart. And that’s called a masala movie loved by all. 

By Aditi Sawarkar