Hardik Rajgor

E very group of friends has that one guy who keeps track of every single calendar (including the Hindu, Umma, Chinese, Attic, Mayan, etc) and unleashes havoc with the three most dangerous words in holiday history: “Let’s plan something!” “Let’s plan something!” opens a Pandora’s box that could mean anything from a night out to a stressful four-day trip to Ladakh in the middle of October where the temperature drops (on a good day) to -1 degree. One can tell how excited someone is in the group based on how quickly they reply to the message, “Let’s plan something, bros.” The person who replies first is the only one really looking forward to it, while the rest just don’t want to be spoilsports and play their role in passive agreement. The occasional “Awesome” and “Let’s do it” need to be dropped to indicate you are game but may later back out due to unavoidable excuses. Planning always begins big because planning doesn’t factor in reality. “Why don’t we all just take a holiday on Frida...

I was watching  Harry Potter  on a lazy Sunday afternoon when my dad said, “This is so stupid, no one flies on a broom.” Now, I’m no Potterhead to take offence, but I felt like I just couldn’t let it go. “Well, it’s fiction. I know it’s not real.” I then paused for a moment and with a lower tone let this zinger fly: “I’m not the one who believes that a monkey flew with a mountain in his hand.” My dad stared me down until he exited the room. Born in a Gujarati family, I was raised Hindu, but I went to a convent school and lived in a predominantly Muslim neighbourhood. My upbringing was so secular that if I were in politics, the Congress party would have already offered me a ticket by now. My mum must have done some “paaps in her previous life” (her words, not mine) that I turned out to be nastik. Being an atheist in India can be confusing. There are multiple religions, hundreds of prayers, crores of gods, and millions of controversies surrounding us. I know only the Gayatri...

B eing born in a family where your parents are ace garba dancers and your sister is a trained classical dancer, it was just assumed that I would keep the healthy family tradition alive. All geared up in ethnic kediyu as a little boy of ten, I accompanied my parents to the building garba function with great expectations. The enthusiasm dried up pretty quickly after they saw me move to the beats with the grace of a plucked chicken. Ten minutes later, my parents whisked me away. I was tasked with playing garba around the jhula in our house and that’s where I have remained. If you’re born Gujarati, there are many things you could have done to let your family down — you could have failed an accounts exam or kissed a girl who eats meat, but according to them, you would have truly let your rich, Gujarati culture down if you turned out to be the person who has two left feet and can’t dance during  Navratri . It’s an equivalent of sticking to your Vodafone connection in the times of Jio. ...

I am 5 feet 10 inches and weigh 46 kilos. If you are having trouble visualising that image, let me help you. When I apply a Prisma filter on my picture, the result I get is a tree or a pole. I’m so skinny that my girlfriend calls me  Half Boyfriend . Every time I log in to Facebook and read the millionth status update that month on fat-shaming, I have only one thought in mind: What about me? Or am I so skinny that you couldn’t even see me? Girls have been regularly shutting down fat-shaming bullies by posting photos in swimsuits and rightly getting a lot of support. But I once wore skinny jeans in 2007 and I still haven’t heard the end of it. Research after research backs the idea that  schools  should stop fat-shaming overweight children as it causes major psychological harm. Where were these folks when I was being labelled “patla papad”, “haddi”, and “sukda” during my school days! Here is an average day in my life: I am hanging out with a bunch of friends at one of ...