A 300-year-old haveli stands decrepit and in disrepair in the middle of Jaipur, the city of palaces. Ashok Shah, the official custodian of the haveli, was born and raised here, but this is no ordinary home. While it has stood the test of time, maintaining it through centuries of changing needs and climates was increasingly difficult. 

“We lived in a joint family, where eventually everyone moved out, wanting to pursue different interests,” says Shah, a jeweller by profession. The house lay empty for almost 10 years before the family's younger generation arrived at an answer: turn it into a boutique hotel through ‘adaptive reuse.’ It is one example of how adaptive reuse in India is giving historic buildings new functions rather than leaving them to decay or redevelopment.

It’s a term used in architecture to denote the transformation of an existing building or structure for a new use, rather than demolishing it and constructing something different. As an approach to heritage conservation in India, it has gained momentum in India over the past decade—from a 140-year-old ice factory being transformed into a cultural hub called IF.BE in Mumbai to the 120-year-old Alipore Jail in Kolkata, now functioning as a museum and gallery. 

Adaptive reuse is no longer merely an architectural trend. It’s an approach that has increasingly entered government policy and public heritage projects. 

Why adaptive reuse architecture is growing in India

HRIDAY (The National Heritage City Development and Augmentation Yojana), launched in January 2015, explicitly funded adaptive-reuse projects in heritage cities; by 2018, the Ministry of Housing and Urban Affairs reported that Rambagh Gate in Amritsar was being reused as a museum and Varanasi Town Hall as a cultural centre. NITI Aayog’s 2021 research project, Challenges Faced in Heritage Management in India and Policy Imperatives, went further, identifying a “policy for an Indian conservation approach for our living heritage and adaptive reuse” as one of its national policy imperatives, alongside funding and capacity-building for conservation and reuse. 

The Draft Delhi Master Plan 2041, released in 2021, proposed “conservation and/or adaptive reuse of heritage assets” and specifically permitted adaptive reuse of listed heritage buildings subject to their historic context. It was approved in 2023 after the Delhi Development Authority reviewed roughly 33,000 public suggestions.

At the implementation level, the government created four museum galleries at Jallianwala Bagh in 2021 through adaptive reuse of redundant and underutilised buildings. The Centre is also developing the Yuga Yugeen Bharat Museum in the North and South Blocks through adaptive reuse, with the Ministry of Culture explicitly using the term in 2024.

“IF PEOPLE DON’T FIND RELEVANCE TO A PLACE, IT WILL NOT LAST” — Akshita Bhanj Deo

But for individuals like Shah, a large part of such an endeavour is driven by sentiment and a commitment to preserving the memories of a home and a city that’s slowly falling prey to redevelopment. “And it’s not like the government or local authorities help much in this regard,” he says. “Given the age of the home, they make it increasingly difficult to grant permissions to make structural changes, even from within,” he says.

The task at hand was tedious, but Shah wouldn’t take no for an answer. So he roped in Gagan Sharma—the architect who restored Jal Mahal in Jaipur—in 2018.

The cost of adaptive reuse in India

Work began in 2019, slowed down during the COVID-19 pandemic, and finally concluded in 2024. The challenges were manifold. Although institutions have increasingly supported adaptive reuse to bolster tourism, Sharma points out several gaps in the process. 

“The approval process is often slow, inconsistent, and influenced by multiple bureaucratic and local-level factors,” he says. “Once it became known that the haveli was being converted into a boutique hotel, the project encountered a number of administrative and procedural challenges, significantly affecting both timelines and overall costs.”

The family named the property Padmaa after Shah’s mother, with 15 operational suites spread across three floors, totalling over 4,000 square feet. A swimming pool was added to the terrace, without altering the structure's bones.

Over generations, it had undergone several additions, alterations, and interventions that were band-aid solutions to a crack here or a leaky roof there. Sharma’s aim was to strip Padmaa of these cosmetic changes and restore it to its original intent. “During this process, hidden stone columns, brackets, and other original structural elements were rediscovered, becoming some of the most rewarding moments of the restoration,” he says.

Introducing contemporary services into a centuries-old composite structure was also demanding. “Integrating plumbing, electrical systems, air-conditioning, and fire safety while respecting the historic fabric required constant design innovation. The addition of the rooftop pool, which was decided relatively late in the project, demanded extensive structural strengthening throughout the lower floors,” Sharma adds.

How adaptive reuse can support local communities 

As a member of the 48th generation of the erstwhile royal Bhanja dynasty in Odisha’s Mayurbhanj, Akshita Bhanj Deo has spent her life witnessing her family open their private palaces to the community. “My ancestors had decided that all the main palaces would go to the people, and the schools and colleges to their respective governments. So the Summer Palace in Shillong became the first Indian Institute of Management in the Northeast. The main Mayurbhanj Palace were the school and the college. And the museums were given to the government in 1908 and 1922,” Bhanj Deo says. It was then obvious that she and her family would take a similar route for the surviving 200-year-old Victorian-style palace in Odisha, which has been run as a boutique hotel since 2019.

Originally built as a guest house for foreign dignitaries, the Belgadia Palace has rooms for valets, companions, and children. Bhanj Deo says that much of its existing architecture already suited contemporary hospitality, making the conversion comparatively compatible with the building's original function. However, the purview of its functions was now expanded to sustainable development. It was, in fact, non-negotiable.

“We decided that we have to hire local artisans and labour as Belgadia transformed, and there was no debate on that,” Bhanj Deo says. “If people don’t find a relevance to this place, it will not last.”

Belgadia is a living museum for the locals, according to Bhanj Deo, where the staff have been trained by the Mehrangarh Fort Trust and the Museum curators to conduct guided tours. All the money from the ticketed museum tour goes to the Mayurbhanj Foundation—a non-profit organisation run by the family—which, in turn, supports local craftspeople. “Belgadia is not a property for one family. It's a property for the community. And for us, the biggest point of pride is when people say our palace is theirs. We're just the custodians of it,” Bhanj Deo says, underlining the value of involving local communities in not just the business side of things, but also guest experience.

Who gets access to India’s heritage buildings? 

State apathy, however, runs deep. Much like Sharma, Bhanj Deo points out that there are no government grievance redressal bodies or mechanisms to provide guidance on preserving such ancient heritage structures, or even on making their maintenance financially viable. She adds: “Think of the biggest industrialists in India today. How many of them have adopted heritage monuments and forts and palaces?” In which case, it’s important to get creative about diversifying revenue streams and turning such spaces into symbols of pride, and into institutions that the local community is invested in. It is what sanctions their longevity.

Gentrification, by that logic, becomes undesirable, and Sharma warns against it, especially because such monuments naturally lend themselves to being gentrified. “It is certainly a legitimate concern, and we have already seen property values rise in parts of Jaipur's walled city (because of it). However, if the alternative is the gradual abandonment, decay, and eventual loss of these historic neighbourhoods, then carefully managed adaptive reuse offers a far more sustainable future. The challenge is ensuring that conservation benefits local communities instead of displacing them,” he points out.

Calcutta Walks’ Iftekhar Ahsan, however, holds a different view. In 2013, Ahsan identified a neglected 1926 townhouse in North Kolkata and, with his business partner Chris Chen and designer Swarup Dutta, restored it over the next several years, reopening it in 2018 as Calcutta Bungalow, a heritage stay. According to Ahsan, gentrification might not inherently be a bad idea if it means maintaining such heritage buildings that would otherwise be given away for redevelopment by infighting families who can’t afford their upkeep anymore. 

“Through a mix of gentrification and open access, you bring in a little bit of funding so that these spaces are saved, and you also kind of do everything in your power to make it more accessible. So, for example, the people who come into the café and pay us, or the people who come and stay in the rooms and pay us, ensure that the building stays on. But at the same time, we also have something called Shonibaarer Adda, where on Saturday we bring in a bunch of people, sit on the road, give them tea and snacks, and just have discussions on any topic. This is to ensure that everyone has access to the place and it's not just the abode of the ones who can afford it,” Ahsan says. 

As a custodian of the home he restored, which didn’t already belong to him, Ahsan realises it was imperative that its potential as a communal space be explored to, in some ways, give back to his hometown what it lost through its fall from grace as the erstwhile cultural and economic capital of undivided India. “We don’t have to think of everything from a very socialist point of view because you need to like this city,” he says.

Why heritage buildings in India need new uses 

The fact that such expensive structures won’t find takers unless there are economic reasons to hold on to them lies at the heart of preserving heritage and making adaptive reuse more prevalent. Sujatha Shankar, a Chennai-based conservation architect, makes a case for the recent spate of facelifts that the early 19th- and 20th-century Chettinad Mansions in her city have undergone. 

She also cites Ilford House, which became a FabIndia store, as one of the earliest examples, showing that historic homes could be converted into profitable spaces whose income could help fund their maintenance. “Similarly, there are many homes that have been converted to retail. There are homes that have become traditional dining spaces, with pillars and Carnatic music and traditional cuisine being served on banana leaves, and other things done in traditional homes. So that's been a trend,” Shankar points out.

She also sees Clive House inside Fort St George as a key example of how continued use can help a historic building survive across generations. The roughly 300-year-old brick-and-lime-mortar structure has served multiple purposes over time, including as a residence, town hall, Admiralty Courts, and a banqueting space, and now houses the Archaeological Survey of India. 

“If you keep a building in constant use, it can outlive what anybody thinks is its lifespan,” Shankar says.

Demolishing a building from scratch may be easier, but the harder task is finding a new use that allows a historic building to survive.

Melatonin gummies make sleep look straightforward: chew one, switch off, and wake up restored. The reality is more selective. Melatonin regulates the body’s internal clock rather than simply sedating it, which means it can help with some sleep problems and barely touch others. That distinction is easily lost in a country running low on rest. A 2026 meta-analysis of 14 studies, spanning 8,291 participants from different cities in India, found a calculated pooled prevalence of sleep disorders of 51.39 per cent. In a separate LocalCircles survey, 61 per cent of respondents reported getting less than six hours of uninterrupted sleep. 

The market has noticed. India’s sleep-gummy category is projected to grow at a compound annual growth rate of 8.2 per cent, according to a Future of Marketing Insights 2026 report. Sleep has become another wellness concern with a convenient, colourful, and highly marketable solution.

The growing consumption of melatonin gummies does not guarantee their efficacy. For some people, they provide a useful cue for sleep. For others, melatonin gummies amount to little more than flavoured candy with a complicated label. 

What melatonin gummies actually do 

Melatonin is a naturally occurring hormone in the pineal gland, situated exactly between the two halves of the brain. “The hormone, which acts mostly under the influence of darkness, assists in regulating the internal body clock system by signalling the body to initiate the process of sleep,” explains Dr Vaibhav Kubal, a consulting pulmonologist at S. L. Raheja Hospital, Mumbai. Melatonin is also responsible for regulating the circadian rhythm, the body’s natural sleep cycle clock. 

The same hormone, when supplemented in the form of gummies, can help with falling asleep more easily, especially when the sleep cycle is disturbed, cites Dr Harish Chafle, a sleep disorders specialist at Gleneagles Hospitals, Mumbai. 

Why melatonin gummies can be hit or miss 

Melatonin gummies are endorsed as a blanket quick-fix to disrupted sleep. Their over-the-counter availability, online and offline, makes giving in easy. However, upon consuming regularly, different people can have different experiences with the supplement. 

While melatonin gummies generally aid with sleep irregularities and obstructions for many, others see no benefit, even after regularly consuming higher doses. For social media marketer Yash Saboo, melatonin gummies are an occasional support. “I juggle between three milligram and five milligram doses of melatonin gummies; none of them has had a 100 per cent effect on me. However, I do feel groggy the next day when I consume a five milligram dose.” 

Lifestyle journalist Saumya Rastogi is also on the fence about their performance. “I’ve tried them for my sleep issues; however, they don’t always work. I think it really depends on the dosage.” Similarly, for PR professional Hannah Bhavsar, melatonin gummies were promising at the start, but the effects began to wear off upon regular consumption. “First it stopped working, then it began feeling super useless. Another downside is that when I tried going easy on the consumption, that messed up my sleep cycle.”

Melatonin may help when the body’s natural sleep-wake rhythm is disturbed, due to factors such as jet lag or shift work, says Chafle. “It may also be useful with some people who have difficulty falling asleep, especially when their sleep timing is irregular. It can support sleep in certain cases where the natural melatonin rhythm is reduced or delayed.”

However, treating melatonin gummies like a sleeping pill is where the problem begins. They are not a universal treatment for insomnia, and should ideally be used only after identifying the underlying cause of poor sleep to notice any benefits, adds Chafle. 

“In cases where underlying conditions like anxiety, stress, irregular sleep patterns, too much exposure to screens, caffeine intake, or an undiagnosed sleep condition contribute to disrupted sleep, the use of melatonin might not solve the root of the problem,” begins Kubal. Additionally, subjective responses to melatonin dosages also vary from person to person. “There is also individuality in responses to melatonin, which means that taking a larger dosage of it will not mean that it will be more effective. As a pulmonologist, I would recommend ruling out obstructive sleep apnea, especially in cases where sleep issues are coupled with loud snoring, gasping, and pauses in breathing.”

How timing, dosage, and product quality affect results 

Melatonin gummies have gained awareness and accessibility. The nuances still remain buried. 

The performance of melatonin gummies is underpinned by a combination of factors such as dosage, timing, individual biology, and frequency. That matters more than how expensive, popular, or promising the melatonin supplement is. 

“Melatonin works best when taken at the right time, usually before the intended bedtime, as its timing is more important than simply increasing the dose,” explains Chafle. “A low dose may be sufficient for many people, while taking more does not necessarily improve sleep.”

It is paramount to scrutinise the quality of melatonin gummies to ensure the body is getting supplemented with the class and concentration mentioned on the packaging. Choosing tested, certified, and reliable options is non-negotiable. 

This is where consumers need to read beyond the front of the pack, says Atul Rajani, chief formulation officer at Be Wellness. “Look at the actual amount of melatonin per serving, manufacturing standards, testing, and batch consistency. A 2023 analysis of 25 melatonin gummy products in the US found that 22 were inaccurately labelled. That doesn’t mean every gummy is unreliable, but it demonstrates why quality control and transparency matter enormously in this category.”

“THE WELLNESS INDUSTRY HAS BECOME VERY GOOD AT PACKAGING SLEEP INTO SOMETHING THAT IS EASY TO BUY BUT HARDER TO UNDERSTAND” –– Atul Rajani

Additionally, gummies aren’t necessarily the only option. “Gummies, tablets, and capsules are just different forms of delivery—any single one is not necessarily better. The best choice would be based on accurate dosage, product quality, and preference,” says Kubal.

For maximum efficacy, melatonin must be coupled with good sleep habits like following a consistent sleep schedule, minimising bright light two to three hours before sleeping, refraining from late caffeine intake, and creating a conducive sleeping environment, adds the medical professional. 

With melatonin gummies, more is not more 

Given their availability in multiple concentrations, it’s a popular belief that with melatonin gummies, a higher dose will deliver better results. That approach is too simplistic.

“There is always a temptation to think that if a little of something is not effective, then a lot of it would do the trick. Not with melatonin gummies,” says Kubal. “Taking too much could result in sleepiness, headache, dizziness, or grogginess in the morning. However, more seriously, the fact that one is progressively increasing the dosage can also be a sign of ignoring the root of the problem. In case poor sleep persists even after supplementing, it is time to question whether there is an undiagnosed sleep disorder behind this.”

Taking more than needed can also disturb the natural sleep-wake rhythm in some people, adds Chafle. “It is better to use the lowest effective dose, and seek medical advice if sleep problems continue.”

Why melatonin cannot fix every sleep problem 

India’s sleep aid market, valued at $337.7 million in 2025, is projected to surpass a revenue of $736.5 million by 2034. Melatonin gummies, a sizeable segment within the space, make sleep seem like a purchasable ritual; the fine print comes with warnings. 

Melatonin is particularly relevant to circadian timing, so it is unlikely to be a universal answer to every form of poor sleep, says Rajani. “The wellness industry has become very good at packaging sleep into something that is easy to buy but harder to understand. A gummy is visually appealing, convenient, and ritualistic, and there is nothing inherently wrong with that. In fact, having an intentional bedtime ritual can be useful. But the ritual should not replace understanding biology. Consumers need to ask: ‘What form of melatonin am I taking?’, ‘At what dose?’, ‘Why am I taking it?’, ‘When should I take it?’, ‘Is the product accurately labelled?’, and ‘Do I actually have a problem that melatonin is suited to address?’”

The wellness-ification of sleep is, according to psychologist Utkarsha Jagga, a double-edged sword. “There are gummies, magnesium powders, sleep teas, eye masks, weighted blankets, sleep trackers, special pillows, and a whole vocabulary around optimising sleep. There is nothing inherently wrong with any of these things. Ritual can actually be psychologically useful.” 

The problem is when the ritual becomes more important than understanding the problem. “It is easier to buy something than to examine your relationship with work, your anxiety, screen use, alcohol consumption, schedule, relationship, stress levels, or the fact that you have been sleeping four hours a night for months. We also need to be careful about the language of ‘hacking’ sleep. Sleep is not a productivity problem that needs to be optimised into submission,” adds the mental health expert. 

When sleep problems are chronic and causing concentration and mood impairment, it would be better to consult a doctor instead of self-prescribing, notes Kubal. “Conditions like loud snoring, episodes of stopping breathing, choking or gasping while sleeping, morning headaches, and excessive sleepiness during daytime may suggest obstructive sleep apnea.” 

Similarly, melatonin gummies can do very little to assist with insomnia. “For chronic insomnia, the evidence is much less compelling, and clinical guidelines have not recommended melatonin as a primary treatment for chronic insomnia. Cognitive behavioural therapy for insomnia, or CBT-I, remains an important first-line approach,” shares Rajani.

For diagnosed conditions, medical intervention is imperative. “If poor sleep is persistent, significantly affecting daytime functioning, or accompanied by significant anxiety, low mood, snoring or breathing problems, unusual movements during sleep, severe daytime sleepiness, or a very disrupted sleep-wake schedule, that is a reason to speak to a healthcare professional,” advises Jagga.

When melatonin gummies fail to work, more often than not, it’s not because of the supplement itself but because of a consumption driven by misleading instinct and hype instead of a diagnosis. To efficiently treat any sleep disorder, it is essential to draw a line between what needs melatonin gummies and what needs medical intervention.

At a glance, the 65 years British-Indian artiste Meera Syal has spent on this planet reveal a unique refrain, of personal milestones that became collective wins for South Asians globally. Every step the actor-comedian-writer took had ripple effects that moved people in ways she couldn’t have imagined.

Her act as Ummi in The Kumars at No. 42—a pioneering BBC sitcom-chat show that placed a British-Asian family at the centre of mainstream television—rewrote the rules of primetime in the West. Running from 2001 to 2006, the Kumars were a rambunctious family whose everyday tensions, fuelling the comedy, didn’t reduce South Asian life to a caricaturish explanation of their identities to a white audience. The writers and the characters of the show had complete control over the joke, and Syal stood at its centre.

As Ummi, the outspoken grandmother, she lent an older South Asian woman comic authority and agency, all of which made her an indelible part of British pop culture.

Around the same time, her first book, a semiautobiographical novel titled Anita and Me (1996), was made into an eponymous film in 2002. But more importantly, it went on to become a part of the curriculum in British schools, an achievement whose enormity Syal didn’t quite realise until, one day, she went looking for study aids at a bookstore for her daughter, and came across copies of her book.

“I knew they had been written, as I had been asked to contribute to one or two, but I hadn’t actually seen them in print. I opened one up and there were pages on Essington, on my parents’ emigration to Britain and that first wave of settlers, on Enoch Powell’s Rivers of Blood speech, on Partition. A generation of young people were going to be exploring areas of British history and experiences that they may not have come across before, that might expand their minds, their empathy, their imaginations. I got a little misty-eyed in the middle of Waterstones; it was a moment. That book I wrote so many years ago, that I wondered if anyone would read, had reached people. Our journeys mattered and wouldn’t be forgotten. I thanked my parents for getting me here. Bought five copies of each study guide and took them home,” Syal writes in her 2026 memoir Vigilauntie: A Memoir - Innit?, where she pays homage to the aunties who’ve raised her, driven her up the wall, but also formed the spine of the person she has become. The artiste acknowledges that she herself became an auntie in her twenties, and it is what has held her in good stead.

In December 2025, Syal was appointed the Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire, the first woman of South Asian descent to receive the honour for her services to literature, drama, and charity. Months later, in the run-up to the launch of Vigilauntie, she sits down with The Established for a conversation about damehood and auntiehood—the best hood she belongs to, and how this throughline holds the stories of her life together.

Edited excerpts.

Vigilauntie is an homage to all the aunties that you've grown up around. How did you first decide that this was going to be the theme that you would work with for your memoir?

Oh, my gosh. It sort of happened so naturally because, you know, so much of my work has been about particularly South Asian women because I felt like we were so silenced and so invisible. And that was deeply influenced by the women I grew up around because I really did have a whole clan of them. I was brought up by a village of them, and they fascinated me. And the layers of unfulfilled potential used to really worry me, touch me, and move me because I thought these women were extraordinary.

They also drive me mad. They're nosy. They're interfering. They try to control me. But it's all done with this kind of love. I just wanted to understand where that came from.

They were also examples of the kind of women I could be and the kind of woman I definitely didn't want to be. So they were profound in my upbringing. Of course, I include my mom in that too. So it just felt absolutely natural that they would be the spine all the way through.

You’re a comedian, and comedy demands a certain amount of vulnerability. But how much more of that vulnerability did a memoir like this demand from you as a writer?

I think you have to be as honest as you can. And I think people pick up on that when they read it.

There are plenty of things I could have written that weren't particularly complimentary about some people in my life, but I chose not to because I thought the one thing writing a memoir makes you do is to kind of look back at your life as a whole. And I thought, generally, I've been really lucky. And generally, I've met amazing people who have helped me and supported me. And that's what I want to hold on to.

I prefer to look back at all the stuff that's been positive, and even the stuff that isn't, you learn from. So I think vulnerability is key, really, because people can sense when you're writing something manufactured or just for PR. I think readers are smart.

Looking back at Ummi in The Kumars at No. 42, you write in your book that her widowhood became a form of liberation and that she was the opposite of the ‘sweet old auntie’ cliché. Do you think audiences understood at the time how radical she was as an older South Asian woman—rebellious, flirtatious, outspoken, and completely unapologetic about who she was?

That's such a great point. I certainly think that our South Asian audience, especially the women, got it. Because, to be honest, we all have women in our family like that who defy that cliché. And that's why they're so scary.

Some of these older women, they don't take shit, and they really kick ass. You wouldn't cross them. Thank God these women are there to just really blow away that complete cliché about South Asian women being 20 paces behind their husbands. I didn't grow up with women like that. So even back then, it felt like an homage to all those women.

I'm sure a lot of people just thought, thank God, she's funny. What a great character. But I'm really glad you actually got what she represented, symbolically.

Throughout your career, you have resisted the idea that British and Indian identities must exist in opposition. What did the Black Country give you that Punjab couldn't have, and what has Punjab given you that Britain never could?

They're so intertwined.

Well, definitely my Black Country heritage gave me freedom. That's because I grew up in a tiny rural village, and I felt the difference between the daughters of my parents' friends, the same age as me, who were growing up in cities or in South Asian communities. They were so restricted in their movement. I wasn't. I just left the house on my bike in the morning, and my mum didn't know where I was for most of the day.

Of course, it was tough because we stuck out so much, and they were tough times for immigrants. So it also toughened me up. I had to be quite a scrapper to survive it.

And as for my Punjabi heritage, well, it's always there. Our life was totally Punjabi once the front door shut. That was it. It was literally, you pass passport control, and you're in another country, separated by the front door. That felt quite schizophrenic.

But also, as I say in the book, it's completely the source of my creativity. I think you have to accept that it's going to be lonely, and then embrace that.

For me, it felt like God gave me this gift to tell stories. And I think the reason must be to make sense of this experience we're all going through, share it, and certainly pass on the message that having two cultures is a blessing, and to highlight the contributions immigrants make all over the world. The Punjabis, particularly in Britain, have contributed so much.

There’s a moving chapter in your book about meeting your comedy icon Victoria Wood. When you finally met her, your admiration was so overwhelming that you struggled to be yourself. Has there been another point in your career when admiring someone so much became a source of pressure or self-doubt?

Gosh! You know, it happens quite a lot. When you get that audition, which could be life-changing, or it's someone you really want to work with, all the nerves kick in because you think, if I get this, this could change so many things, or I am going to learn so much from this person.

I won't say what the audition was, but I went up for a film about two years ago with a director I desperately wanted to work with. It was an amazing cast. I'll just tell you one of the people who was in it: Angelina Jolie, and I would have been acting with her.

And, you know, predictably, I was so nervous that I just made a whole mess of it because I didn't walk in with the confidence of all the work I've already done. I walked in feeling, ‘Please like me.’ And that never works. And it actually never works in life.

That's the thing. Desperation really puts people off in any situation, whether it's relationships or work. And it was such a lesson. And I thought, God, I still haven't learned after Victoria Wood. It's still there in me.

And that's something I really need to do: just walk in and think, this is a conversation. It's not an audition. This is to see if we want to work with each other.

Do you think this tendency to second-guess ourselves and our worth is more common among women who move across cultures?

All the time, especially when you're walking into spaces where no one like you has previously been.

You carry this whole weight of expectation, and you feel like all your ancestors are sitting on your shoulder. But you're also aware of what's stacked against you because, time and again, you're surrounded by messages that you don't belong or deserve to be there. I think that can really feed into the insecurities that lie at the surface.

I mean, look, 50 years ago, where were women? This is a woman thing as well. We went through a phase where a woman in power felt she had to behave just like a man.

And now we're learning we have soft power, and it's actually much more effective. So we're all progressing.

Even now, the disparity in how much work older male and female actors get is massive. The number of female directors is massively underrepresented. Pretty much every sector of my business, you'll see women are still underrepresented. We have a way to go.

You describe the early Asian-British comedy scene as almost underground, with sold-out rooms where Asians knew Asians were funny. Now that Asian creatives have more visibility, do you worry that the pressure of being watched and having to explain Asian life to a mainstream or white audience has taken away some of the freedom those earlier spaces gave people to simply make each other laugh, fall, and build themselves back up?

Yes. But I also think that's because the business model of our industry has changed so much. I'm not sure [BBC sketch comedy show] Goodness Gracious Me (1996-2001) would be made now, because it doesn't hit the algorithm.

The streamers have completely changed the financial model. So there is just less opportunity for those quirky, experimental projects to be seen because people will go, ‘Well, who's going to watch that? That's not going to fit our audience research.’

And you go, well, if you look at all the shows that have actually moved the culture forward, all of those shows were like that. And, in fact, that is the reason they succeeded: they were fresh and new. They were offering something different. So, I think that's probably why many younger creatives are now bypassing those big institutions and just making those things themselves on their iPhones.

This year, the horror film Backrooms was made by a 20-year-old guy, a YouTuber. So you know that if he’d gone to Paramount or Apple, they probably would have gone, “Who are you?”

In the book, it’s almost evident how much writing as a medium and as a craft means to you. Do you think that kind of discipline may have gone missing because of the shrinking attention economy that we live in today? What are your thoughts about the way things are getting written now?

Obviously, AI is a huge threat. And indeed, that's what the Hollywood writers' strike was mainly about, which really affected the industry. We're still affected, but it was crucial that they take that action. Because I think already on some projects, rewriting is being handed out to AI.

I think the more dependent you get on AI to structure our writing, the more we're losing an essential skill: our critical faculty thinking. It is the ability to absorb information independently and collect information independently. When I was a kid, if I wanted to know something, I had to go to a library. And to get on a bus, two buses, that was an hour already, go to the library, find that book, sit with that, if it was in. If it wasn't in, I'd have to wait until the next person brought it back.

And that whole act of going through so many different research materials—that's training your brain, that's training your creativity. Then there’s the act of writing by hand.

AI is fantastic for some things, don't get me wrong, but I would never, never use it for my voice. Even if it could parrot it perfectly, which it probably does. If I used it enough, it would learn my style, but it still wouldn't do that quirky, unexpected thing that your brain does. And your spirit does.

AI is a threat to all creativity. It just flattens everything.

Finally, you've gone from being a Member of the Order of the British Empire to a Commander of the Order of the British Empire, and now a Dame. Given how much of your career has challenged who gets to belong at the centre of British culture, did the damehood feel like a personal accomplishment, or as evidence that the establishment itself had changed?

When I was offered the very first one (in 1997), that was the year that I'd taken my father back to the home he fled in Pakistan in 1947. So it was a year in which the effects of the Empire, and the deep, profound effects it had on my family, were so present. And then here I was being offered to be a member of the British Empire, and that is very stark.

Both my parents were alive at that time, and honestly, I was very doubtful about accepting it until I saw their reaction to what it meant to them. For them, it was a validation of everything they'd been through and an upturning of the establishment. And I also got that. The pride and joy that they felt about it was what made me say, “This is for you.”

Now, sadly, I don't have them anymore. So they weren't around to see the Dame, but I think they would have felt the same way.

But, no, I'll never feel part of the establishment, because I never will be accepted as such. If I was walking down the street when there was a Reform march going on on the other side, and people look at me as I'm walking down the street, and when they shout at me, they're not going to shout, “Well done, Dame,” they're going to shout, “Go home.” Do you know what I mean? So there'll always be a bit of me that won't be accepted. And I like that.

I think when I was younger, as all young people do, I thought the only way to change things is to burn everything down. And as you get older, you understand how the world works. I'm a bit too old to run around burning things down now; my back hurts, and I don't want to carry around the power of it. But if I can get inside, still be vocal and visible, and change things, then let me do it that way.

The supplement industry in India is no longer serving a niche group of consumers. Demand for supplements in India now extends far beyond metros. An Indian Brand Equity Foundation (IBEF) report on protein supplements highlights growth across cities including Lucknow, Surat, Indore, Chandigarh, Bhubaneswar, and Patna. 

Protein, fibre, magnesium, collagen, creatine—supplement shelves are fully stocked. India’s dietary supplements market, valued at $5.85 billion in 2025, is expected to cross a revenue of $11.75 billion by 2031, at a compound annual growth rate of 12.33 per cent, up from 10.76 per cent between 2020 and 2025, as stated in a Ken Research August 2026 report. These numbers make a strong case for the growing reach of nutritional supplements in India. They say considerably less about whether everyone buying them needs them.

The category did not always look this way. For many consumers, supplements once meant doctor-recommended calcium tablets or familiar herbal nutraceuticals for Ayurvedic syrups. They did not yet resemble a self-designed daily stack.

Today, supplements sit comfortably next to pancake mixes, fruits, and dals in the kitchen. As supplements transition into lifestyle products, their over-the-counter availability makes uncurbed consumption easier. India’s wellness boom may now be concealing an oversupplementation problem. 

How the supplement industry in India became a lifestyle business

Indians are not consuming a supplement in isolation any longer. Health and wellness routines increasingly accommodate several trends at once: protein and creatine during the day, magnesium at night, and collagen somewhere in between. This supplement stacking is becoming part of the wider supplement culture in India. 

A 2025 survey conducted by the Department of Studies in Food Science and Nutrition at the University of Mysore found that 34.15 per cent of respondents consumed one supplement daily, another 26.83 per cent consumed four, and 7.32 per cent consumed five. In a separate Indian Journal of Pharmaceutical Sciences assessment, about 50 per cent of the participants without chronic diseases reported using a multivitamin supplement, with some combining two products. Easy over-the-counter availability was cited as one of the major reasons for their increasing use.

An article published in the Journal Of Pharmaceutical Research International, which examined nutraceutical prescription patterns with a focus on protein supplements in Tier-1 Indian cities, found that chemists were observing a growing trend of self-prescription. Separately, a 2025 BMC Nutrition review of vitamin and mineral self-medication found that their combined use ranged from 15.7 per cent to 61.2 per cent across 56 international studies, averaging 34.8 per cent. 

“The difference today is that younger adults aren’t just buying protein powders. They’re taking creatine, magnesium, collagen, greens powders, probiotics, and various longevity supplements, much earlier than previous generations,” says fitness coach and The Func Lab co-founder Sohrab Khushrushahi, who notices a spike in oversupplementation among those in their twenties. “Some of these are supported by good evidence in the right context. Others can possibly just be trends as well.”

Often, supplements are taken on instinct rather than to address a confirmed deficit. This self-prescribed consumption behaviour comes with red flags: consuming too little or too much, too soon or too late, too many or too few supplements. 

“WITH SOCIAL MEDIA INFLUENCING BOTH SUPPLEMENT PURCHASES AND DIETARY CHOICES, A SIGNIFICANT GAP RISES IN UNDERSTANDING DOSAGE, DURATION, AND POTENTIAL SIDE EFFECTS” — Jiahjeet Kaur

India is, gradually, rebranding itself from nutrient-deficient to supplement-dependent.

Khushrushahi describes it as a shift from nutrient deficiencies to nutrient assumptions. “Earlier, people rarely considered supplementation, even when it was needed. Today, many people take supplements simply because they’re popular or because someone they follow online recommends them. The issue isn’t that people are taking supplements; many have a legitimate role. The problem is taking them without understanding whether there’s a need.”

Mumbai-based clinical nutritionist Jiahjeet Kaur sees this shift play out in real time during her consultations. “Among Gen Z and younger millennials particularly, an important distinction needs to be made between how many young people are consuming supplements and how many actually require them.” She attributes part of the shift to the surge in online health and wellness content, set against increasingly unrealistic appearance standards. “With social media influencing both supplement purchases and dietary choices, a significant gap rises in understanding dosage, duration, and potential side effects.”

Kaur also underlines the risks of moving from a diet-first to a supplement-first mindset. “Someone sleeping five hours, skipping meals, barely eating vegetables, and feeling exhausted might reach for magnesium, B12, or a multivitamin before addressing those fundamentals or even checking whether they have a deficiency. Supplements are targeted tools, not basic components of health.”

When the daily supplement stack becomes too much 

A 2025 study published in the Journal of Drug Delivery and Therapeutics surveyed 175 teenagers in Chennai and found that about 60 per cent had already begun consuming one dietary supplement or another. A separate 2025 consumer study by the International Journal of Scientific Research in Engineering and Management reported that the largest share of creatine consumers it surveyed was aged 18–30. 

The pattern is clear: younger generations have a growing appetite for supplements. 

While the health and wellness market works overtime to meet demand, the risks of unsupervised or excessive use receive considerably less attention. Supplementing too much, too soon, and for too long carries its own set of risks.

Most of the supplements in the market are several times the recommended daily allowance (RDA), notes medical expert Dr Nandita Shah, founder of Sanctuary for Health And Reconnection to Animals and Nature (SHARAN). “This means the body has to either be able to store them or has to throw them out. So, they are broken down by the liver and excreted by the kidneys, which is a load on the liver and the kidneys. Most supplements also contain other chemical ingredients that need to be disposed of by the body. When we take one thing in excess, it could result in problems with another nutrient; for example, iron competes with calcium or vitamin B competes with vitamin C.”

Supplement side effects depend on the product, dose, and person. Excess fibre may cause digestive issues; high-dose magnesium can lower blood pressure; and excessive intake of certain fat-soluble vitamins can lead to toxicity. Creatine has not been shown to damage kidney function in healthy people when taken at recommended doses, according to the NIH Office of Dietary Supplements. Existing kidney conditions, excessive doses, and combinations of multiple products require greater caution. Oversupplementation of creatine is linked with kidney damage, protein and fibre with digestive issues, collagen with bloating, magnesium with lethargy and low blood pressure, green powders with vitamin toxicity, and so on. 

According to Nikita Garg, celebrity nutritionist and founder of Entech Wellness, toxicity, malabsorption, gut issues, liver and kidney overload are some of the risks associated with excess supplementation, especially if they are fat-soluble compounds. 

 “THE ISSUE ISN’T THAT PEOPLE ARE TAKING SUPPLEMENTS; MANY HAVE A LEGITIMATE ROLE. THE PROBLEM IS TAKING THEM WITHOUT UNDERSTANDING WHETHER THERE’S A NEED” –– Sohrab Khushrushahi

Dr Chintan Gandhi, nephrologist with Mumbai-based Zynova Shalby Hospital, concurs, “Long-term, unnecessary supplement use can cause pressure on the kidneys, particularly with excessive protein, creatine, minerals, or poorly regulated products. It may increase the risk of kidney stones, dehydration, electrolyte imbalances, and, in susceptible people, worsening kidney function. The risk is higher when supplements are taken in excessive doses, combined with multiple products, or used without considering existing kidney disease.”

Khushrushahi draws a clear line between supplementation and oversupplementation. “For most evidence-based supplements taken within recommended doses, there is no solid evidence that simply starting earlier causes harm. Protein powder is a good example; it’s essentially a convenient protein source, not a drug.” The concern isn’t early exposure, but inappropriate or excessive use. “Too much vitamin D can lead to high blood calcium levels. Excess iron in someone who isn’t deficient can promote oxidative stress and organ damage. Large amounts of zinc over time can sometimes cause copper deficiency. Calcium supplements taken unnecessarily may increase the risk of kidney stones in susceptible individuals. There are examples galore.”

Another issue is opportunity cost, says the health expert. “If someone relies on supplements instead of improving their diet, they miss out on fibre, phytonutrients, and the thousands of bioactive compounds found in whole foods that supplements simply don’t provide.” A supplement can fill a gap. It cannot reproduce a diet. 

Why supplements are not a shortcut to healthy ageing  

A 2024 survey commissioned by Supradyn, Bayer’s multivitamin brand, reported that 96 per cent of the respondents believed they lacked micronutrients, while 49 per cent believed that their diet doesn’t sufficiently replenish vitamins, minerals, and other nutrients. 

The numbers capture the preventive-health anxiety surrounding supplements. Prevention may be better than cure. It still helps to know what is actually being prevented. 

Preventive health has gone mainstream, which is a genuine gain. Turning teenage oversupplementation into insurance for healthy ageing is something else, notes Khushrushahi. “Healthy ageing is primarily determined by behaviours that are repeated consistently over decades, such as regular exercise, adequate protein intake, sufficient sleep, not smoking, limiting alcohol, maintaining a healthy body composition, and managing chronic disease risk. Supplements can support those habits when there’s a deficiency or an increased requirement, but they don’t replace them.”

A supplement stack at 21 cannot write the script for health at 55 on its own. 

Kaur recommends being cautious about drawing a connection between taking supplements and preventing ageing at all. “We have good reason to believe that correcting a genuine nutritional deficiency is important for maintaining normal physiological function over the long term, but that is very different from taking supplements unnecessarily as an anti-ageing strategy. Ageing is influenced by much bigger factors, like nutrition as a whole, physical activity, sleep, smoking, alcohol, metabolic health, environmental exposure, stress management, and genetics. A handful of pills cannot compensate for poor lifestyle fundamentals.”

Who India’s supplement industry is really selling to 

It is fair to say that the supplement industry in India is youth-obsessed. From protein to creatine, collagen to magnesium, most supplements are marketed to younger consumers to help them pursue goals including muscle-building, restful sleep, and plumper skin. 

Meanwhile, older adults, who may have more clinically specific nutritional needs, receive considerably less marketing attention.

A market report projects that calcium’s market in India will surpass $508.09 million by 2032, whereas the broader protein market is projected to reach $2.2 billion by 2030. The categories and forecast windows are not directly comparable, but their framing is revealing: protein is sold through performance and optimisation, while calcium remains tied to deficiency and age. 

The commercial incentive is simple. Optimisation is easier to market at scale than individualised healthcare. “Fitness, appearance, and performance are highly marketable to younger consumers, creating strong demand for products promising quick results,” notes Dr Ameet Mandot, director of Hepatology, Gleneagles Hospital. “Older adults tend to have different needs, and the focus may be on managing deficiencies and existing health conditions, making personalised medical advice more important compared to trends,” explains the doctor.

Khushrushahi also believes marketing has a greater role to play in the Indian supplement industry’s youth-first strategy. “Younger consumers tend to engage more with wellness content, fitness influencers, and social media, so they’re often the easiest audience to reach,” he says. “Ironically, many supplements actually have some of their strongest evidence in older adults. Protein becomes increasingly important because muscle protein synthesis declines with age, for example. The science doesn’t suggest supplements are only for younger people. If anything, many older adults may have a greater clinical need for targeted supplementation.”

Marketing sells the convenient story. The science is more complicated. 

A Frontiers in Nutrition review found that the absorption of calcium, vitamin D, and vitamin B12 can decline with age. It also documented age-related changes to bone density, muscle mass, and other physiological functions, helping explain why targeted supplementation may become more relevant later in life. 

“As one ages, there are other issues such as bone density, muscle mass, balance, and joint function, making supplementation more relevant and clinically useful,” says Dr Anoop Dhamangaonkar, orthopaedic surgeon at S. L. Raheja Hospital.

The need for a supplement at all ages is bio-individual, not generic, states Kaur, and the ageing population is no exception. “However, the nutrients I tend to pay closer attention to are protein, vitamin D, calcium, B12, iron where necessary, and sometimes omega 3, but whether someone actually needs them depends on their diet, medical history, medications, lifestyle, and blood work.” Garg adds, “When hormonal support towards the body declines in ages above 50, supplements that can actually help in better functioning are vitamin K2-MK7, magnesium, melatonin, and calcium, the bone density stack. They support mobility, cognition, absorption, and sleep.”

The truth about supplements is contained in the name: they are supplementary. That means consuming them at the right time, in the required amount, and for a clearly established reason. When the body’s basic needs are already being met, oversupplementation adds little. It cannot replace a nutrient-dense diet, sleep, recovery, and movement.

The supplement industry will keep selling optimisation in a scoop, gummy, or capsule. Any real benefit still depends on the less glamorous question: what does this particular body actually need?

Anime in India is a growing subculture that’s quickly gaining ground in the mainstream entertainment narrative. Indians, exposed to animation primarily as a children’s category, are finding sophisticated themes and storylines in Japanese anime. Several platforms are streaming anime, events are building community, and anime is being made accessible in multiple Indian languages. The story of anime in India is centred around community, and the numbers reflect that the category is poised for bullish growth. 

What exactly is anime? Technically, it refers to animated productions originating from Japan. The category has amassed global attention and India also has a growing appreciation for the form. In 2025, James Gunn's Superman grossed an estimated ₹57.26 crore in India while Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba—Infinity Castle surpassed ₹65 crore in total collections. A large part of this popularity stems from the fact that India’s relationship with anime is cinched by context and access.

Anime vs cartoon: What’s the difference? 

Anime in India is a category floating between blurred lines. Animated productions have come from Cartoon Network, Disney, and Pixar, and have been typecast as ‘children’s entertainment.’ The lesson-centric Amar Chitra Katha and Tinkle Comics reinforced that idea. 

“Disney and Pixar have different styles of animation, but India’s introduction was with Disney, which was earlier made for kids. So, in India, anime was considered akin to a cartoon for kids,” explains Prashant Yadav, 27, an anime creator based out of Delhi-NCR, who grew up watching Doraemon and Shinchan, before moving on to One Piece and Naruto. 

Japanese anime, on the other hand, is more relatable for adults. “The younger audience is way more aware of not designating everything as a ‘cartoon.’ So Japanese anime has slowly become a regular part of people’s content consumption in India, across all age groups. Everyone now watches animated content a lot more whether via reels or seeking it out themselves,” says Jatin Varma, founder, Comic Con India. 

Why anime became mainstream in India 

Japanese anime picked up globally in 2020, according to reports that state the global demand for anime content grew 118 per cent between 2020 and 2022, making it one of the fastest-growing content genres. 

India is part of this growth story. “There’s a clear distinct visual style that has been copied many times in the West. It’s been there for decades and has influenced so many things in global pop-culture,” says Varma, pointing to shows like Dragon Ball Z (1989–1996); Pokémon (1996–2023), which also launched the viral game Pokémon GO (2016–), which had players roaming the streets to ‘capture Pokémons’ on the app; and Naruto (2002–2007, 2007–2017).

Despite being boxed into a category for decades, anime has carved a space for itself in India with a fan following that earlier showed up at comic cons and now also attends anime events. Anime built its foothold the way most subcultures do—through fan communities. What has changed is the scale. 

“Comic Con India has grown into a genuine anime hub, drawing hundreds of thousands of visitors annually. And it's not just the metros, we're seeing grassroots meet ups happening in Tier-2, and in fact, Tier-3 cities,” says Himanshu Chowdhry, founder, Spectal, who managed the Nestlé KitKat x One Piece collaboration at Comic Con Mumbai 2026, which attracted 7,000 visitors.  

A 2023 report by Polaris Market Research found that India’s anime market is expected to surpass $5 billion by 2032. 

Global anime platform Crunchyroll, which was made accessible in India in 2022, claims that since then, the minutes watched per viewer has increased 2x and total watch time is growing at 3.5x, with Indian fans spending more than an hour per day on the platform. The website told The Established that dubbed content accounts for more than 65 per cent of total viewership.

Gen Z is hooked to Japanese anime franchises not only because of the artwork and effort behind them but also because of how relatable the plots are. 

“One Piece, Naruto, etc. have stories that reward long-term investment, exactly what a generation raised on binge culture responds to. And unlike most things Gen Z consumes, this isn't algorithmically fed to them, it's a community they've actively sought out and built together. These aren't just shows they watch, they're identities they share with a community that spans the globe,” says Chowdhry. 

What’s also helped is mainstream platforms like YouTube and Netflix offering anime dubbed and subbed in regional Indian languages. 

“This is not only breaking age barriers but I also feel class barriers. Anime is slowly going mainstream after all these years of being a niche,” says Varma

Several anime websites don't work without a VPN or require an American/UK credit card for payments. There are very few anime-focused platforms in India, and they appear mostly as sections or separate streaming apps on platforms like Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Jio Hotstar.

“We have some of the lowest subscription prices in the world and payments have become easier. The challenge remains accessing the vast library of classics and at times new exclusives that have not yet made their way to India,” says Varma, who is hopeful that with platforms like Crunchyroll, more content will become accessible.

“In a country that was starved of platforms with anime, having reasonable subscriptions helped,” says Yadav. 

The anime market in India is growing—and offering cheap and legal alternatives to VPN or pirated websites—an issue in India where websites get banned frequently today,” adds Yadav.

Access on Netflix, Prime, and Hotstar means more people, who would never seek out a niche platform, can discover anime. “What we've seen on ground is that streaming actually feeds live fandom rather than replacing it. People watch anime online, then show up in real numbers wanting a physical, communal experience of it. The two aren't competing. Streaming builds the base, live experiences convert that base into genuine community,” says Chowdhry. 

Best anime streaming platforms in India 

Prices and catalogues last checked August 2026

1. Crunchyroll

Launched in May 2006 as a fan-uploaded video site before it became an official streaming platform in 2008–2009, Crunchyroll became legally accessible in India in 2022. Today, they ensure same-day releases of anime shows and films, and have over 900 titles in India. These span genres like action, fantasy, slice-of-life, supernatural, and romantic comedies. These are not only dubbed and subbed in English; over 160 titles are also available in Hindi, Tamil, and Telugu. This includes popular shows like Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba, Jujutsu Kaisen, Spy x Family, My Hero Academia, and Chainsaw Man.

Price: Starting at ₹79 per month

Log on to: www.crunchyroll.com

2. Netflix

Netflix launched in India in January 2016, bringing its international catalogue of films and shows, including a growing selection of Japanese anime. Today, its anime library includes popular series like Jujutsu Kaisen, One Piece, Blue Lock, Vinland Saga, Black Clover, My Hero Academia, Spy x Family, Dan Da Dan, and Delicious in Dungeon, besides Netflix originals like Cyberpunk: Edgerunners. Its anime movie selection includes Suzume, Violet Evergarden the Movie, A Whisker Away, Bubble, and Stand by Me Doraemon, with most titles available in Japanese with English subtitles and select regional language dubs as well.

Price: ₹149 per month 

Log on to: www.netflix.com/browse

3. Amazon Prime Video

Amazon Prime Video began adding anime to its India catalogue in 2016, with popular titles including Doraemon, Shinchan, and Ninja Hattori. Today, its Japanese anime selection includes shows like Vinland Saga, Jujutsu Kaisen, My Hero Academia, and One-Punch Man, and films such as Look Back and Haikyu!! The Dumpster Battle. The platform also introduced the dedicated Anime Times channel in 2023, which offers a wider selection of Japanese anime as a paid add-on. Crunchyroll is also available through Prime Video Channels as a paid option.

Price: ₹299 per month; Anime Times at ₹39 per month

Log on to: www.primevideo.com

4. JioHotstar

JioHotstar's anime catalogue began taking shape on the platform in 2022, when Disney+Hotstar added a dedicated selection of Japanese animation to its Indian service. Today, its anime library includes popular series like Bleach: Thousand-Year Blood War, Jujutsu Kaisen, Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba, Tokyo Revengers, Mushoku Tensei: Jobless Reincarnation, My Hero Academia, and That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, besides anime films from the Pokémon franchise. The platform also features dedicated anime collections such as Animeverse and partner catalogues like Muse Anime, through which it gets access to Japanese anime.

Price: ₹79 per month 

Log on to: www.hotstar.com

5. Ani-One India

Launched in India in November 2024 by Hong Kong-based Medialink Group, Ani-One India is an official YouTube channel dedicated to bringing licensed Japanese anime to Indian audiences. The channel offers free anime with English and Hindi subtitles and dubs, including simulcast titles as well as popular series like Overlord, Bleach: Thousand-Year Blood War, Kuroko no Basket, Oshi no Ko, and KonoSuba. It recently expanded its Hindi-dubbed catalogue, making it one of the more accessible options on YouTube to watch anime legally in India for free.

Price: Free; Ani-One Ultra at ₹119 per month

Log on to: www.youtube.com/@AniOneIN/videos

6. Anime! on TMS Official Channel

If wondering where to watch anime for free in India, the official YouTube channel of Japanese animation studio TMS Entertainment offers free, legal anime to viewers in India, with a catalogue spanning newer series as well as classics. Its selection of Japanese anime includes long-running favourites like Detective Conan, Lupin the 3rd, Dr STONE, Fruits Basket, Megalo Box, Baki, and Baki Hanma. The channel also brings back nostalgic productions like Sonic X, Anpanman, and Kamisama Kiss, besides films like Akira.

Price: Free

Log on to: www.youtube.com/@AnimeonTMSOfficialChannel

Does Japanese anime differ from manga? 

Manga refers to Japanese-style comic books, whose formatting is different from the Western style Indians have grown up reading. It also has a distinct visual language.  

“They are usually interrelated. A popular manga series usually ends up with its own anime series as well and sometimes vice-versa. Fans won’t be confused anymore because when they dive deep—and they can today—they discover the books after watching a series and end up being fans of both anime and manga,” says Varma. 

Dragon Ball Z is the adaptation of the second half of Akira Toriyama's legendary 1984 manga series Dragon Ball. 

Manga comics are categorised as anime when they are brought to life onscreen via animation, but not all anime is manga: Pokémon was not based on a manga but began as a video game created by Satoshi Tajiri and Game Freak, released as Pocket Monsters Red and Green for the Nintendo Game Boy in Japan in 1996. The manga adaptations—Pokémon Pocket Monsters and Pokémon Adventures—and anime series were created to expand upon the success of the video games.

Naruto was not inspired by one single manga but several classic works and creators. Akira Toriyama's Dragon Ball series shaped the protagonist Naruto’s personality and the show’s spiritual energy system concept. But the anime also takes inspiration from Japanese folklore and mythology like the tales of the kitsune or fox spirits, making anime a way to carry on traditional Japanese culture and lore, undiluted and more accessible. 

As India, and the world, dive deeper into the world of Japanese entertainment, anime in India is evolving into a unique space for cross-cultural dialogue—Japanese art, Asian sensibility, and Indian audiences coming together to form a subculture unique to the subcontinent.

The high-protein diet has escaped the shaker bottle. It is now in curd, idli batter, bread, cookies, and restaurant rice bowls. Open Zomato or Swiggy, grams of protein increasingly sit beside dish descriptions. Grocery shelves, online and off, make the number difficult to miss.

Protein has moved from the gym bag into the everyday shopping basket. What was once largely sold to bodybuilders is now marketed to parents, office workers, vegetarians, and anyone looking for an efficient route to better health.

“Protein has become the new health currency,” says Kavita Devgan, nutritionist, author, and longevity consultant, who sees younger clients shifting from carbohydrate-heavy meals to more balanced diets by adding protein.

For consumers, the number offers certainty. For brands, it offers something even more valuable: a health message that can be printed on the front of a packet, placed beside a menu item, and compared at a glance. Protein has become an ingredient, a metric, and a sales pitch.

How protein became India’s new sales metric

Social media has helped turn that shift into a daily calculation. Fitness creators, nutritionists, and food brands made macronutrients part of ordinary conversation, while apps and wearables trained consumers to treat food as measurable data.

“Fitness creators, dietitians, and doctors have helped make nutrition more accessible. Earlier, terms like macronutrients felt intimidating. Today, people casually discuss protein over coffee. Plus, millennials and younger generations are trying to build better habits earlier in life,” says Priyasha Saluja, plant-based pastry chef and founder of The Cinnamon Kitchen. 

She has noticed the commercial effect. Earlier, customers were more likely to ask whether her products were gluten-free or vegan. Over the past five years, questions have increasingly centred on the protein content. 

Every day foods like coffee, breads, and even water, now come with protein. The category has expanded by attaching a familiar health promise to products people already buy.

Why the high protein diet took off in India

The boom draws on a real nutritional anxiety: that cereal-heavy diets may provide too little protein. This perception has been reinforced by fitness culture, public health messaging, and increasingly, food marketing.

National data, however, tells a more complicated story. The ICMR-NIN’s What India Eats report found that median protein intake per kilogram was above the Estimated Average Requirement across the urban and rural groups studied.

View this post on Instagram

The larger imbalance concerned where that protein came from. Cereals and millets supplied nearly half of mean protein intake in urban diets and roughly two-thirds in rural diets. Pulses, milk, nuts, vegetables, and fruits were consumed in considerably lower proportions than ICMR-NIN’s recommended plate. India may have a protein-quality and dietary-diversity problem before it has a universal protein-quantity problem.

For all its distortions, the protein boom has made the composition of everyday meals easier to discuss. In India, where cereal-heavy diets can leave less room for pulses, dairy, nuts, and other protein sources, that attention has value.

The business behind India’s high-protein diet

The commercial incentive is substantial. A 2026 Mordor Intelligence report titled India Protein Market Size & Share Analysis—Growth Trends And Forecast (2026 - 2031) found that the broader Indian protein-based product and ingredients market sits between $1.5 billion and $4.5 billion, depending on the inclusion of fortified FMCG staples, with specific supplements valued between $860 million and $913 million. It anticipates a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of roughly 6.5 per cent to 14.7 per cent heading into the 2030s.

The market includes far more than the protein snacks encountered on quick-commerce apps. Its scale still helps explain why the language of sports nutrition has moved into everyday food categories.

Familiarity is part of the strategy. Gladful makes high-protein breakfast mixes and Two Brothers India Farms is selling organic products including a high-protein atta; both focused on reducing the behaviour change required from consumers. The product appears new while the habit remains recognisable.

“Protein requirement is personal. Protein marketing isn’t. That’s the problem. Social media oversimplifies things,” says Devgan.

What FSSAI rules say about high protein foods 

Brands cannot simply add a ‘high-protein’ sticker to bread, noodles, or cookies. FSSAI regulates both food packaging and labelling and the conditions under which nutrient claims can be made.

“Laboratories determine the nitrogen content of the food and calculate protein using an appropriate conversion factor, or use another method prescribed or recognised by the relevant standards. The amount of protein to be listed should be calculated using the formula: Protein = Total Kjeldahl Nitrogen x 6.25, unless a different factor is scientifically justified. For calculating protein content in milk a conversion factor of 6.38 needs to be used,” says Amit Sharma, who has been working as Director (Quality Assurance), Food Safety & Standards Authority of India (FSSAI), since 2019. 

Under FSSAI’s advertising and claims regulations, a source of protein claim requires at least 12 per cent of the food’s energy value to come from protein. A high or rich-protein claim requires at least 20 per cent. Claims must also be truthful, unambiguous, meaningful, and scientifically substantiated.

Labelling comes with rules. “Under the Food Safety and Standards (Labelling and Display) Regulations, 2020, pre-packaged foods are required to declare nutrition information, including energy, protein, carbohydrate, total sugars, added sugars, total fat, saturated fat, and sodium, subject to the applicable provisions and exemptions,” says Sharma. 

FSSAI’s menu-labelling requirements apply specifically to food service establishments with a Central licence or outlets at 10 or more locations. These businesses must display calorific value per serving, serving size, and the reference statement that an average active adult requires 2,000 kilocalories per day, although individual needs vary. Applicable allergen and vegetarian or non-vegetarian information must also be shown. E-commerce platforms carrying those menus must make the prescribed information available.

Customers still have to decode the labels. Devgan suggests looking at protein per actual serving rather than only per 100 grams, followed by the ingredients, fibre, sugar, saturated fat, and sodium. “Look at how much protein you're getting relative to the calories. A food giving you 20 grams of protein for around 200 calories is getting roughly 40 per cent of those calories from protein because protein provides about four calories per gram.” 

Restaurants and bakeries face a different production challenge. Heat, moisture loss, and ingredient interactions can affect the final nutritional profile. “Once the recipe is commercially produced, we send samples to NABL-accredited food testing laboratories to analyse the nutritional values,” says Saluja. 

View this post on Instagram

The protein claim also changes how restaurants develop and standardise dishes. Public Supply weighs individual ingredients and maintains recipe cards based on NIN or IFCT data to calculate protein content before placing a protein-rich tag on a dish, says Gulati. 

When ‘protein-rich’ becomes a marketing claim

Protein is a nutrient, not a certificate of good health, a distinction that marketing often blurs.  

The quantity of protein being measurable makes consumers particularly susceptible to marketing gimmicks. 

“A restaurant can put ‘20 grams of protein’ next to a dish and immediately give the consumer another reason to choose it,” says Aakanksha Gupta, a reputation management expert and founder of The Other Circle. It is a tactic that worked on Gupta when she bought a “guilt-free, protein-rich ice cream.”

The food industry has realised that protein sells. “Once a nutrient acquires a health halo, marketers can put it on bread, noodles, cereal, cookies, snacks—and suddenly consumers perceive the entire product as healthier. Ask yourself—would you have bought this if ‘protein’ wasn't written across the packet? If the answer is no, the marketing has already done its job,” says Devgan. 

“I don’t have a problem with brands telling me there is protein in something. Just don’t make me believe that the protein number automatically makes the entire product healthy,” says Gupta. 

She has bought products for their protein claim, only to find that their carbohydrates, sugar, or calories were higher than she wanted. “I need the full nutritional picture,” she says.

Is India’s high protein diet here to stay?

When protein becomes the headline, the rest of the ingredient list recedes into the background. Protein is unlikely to surrender its new place on the label.

For brands, it offers a clear benefit, an easily understood metric, and room to reformulate products across several categories. For consumers, it turns the vague ambition of eating better into something apparently measurable.

“The protein awareness will stay if consumers question the protein quality, amino acid profile, protein-to-calorie ratio, ingredient quality, and whether a product genuinely adds nutritional value rather than simply carrying a protein claim,” says Khushrushahi. 

“We are making food, not a spreadsheet. The protein number has to work alongside taste, texture, and usability. If you improve a nutritional number but people no longer want to eat the roti, you have not really solved anything,” says Satyajit Hange, farmer and co-founder, Two Brothers India Farms.

The more sustainable shift may also be the least dramatic: adding protein to existing meals instead of designing an entirely new routine around it. 

Protein has become the easiest number in food marketing: visible, comparable, and clean enough to print in large type. Everything harder to quantify recedes behind it. Fibre, micronutrients, ingredient quality, dietary diversity, and even pleasure become secondary to the gram count. Fruits are dismissed because they contain little protein; dals because they also contain carbohydrates; meals give way to bars, powders, and fortified snacks.

The useful version of India’s protein boom returns attention to pulses, dairy, soy, nuts, seeds, and grains already present in everyday diets. The commercial version packages a cookie as a healthy food. What consumers gain in protein may be offset by the foods, nutrients, and balance they stop seeing.

Shampoo, hair mask or conditioner, hair serum. It is now a familiar order in many Indian haircare routines. 

This wasn’t always the case. Hair serum arrived after shampoo and conditioner were already mainstream, yet the category has grown steadily. According to Vumonic Datalabs’ analysis, its share of online haircare sales across major e-commerce platforms rose from approximately seven per cent in 2021 to 14 per cent in 2023. 

What is hair serum?

Hair serum is a leave-in finishing product applied mainly to the mid-lengths and ends. Unlike scalp serums marketed for hair growth, it coats the hair shaft to reduce friction, control frizz, and improve shine. Depending on the formula, it may also offer heat or UV protection.

The category’s growth can partly be explained by the conditions hair is exposed to in India. Hair textures vary widely, but humidity, heat, hard water, pollution, and frequent styling can all increase frizz, dryness, and mechanical damage. The aftermath of every hair wash day is predictable: unruliness, leading to frizziness, leading to knots, leading to breakage and damage. 

A hair serum becomes inevitable to prevent hair from spiralling and maintain its smoothness till the next wash. 

What hair serum does for frizz and damage

A 2025 multinational study of 19,461 people found that female respondents commonly linked frizz to humidity. “High humidity causes the hair shaft to absorb excess moisture from the environment, disrupting the smooth arrangement of the hair cuticle, and leading to flyaways and loss of definition,” says dermatologist Dr Jaishree Sharad. “A post-wash hair serum smoothens the hair surface, making the hair easier to comb, reducing mechanical breakage during styling.”

Excess humidity is just one part of the story. Pollution, everyday styling, and rough handling also add to the damage. 

“Hair is constantly exposed to dust and other environmental pollutants, and as these particles build up on its surface, hair starts to feel rough, dull, and harder to manage. A serum smooths and lubricates that surface, improving slip, shine, and manageability, while shielding hair from ongoing environmental stress,” explains Kajal Shirodkar, style director at Jean Claude Biguine Salons, India. “Damaged or rough hair carries more friction, especially during combing and styling, and everyday actions like brushing, detangling, and tying add further mechanical stress.”

A Mintel survey found that 42 per cent of Indians are likely to perceive their hair to be prone to damage in the form of dull hair, split ends, and dry hair. A rough surface, then, works against natural softness. Hairstylist Rod Anker underlines the value of a hair serum in retaining softness, particularly when hard water and sun exposure can compound existing damage. 

“Many modern serums also contain antioxidants, conditioning agents, UV filters, and heat-protective ingredients that help protect the hair against environmental stress and repeated heat exposure,” adds Sharad. 

Hair serum vs hair oil vs bond repair treatments

India’s beauty industry is in its hair care era, with new oils, serums, bond-repair treatments, and masks arriving routinely, often all promising the same result: softness, shine, and smoother hair. 

But if every product claims to deliver the same benefit, does a hair care routine really need all of them? The answer depends on what each product does. 

Many promise softness and shine, but their methods vary considerably and they cannot always be used interchangeably. 

Hair oils and hair serums differ more in their formulation and purpose than in whether either product contains oil. Explaining the distinction from an ingredient perspective, Sharad says, “Hair oils are usually made from natural plant oils such as coconut, argan, almond, or olive oil. Hair serums, on the other hand, are cosmetic conditioning products formulated to coat the outer surface of the hair. Most modern serums contain lightweight silicones, conditioning agents, or plant-derived lipids that create a smooth protective film around each hair strand.”

The two formats also perform different functions. “While some serums contain oils, they are not just hair oils repackaged. Hair oils are designed to nourish, condition, and soften the hair and are typically used as a pre-shampoo treatment,” says Shirodkar. “Hair serums, even oil-based ones, are formulated as finishing products that help smooth frizz, add shine, improve manageability, and protect the hair's surface.” 

Bond-repairing treatments make up a separate category. They are designed for structural damage within the hair fibre, often caused by bleaching, colouring, or repeated heat styling. A hair oil or finishing serum cannot perform the same function. “They work inside the hair fibre to help reconnect damaged bonds caused by bleaching, colouring, or heat styling. Which is why they’re called treatments, not finishing products,” says Anker.

Silicone serums finish and protect, lightweight oils lubricate and soften, scalp serums address the scalp, and bond repair treatments fix structural damage—each targets a different problem, Shirodkar summarises.

The best hair serums and finishing oils to try

OFF DAYS Smoothening & Illuminating Serum

Created by Anker, this weightless hair serum combines sweet almond oil, hemp seed extract, and linseed oil. It is designed to soften frizzy hair without making it fall flat, while its light scent makes it suitable for regular use. 

Priced at ₹890

Available at Offdayshair.com

L’Oréal Paris Glycolic Gloss Extension Serum

This drugstore serum combines AHAs, glycolic acid, and lactic acid along with hydrogenated castor oil. The lightweight formula is designed to improve gloss, smoothness, and manageability without the weight of a traditional hair oil.

Priced at ₹419

Available at Nykaa.com

Nexxus Promend Resurrection Hair Oil-in-Serum

This oil-serum combines collagen, elastin, and keratin with castor, olive, Meadowfoam, jojoba and sunflower oils, and squalane. The formula offers the conditioning effect of an oil in a lighter texture intended to soften frizz and improve shine. 

Priced at ₹2,499

Available at Tirabeauty.com

OUAI Hair Oil

This finishing oil is designed for hair exposed to sun, pollution, dryness, and frequent styling. It features galangal root extract, rosemary leaf oil, and shea butter to condition the hair and smooth damaged cuticles. The brand claims heat protection up to 232°C.

Priced at ₹3,300

Available at Myntra.com

Kérastase Absolu Glaze Drops

Lighter in texture and wear than the original Elixir Ultime, this oil-in-serum uses glycolic acid, hyaluronic acid, and wild rose in oil. It tames frizz, adds shine, and is light enough to work as both a post-wash serum and a finishing product for sleek hairstyles. 

Priced at ₹3,800

Available at Tirabeauty.com

K18 Molecular Repair Hair Oil

This biotech-engineered oil combines sunflower oil, avocado oil, castor oil, and vitamin E. It is designed to reduce frizz, smooth flyaways, and improve softness without leaving the hair feeling heavy. 

Priced at ₹2,700

Available at Tatacliqluxury.com

How to choose the best hair serum by hair type 

An effective hair serum should offer more than temporary shine or fragrance. Its texture and ingredient profile should suit the hair type and its primary concern. 

Anker recommends looking for ingredients such as olive squalane, and natural oils such as grapeseed, sweet almond, or sea buckthorn. Silicones can reduce frizz and protect against humidity, while vitamin E provides antioxidant protection, and UV filters can help limit sun damage.

For frizzy and dull hair, Sharad recommends lightweight silicones such as dimethicone or amodimethicone. “Other ingredients such as ceramides, amino acids, hydrolysed proteins, and antioxidants can also help strengthen the hair fibre and improve softness.” 

Anker advises avoiding formulas that rely on heavy mineral oils, excessive fragrance, or thick oils that may weigh fine hair down. Products promising to repair serious damage should also contain credible reparative technology. “Avoid products that rely heavily on high concentrations of drying alcohols, which may increase dryness and brittleness when used repeatedly. Very heavy mineral oils or waxes can also leave excessive residue on fine hair, making it look greasy and limp,” adds Sharad.

Shirodkar offers a simple guide: 

• Dry or frizzy hair: Choose a moisturising, smoothing serum with argan oil, jojoba oil, or silicone-based conditioners. 

• Fine or an oily scalp: Look for a lightweight, non-greasy serum. Use it sparingly and apply only to the mid-lengths and ends. 

• Curly or wavy hair: Choose a serum that offers moisture, frizz control, and definition. 

• Damaged or chemically treated hair: Look for repair and heat protection, particularly if styling tools are used frequently. 

• Grey or white hair: If brassiness is a concern, consider a purple or violet-toned serum to neutralise yellow tones. 

How to use hair serum

Start with one or two pumps on clean, damp hair. Rub the serum between the palms, then work it through the mid-lengths and ends. Add more only if needed and avoid the roots unless the formula is designed for the scalp.

Most finishing serums can also be applied sparingly to dry hair to control flyaways or restore shine between washes. Fine hair generally needs less product, while thick, curly, or highly porous hair may require more.

For hair frequently exposed to humidity, heat, hard water, pollution, or styling, a hair serum can be a useful final step. Its role is straightforward: reduce friction, improve manageability, and protect the hair between washes.

For years, the beauty industry in India operated on a familiar formula. Produce, or import, beauty products, use celebrity endorsements to sell them to the masses, repeat. For millennials, whose key shopping touchpoints were a local beauty shop, chemist, or a kiosk at the mall, this formula worked. 

Then Gen Z became beauty’s favourite customer. Packaging became brighter, campaigns became faster, and every active ingredient became a content opportunity. Products were increasingly designed to be discovered through social media, preferably in time to join the next trend cycle.

Gen Z has emerged as one of the most bankable cohorts for the Indian beauty industry, although cultural influence and lasting commercial value are not always the same thing. A 2025  SAP Emarsys study of UK shoppers found that 53 per cent of Gen Z respondents had bought something purely because it was trending. Sixty-four per cent described themselves as loyal to products rather than brands. 

SAP Emarsys called this a ‘loyalty recession,’ a term describing a decline in brand loyalty in which consumers frequently switch between brands and are more loyal to individual products than to companies. The phrase is useful, though it should not turn Gen Z into a caricature of the permanently distracted shopper. Younger consumers also research ingredients, expect transparency, and return to brands they trust. Their experimentation is simply more visible.

Millennials never stopped spending on beauty. In 2024, they accounted for approximately 62 per cent of India’s beauty and personal-care spending, according to a Redseer Strategy Consultants report. Gen Z and Gen Alpha together contributed approximately 32 per cent. The same report valued the beauty and personal care industry in India at $23 billion in FY25 and projected that it could reach $40 billion by 2030. 

Millennials never disappeared. They had merely stopped being the industry’s most interesting story about its own future.

Why millennials still matter to the beauty industry in India

For many Indian millennials, the beauty routine they inherited could be as limited as a brown lipstick, a cold cream, and deodorant. Online, they encountered a far more elaborate beauty world, with global products, routines, and information suddenly within reach. 

“Millennials were the first generation to have unprecedented access to beauty education through YouTube, blogs, online communities, and eventually social media,” says Roshni Sanah Jaiswal, founder of homegrown neurocosmetics brand Justhuman. “They learnt to decode ingredient lists, compare formulations, and discover global brands long before they reached mainstream retail.” 

d’you founder Shamika Haldipurkar underlines how that access shaped purchasing decisions. “We weren’t internet-native like the generations after us; so we developed a habit of triangulating—combing through forums, sub-reddits, Tumblr threads, comment sections—and double and triple-layering every piece of information before we believed it,” she says. “We didn’t just consume beauty content, we cross-examined it. That’s what made millennials genuinely well-informed rather than just well-exposed.”

As an informed consumer, actor Kritika Kamra looks beyond marketing and reads the ingredient list. “Efficacy is non-negotiable for me. I look for evidence-based formulations, meaningful concentrations of actives, stable ingredients, and products that suit my skin rather than what’s trending,” she says. 

The irony is that the industry now speaks the language millennials helped popularise: ingredients, actives, transparency, and proof. It simply tends to package that language for someone younger.

“THEY LEARNT TO DECODE INGREDIENT LISTS, COMPARE FORMULATIONS, AND DISCOVER GLOBAL BRANDS LONG BEFORE THEY REACHED MAINSTREAM RETAIL” —  Roshni Sanah Jaiswal

As ingredient-led products and technology-driven formulations gain ground, millennial beauty consumers are becoming harder to overlook. They already understand the language, care about efficacy, and may pay more when a product earns its place in their routine.

Their value to brands also reflects where many are in life. As millennials enter their late 30s and 40s, changing skin needs may coincide with greater discretionary income, says Rachna Bahadur, founder of Flout Beauty. This can make them more willing to pay for products that deliver results rather than a purely sensorial experience.

Simplicity and performance outweigh novelty for Kamra. “I value simplicity; a product has to fit seamlessly into my routine because consistency is what delivers results.” 

Cindy Palusamy, founder of CP Strategy, concurs, “What millennials lack in novelty, they make up for in value: spending power, established routines, and a willingness to pay when the product earns it,” she says. “Win their trust and you have the potential to build a relationship that moves with them across skincare, hair, wellness, and premium beauty for years.”

Global research from SAP Emarsys also found that product quality is one of the strongest drivers of millennial loyalty. While the data offers useful context, it does not capture how every millennial in India shops. 

Why millennial loyalty is expensive to earn

Retention becomes an advantage when it comes to millennials. Getting there is the difficult part.

“Acquisition is hard; millennials aren’t impulse buyers, and the consideration phase is long. But once they trust you, they don’t budge,” shares Haldipurkar. “They have established routines, and loyalty that compounds year over year. A millennial will try you because you’ve convinced them, and then repurchase for years. That changes your entire business model.”

For many millennial beauty consumers, conversion follows application, swatching, and testing. Virality may attract attention; experience determines whether a product enters an established routine.

For actor and producer Shibani Dandekar, physically testing the product outweighs every advertisement. “Ultimately, regardless of the advertising and the faces in them, it’s really about figuring out whether you want to try out a product physically, and whether it’s working for your skin type, age, and lifestyle,” says. “I don’t know if ads alone cut it anymore. Finding a beauty product is an exercise that requires patience, trial and error, and testing a whole lot of products until you kind of figure out what you need.”

Celebrity make-up artist and Mokae Beauty founder Sandhya Shekar, who routinely conducts beauty workshops, has witnessed a similar preference. “For them, word of mouth, and touching, seeing, and experiencing a product is still a lot more important compared to buying something off a website.” 

According to Palusamny, millennials are a tougher audience because they have already seen every trend cycle come and go. “A cute pack or viral moment may get their attention, but keeping it requires real efficacy, better formulation, and a reason for the product to exist—which is a much more expensive proposition.” 

Touch and feel reveal only the texture and application. The claim on the label still has to survive closer inspection. 

“The same scepticism that makes millennials well-informed makes them the hardest audience to earn,” says Haldipurkar. “Trust has to be built at the formulation level, not the packaging level, which means longer R&D cycles, newer actives, and clinical validation before you make a single claim. Today, clinical studies range from five to eight  lakhs per study. A millennial will definitely believe in the product more when it’s backed by a study. That’s a very expensive way to buy their trust.” 

Indian beauty founders are building for their own age 

Much of the renewed attention to mature consumers is coming from founders who belong to the same age group. Internationally, brands like Westmen Atelier, Merit Beauty, and Haus Labs make a case. In India, brands like Flout Beauty, Aminu, The Compound Way, d’you, and Dearist are among the names responding to the needs founders encountered themselves. 

“My generation of founders grew up as the most exposed consumers in Indian beauty history—and simultaneously the most underserved. We knew exactly what good formulation looked like globally, and we could see it wasn't being made for us,” says Haldipurkar. “When you spend a decade as a frustrated, well-informed customer, the brand you eventually build is really just the product you couldn’t find.”

Beauty editor-turned-entrepreneur Vasudha Rai, who recently launched her skincare line Amahvas, agrees, “Making something for Gen Z did not even cross my mind. I was clear:
I need to make something for myself primarily, and that’s always been the essence of my work.” 

Rai created her brand primarily for women in their 40s and older millennials. “They are the ones who appreciate good skincare, who are willing to spend on good skincare, who see skincare as an investment.”

“I couldn’t find a brand that truly understood what happens to women’s skin through midlife,” says Sanah Jaiswal, adding that most products were either designed for younger skin or relied on generic anti-ageing claims. 

Similarly, Bahadur created Flout to bring performance-driven skincare to millennial consumers.. “I saw a slew of brands focusing on the Gen Z and Gen Alpha consumers. To me, it looked like I had to choose between Olay or international imports. I could be buying La Prairie every month, but I knew that I would be paying mainly for the lore. More importantly, they were not created for Indian skin biology, climate, or lifestyle.”

For many millennials, the gap isn’t the product but the language it speaks. 

“I DON’T KNOW IF ADS ALONE CUT IT ANYMORE. FINDING A BEAUTY PRODUCT IS AN EXERCISE THAT REQUIRES PATIENCE, TRIAL AND ERROR” — Shibani Dandekar

The industry often speaks in extremes, either prevention for very young consumers or anti-ageing for older ones, notes Kamra. “Millennials sit somewhere in the middle. We’re looking for products that support healthy skin through changing lifestyles and changing skin needs without treating ageing like a problem to be fixed,” she says. “What puts me off is when marketing outpaces formulation. When the hero ingredient is barely present and claims are exaggerated. The best brands educate, set realistic expectations, and earn trust over time.” 

The next opportunity for the beauty industry in India

The commercial opportunity cannot be understood through cohort size alone. Millennials currently account for a larger share of beauty and personal-care spending, while Gen Z and Gen Alpha are expected to generate an increasing share of future growth.

A global NielsenIQ report found that Gen X is currently the highest-spending beauty cohort, and millennials are set to take over by 2034.

Leaving both millennials and Gen X out of boardroom conversations can therefore prove to be a financial mistake for beauty brands. 

As the oldest millennials enter their mid-40s, midlife skin, and hair and hormonal changes are becoming more visible territories for beauty brands. The opportunity extends from skincare and haircare to the wider relationship between beauty, wellness, and longevity.

“Beauty is finally starting to recognise that women’s needs evolve rather than simply putting everyone over 40 into an ‘anti-ageing’ bucket,” says Palusamy. “As millennials move into perimenopause, hormones, skin health, and longevity will become some of the most important new territories for beauty.”

Luxury lifestyle content creator Naimita Jagasia points to the coexistence of adult acne, pigmentation, and age-related changes, concerns rarely addressed together by conventional youth or anti-ageing categories.

Millennials are entering their highest-earning decades with fully formed skincare habits and rising expectations; that’s a compounding audience, not a fading one, notes Halidpurkar. “More brands will follow, partly because the Gen Z playbook is saturated, and partly because the economics are becoming obvious. But here’s the caveat: you can’t retrofit a trend-led brand for millennials with a packaging refresh. This audience can tell the difference between a brand built for them and a brand pivoting to them. The ones who win this segment will be the ones who were serious about formulation all along.”

For the beauty industry in India, the opportunity extends beyond putting a millennial face on an existing product. 

“Their spending power is rising just as their needs become more complex, and the opportunity is not to create ‘millennial brands’ but smarter products for a consumer who is harder to fool, more willing to invest, and increasingly focused on how beauty fits into a longer, healthier life,” shares Palusamy. 

A Nykaa Beauty Trends Report found approximately five times the headroom for growth in per-capita beauty and personal-care spending in non-metros compared with metros. That matters because ‘millennial’ is not a complete description of a consumer. Income, city, access, and life stage may shape beauty spending as significantly as age.

By 2030, Gen Z and Gen Alpha are expected to account for approximately half of India’s beauty and personal-care spending. Millennials will still represent a substantial market, with established routines, changing needs, and little patience for products that rely on marketing alone.

Beauty spent years treating youth as a strategy. Millennials kept buying. The industry is finally confronting the distance between cultural heat and commercial value. For the beauty industry in India, that distance has become too expensive to ignore.

The unread book has acquired a minor image problem. Buy too many, arrange them too beautifully, or let one appear prominently in a café photograph, and the verdict arrives: performative reading.

The assumption is that books being displayed are not being read. Yet reading habits in India point to a more interesting tension. Between 2019 and 2024, the percentage of Indians who reported reading for leisure fell from 5.4 per cent to four per cent. At the same time, younger readers are buying collector’s editions, joining silent-reading clubs, trading recommendations on Bookstagram, and making fiction increasingly valuable to publishers.

There may be less time to read. Books, however, are everywhere.

The decline in leisure reading is partly a crisis of time. Long workdays, commutes, and domestic responsibilities divide leisure into small pieces. A scroll fits neatly into seven distracted minutes. A novel generally expects more.

The publishing industry is seeing its own version of this split. Sameer Mahale, Vice President, Sales, at Penguin Random House India, has worked in publishing for 23 years and says he has observed steady growth. “It’s a myth that nobody is reading. I’ve seen growth every single year. It’s not a recent development. Publishing is not a massive industry in India, but it’s a growing industry.” 

The Indian book market reached $5.13 billion in 2025 and is projected to reach $7.31 billion by 2034. India is also the world’s second-largest publisher of English language books and one of the fastest-growing reading economies globally. 

According to Penguin Random House India, adult fiction grew from 20 per cent of its value in 2022 to 27 per cent in 2024. The reading audience may be smaller than the mythology surrounding India as a nation of readers suggests, but parts of it are buying more fiction, joining book clubs, and making books central to how they present themselves.

What Gen Z is reading in India

For years non-fiction was one of the most reliable parts of the book business. “Ours is a society that’s always aspiring [to be better],” says Mahale. Bestseller lists still feature titles such as Atomic Habits (2018) by James Clear and Ikigai: The Japanese Secret to a Long and Happy Life (2016) by Francesc Miralles and Hector Garcia. Mahale estimates that non-fiction has long accounted for about half of the sales. 

In the last four to five years, however, he’s noticed a rise in demand for fiction, driven largely by Gen Z readers between 16–24. “They are not reading to acquire new skills or get better. They are reading for leisure.” 

Among the most popular genres with young readers are romance and romantasy, which blends fantasy with a central love story, says Anup Nair, founder of the Mumbai fiction-only bookstore Fictionary. Popular titles include People We Meet on Vacation (2021) by Emily Henry and The Deal (2015) by Elle Kennedy. 

Nair also points to the growth of what he calls ‘light fiction.’ “These books are not necessarily literary marvels but are slice of life novels interested in modern, day-to-day society,” he says. A Man Called Ove (2012) and Anxious People (2019) by Fredrik Backman, and The Midnight Library (2020) by Matt Haig sit within this loose category. 

Japanese light fiction has found a substantial audience. Before the Coffee Gets Cold (2015) by Toshikazu Kawaguchi, Days at the Morisaki Bookshop (2010) and More Days at the Morisaki Bookshop: A Novel (2023) by Satoshi Yagisawa offer stories built around bookshops, cafes, cats, memory, and quietly rearranged lives. They also tend to arrive in covers designed to look excellent in a stack.

Pleasure has not displaced aspiration from the Indian bestseller list. It has simply made more room beside it.

Why book ownership matters to reading culture in India

Book-buying and book-reading move at different speeds. The distance between them is generally known as the to-be-read pile.

Its growth has encouraged a suspicion that contemporary readers enjoy owning and displaying books more than reading them. The immaculate shelf, sprayed edge, and carefully placed café novel have become evidence in the case for performative reading.

Dr Dipti Ranjan Sahu, Senior Professor at the Department of Sociology at Lucknow University, and President of the Indian Sociological Society, finds that judgement too simple. “The decision to own a book by a particular author can depend on class, educational background, exposure, and the intellectual tradition supported by family, friends, teachers, and mentors,” he says. 

Owning a book is aspirational; it signals, ‘I am the type of person who has read this particular book’ or ‘I want to be one of the people who reads this particular book.’ What someone finds aspirational will depend on their circumstances, but books have long carried ideas about education, mobility, and self-improvement. 

French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu described knowledge, education, taste, and cultural familiarity as forms of ‘cultural capital.’ In India, where education has historically represented one of the clearest routes to social mobility, books carry particular symbolic weight. “Reading, and understanding society through books, represents not only wealth but aspiration,” says Sahu. 

For him, book ownership can serve three related purposes: accumulating cultural capital, constructing an identity, and finding a community. The bookshelf becomes evidence of who someone is, who they hope to become, and where they feel they belong. 

Nair, who has been a reader long before he opened his store, has a simpler take on the debate. “Every person who buys a book has an intention of reading that book.” 

Whether that intention survives daily life, a new job, a long commute, or the arrival of another book is a separate matter. “Collecting and showing off books is like the joy of dressing up. It feels good to dress up, right? The same way, it feels good to show off what I’m reading. It’s not vanity based. It’s expression, it’s your personality. Readers are doing these things for the joy of it,” says Nair.

With this intense identification with books comes a deep sense of connection. More readers are becoming collectors, preferring books with attractive covers, sprayed edges, and patterned edges. Readers are actively seeking collector’s editions, paperbacks of their favourite hardcovers, and vice versa. 

“This resurgence of collecting has happened in the last two years,” says Mahale, signaling that it aligns with the boom of bookish creators online. “People are willing to spend for good books. But even while there’s tremendous growth in business overall, ebooks are not growing. They are more or less stagnant,” he adds. 

Physical books offer something the screen cannot fully imitate: weight, texture, a visible record of progress, and a convincing reason to put the phone down. For younger readers raised within digital culture, this appeal does not necessarily signal a wholesale retreat from technology. 

“There’s some digital deintensification,” says Sahu. “That’s not to say we should romanticise the analogue. Young people are not rejecting technology, they are negotiating between the digital and physical worlds.”

How Bookstagram is changing reading habits in India 

Bookstagram, the name given to the thousands of accounts themed around books and reading on Instagram, can send someone away from Instagram and towards a 350-page novel. It has also changed how books are discovered. Recommendations that once depended heavily on librarians, booksellers, newspaper reviews, and friends now travel through Instagram reels, Goodreads lists, Reddit threads, YouTube videos, and creator accounts.

“Earlier, social media was a tool,” says Mahale. “But in the last two years, a lot of bookstagrammers have come up. There’s a lot of book-related content out there. That plays a huge role in sales overall, but the fiction category has been the biggest beneficiary,” he adds.

The influence extends beyond individual recommendations. Book clubs in India now function as social spaces, third places, and informal discovery engines. Silent-reading communities such as Bandra Reads, Pune Reads and Delhi Reads and book clubs like the Atta Galatta Book Club, The Indian Book Club, Broke Bibliophiles allow people to gather around books without requiring anyone to produce a thesis on what they have just read.

“These are the communities publishers are targeting. If your book becomes the book of the month, that generates a lot of buzz around the book,” says author Monica Singh. 

Reading has also become easier to display. Bookstagram accounts share colour-coded tabs, marginalia, monthly reading totals, reviews, shelves, and towering TBR piles. The book appears as story, object, mood, and personality test.

The visibility can be dismissed as performance. It can also introduce a book to thousands of people who would never encounter a newspaper review or ask a bookseller for a recommendation. Sometimes the photograph is part of the reading experience. Sometimes the book remains closed after the photograph. Both things can be true.

When the algorithm enters the publishing meeting  

Readers are increasingly forming communities, reading together, and voicing their opinions on social media. Publishers are responding accordingly, with Mahale pointing out that Penguin is actively looking for more fiction titles now. “The choices we make about the type of books we commission or import from the international catalogue are changing. We’re aggressively promoting fiction as a category,” he says.

That attention creates opportunities for genres that publishing may once have considered less prestigious or commercially uncertain. It can also produce a familiar internet problem: once one kind of book succeeds, the feed fills with variations of it.

Authors now enter this system as both writers and potential audiences. Singh remembers a clearer separation between writing a book and marketing it. Today, writing is just one part of the process. A strong social media presence can make an author more attractive to a publisher because they arrive with an existing group of followers. “That pressure is too much. Sometimes I feel like we’re writing and creating these worlds and that should be enough. But because of social media there’s huge pressure from publishers to be online. It’s very demanding and frustrating. I get it. But it’s frustrating,” she says. 

Social media is now driving the ecosystem of reading in urban India. The writer is expected to produce the book, explain the book, appear alongside the book, and remind the algorithm that the book exists. Visibility has become part of the job description.

Readers face a related problem. Social media makes more books discoverable while repeatedly recommending the same few titles. International writers such as Haruki Murakami and Elif Shafak continue to dominate conversations in India, often receiving more attention than Indian authors.

Nair points out that it was the same earlier as well. The Harry Potter series and Shantaram (2003) by Gregory David Roberts were once similarly unavoidable. “It’s always been like this. A few books become really popular,” says Nair. 

The difference is speed. A recommendation can now travel from one reel to bestseller lists, book-club selections, special editions, and adaptation announcements in remarkably little time. The algorithm does not decide whether a book is good. It increasingly decides which books receive the chance to be judged.

India’s reading culture now contains a genuine contradiction. Fewer people are finding time to read for pleasure, while those who remain are making books more visible, social, and commercially powerful.

The contemporary bookshelf can be private pleasure, public identity, unfinished aspiration, and market signal at once. Some of its books will remain unread. That does not make them meaningless.

Aspiration has always required a little shelf space.

Beauty companies usually discover start-ups after the first proof points arrive: a working product, repeat customers, and a credible sales curve. By then, the risk is easier to measure and the opportunity is more expensive.

BEAUTY&YOU India is designed to see some of it earlier.

Returning for its fifth year, the programme created by The Estée Lauder Companies with launch partner, Nykaa is widening its commercial role. The 2026 edition is scouting existing brands and pre-launch concepts alongside fragrance innovation, design talent, ingredients, and new beauty technologies. Winners in two categories may also get the opportunity to test their ideas commercially or develop them through a collaboration with an Estée Lauder Companies brand.

For founders, the offer combines capital, mentorship, distribution support, and access to a global beauty business. For Estée Lauder, the programme creates an organised early view of the brands, technologies, and ideas that could become valuable before they reach scale.

Four years of building a beauty pipeline

Since launching in 2022, BEAUTY&YOU has received nearly 2,5000 applications across four cycles. The applicants come from more than 150 cities in India and abroad, with women entrepreneurs forming the majority.  

The ideas selected by the programme have also grown more varied. The 2025 winners included Antinorm, a brand developing climate-responsive products for working women; Mimiq, a complexion concept for people with visible skin differences; Hitech Formulations, which works with encapsulation technology; and Sohrai Beauty, which uses the indigenous ingredient mahua through local sourcing partnerships.

The programme’s scale matters because early-stage beauty businesses often have little conventional data to present. Over the past decade, an average of 225 beauty and personal care companies have been launched annually, with 107 brand launches in 2026 alone. 

What BEAUTY&YOU India is looking for in 2026

This year, that search extends beyond consumer brands to the technologies, creative talent, and product ideas that could shape the industry’s next phase. The programme frames this expanded remit through five categories.

Grow is for beauty brands that are already in the market. Imagine is aimed at concepts that are yet to launch. The Visionary Women’s Award, presented with Startup India under the Department for Promotion of Industry and Internal Trade (DPIIT), recognises women entrepreneurs working in beauty.

The most significant changes appear in Breakthrough and Design.

Breakthrough turns its attention to fragrance this year, in collaboration with The Estée Lauder Companies’ Fragrance Atelier in Paris. The atelier—home to the group’s global fragrance authority and advanced olfactive technologies—opens a rare passage for Indian innovators into an established international fragrance ecosystem.

Design widens the frame, inviting designers, visual artists, and creative practitioners across packaging, retail, and beauty experiences. The category recognises that innovation can shape how beauty is encountered, even when it does not begin with a formula. 

Together, these additions extend the programme’s interest further into the beauty value chain. It can now identify the person designing the bottle, the innovator developing the fragrance technology, and the founder building the finished brand. 

The gap between beauty start-up funding and commercial scale

Beauty start-up funding can move a formula into production and get a launch underway. Commercial scale is decided by what follows: distribution, repeat purchase, inventory discipline, customer acquisition, and sustained brand-building. BEAUTY&YOU is structured around both stages, combining financial support with mentorship, distribution expertise, and possible routes into commercial development.

Winners across the five categories will share a prize pool of up to $500,000. The programme has yet to disclose how that amount will be divided among the individual awards. 

Each winner will also receive mentorship with leaders at The Estée Lauder Companies and Nykaa, access to Nykaa’s retail ecosystem, and strategic support facilitated through Startup India, the Government of India’s national initiative to support startups. 

For the Breakthrough and Design categories, the opportunity may stretch further. Selected ideas could be explored in a commercial context or developed in collaboration with The Estée Lauder Companies, subject to alignment and feasibility. 

But that nuance matters. This is not a guaranteed fast track to an Estée Lauder launch, nor a promise of long-term partnership. Instead, it sketches a rarer kind of runway—where standout fragrance and design concepts are given the chance to move from idea to potential development. 

For an early-stage founder, each layer of support speaks to a different hurdle. Funding helps translate concept into prototype, whether that means refining a formula, building initial inventory, or preparing for launch. Nykaa opens a window into distribution and the realities of Indian beauty consumers. Estée Lauder, meanwhile, brings something harder to access: deep R&D capability, brand-building discipline, and global commercial perspective that most young brands simply do not have in reach. 

What BEAUTY&YOU India signals about the next phase of Indian beauty

India’s beauty and personal care market was worth an estimated $23 billion in FY2025 and could reach $40 billion by 2030. Redseer expects that growth to make India the world’s fourth-largest beauty and personal care market.

The opportunity now extends beyond selling more products to Indian consumers. Global beauty groups are looking to the country for brands, ingredients, technology, and ideas that could travel. 

Recent acquisitions and strategic investments by global beauty companies signal this shift. India is increasingly being treated as a place where global beauty innovation can be developed, rather than simply a large market where it can be sold.

“India is one of the world’s most dynamic beauty markets and an increasingly important source of innovation for the global beauty industry,” says Nadine Graf, President, Europe, UK & Ireland, and Emerging Markets, The Estée Lauder Companies. 

BEAUTY&YOU gives founders capital and reach at a stage when both are difficult to secure. It gives a multinational something just as useful: a structured front-row seat to India’s next beauty businesses, technologies, and creative ideas.

Applications for BEAUTY&YOU India 2026 are open until 25th August 2026. Finalists will be announced in September and invited to present their ideas to an industry jury in Mumbai in October.

For generations of middle-class families, medicine, engineering, and the civil services have represented something larger than work. They promise stable income, social standing, and the possibility that one child’s success might alter the trajectory of an entire household. Competitive exams in India sit at the entrance of that promise. 

And it’s a blueprint many students in India rely upon. In 2026, 15,38,468 candidates appeared for the JEE (Main) 2026 Paper 1 (B.E. / B. Tech), the entrance examination used for admission to engineering programmes. Another 22,05,035 candidates appeared for the NEET-UG qualifying exam for MBBS, which was held on 3rd May and later officially cancelled and reconducted in June by the National Testing Agency. And 5.49 lakh candidates appeared for the 2026 UPSC Civil Services Preliminary Exam, the first screening stage for recruitment to services including the IAS, IPS, Indian Foreign Service, and Indian Revenue Service. 

But even before they take the exams, students must deal with irregularities and discrepancies. Even as the massive student protests in connection with the NEET re-examination have died down, as of 11th August, students in Jharkhand are protesting, demanding an overhaul of the state’s examination system. The preliminary exam for the 14th Combined Civil Services Examination conducted by the Jharkhand Public Service Commission (JPSC) in April 2026, with 2,204 shortlisted candidates competing for 103 vacancies, has been mired in controversy. There’s a glaring absence of category-wise cut-off marks, a lack of the signatures of the commission's constitutional members in the merit list, and alleged question paper leaks and optical mark recognition (OMR) sheet manipulation. The exam, alongside the 2023 and 2025 JPSC backlog examinations, has been cancelled. 

When conducted properly, the examinations do not impose the same limits. For JEE (Main) 2026, eligibility extends to candidates who passed class 12 in 2024 or 2025, or are appearing in 2026. JEE (Advanced) permits two attempts in consecutive years. General-category candidates can attempt the UPSC Civil Services Examination six times between the ages of 21 and 32, with relaxations for specified categories. NEET-UG has no upper age limit or attempt cap, although candidates must be at least 17 by 31st December of the admission year. 

Ganesh Chandra Pandey, director and co-founder of the Ghaziabad coaching centre ACE4, argues that NEET-UG is especially unforgiving because a very large pool of candidates competes for a limited number of affordable seats.

The stakes begin long before admission. Every extra year of preparation has an explicit price in fees, books, rent, and travel. It also carries an opportunity cost: income postponed, debt accumulated, and a family’s expectations concentrated on one result. 

What competitive exams in India cost before admission 

The cost of competitive exams in India begins well before tuition. The financial aspect of preparing for them goes beyond the registration fee and cost of books. Coaching, mock tests, relocation, and accommodation can become the larger bill, particularly for candidates who prepare for more than one year. 

Coaching is optional on paper. In practice, many families treat it as the bridge between uneven state-board schooling and a centralised examination. “Different states follow different boards in schools, so people’s education varies. Coaching comes into play to bridge the gap between the different boards and centralised competitive exams. Those who can afford coaching are at an advantage,” says Dr Anuj Tiwari, former assistant professor in medicine at Mumbai’s HBT Medical College. 

Pandey explains that annual coaching costs can go up to ₹2 lakh for UPSC and ₹1.5 lakh for JEE, apart from accommodation costs.

For instance, the BeWise Coaching Centre in Kota charges ₹80,000 for a one-year NEET-UG course. Vikas Nain, who works with BeWise, says accommodation in Kota can add approximately ₹10,000 a month. Coaching and rent alone can therefore approach ₹2 lakh a year. 

Most students attempt NEET-UG at least twice, which instantly doubles the investment families have to make. “Many resort to only self-studying if they fail three to four times,” says Nain, who has also seen people attempt it eight times. 

"Different states follow different boards in schools, so people’s education varies. Coaching comes into play to bridge the gap between the different boards and centralised competitive exams." Dr Anuj Tiwari

But not every student has the luxury of multiple attempts. Anamika Sajeev, from Punalur, Kerala, resorted to self-study using books and online resources to take NEET-UG in 2022. But it did not remove the surrounding expenses. “Apart from the college tuition fees that would follow if I qualified, it was a significant financial burden for my family to manage additional expenses such as examination fees, practical fees, and examination centre fees, which were collected separately during each exam,”she says. “We were informed that only students who cleared these payments would receive their hall tickets.” These additional costs added to the financial stress.

Preparation is purchased in two currencies: money and time. Families with savings can finance another course, another attempt, or another year. For those closer to the edge, time itself becomes a debt.

How education loans and private fees deepen the divide 

For many candidates, the larger financial burden begins after they qualify. An MBBS degree involves four and a half years of academic study followed by a one-year internship. Postgraduate medical training generally adds another three years. Interns and postgraduate residents may receive stipends, but the route to a full professional income remains long.

“MBBS takes five to six years, after a year or two of coaching, followed by post graduation which takes another three years—amounting to a decade of studying and not earning. Moving cities adds to the cost escalation, leading to a greater financial burden,” says Dr Tiwari. 

Sajeev, who could not sit NEET-UG in 2022 following her grandfather’s death, eventually enrolled in a BSc Nursing programme, a decision that allowed her to enter the workforce sooner. “The decision wasn’t just emotional. My family’s financial situation was also a concern,” she says. Her family borrowed ₹4 lakh towards course fees of ₹6.4 lakh. Repayment is scheduled to begin within a year of her completing the programme. For her, the shorter route presented a more manageable financial timeline than medicine.

The debate around education loans in India often centres on whether credit is available. Its consequences depend on the course, institution, repayment terms, and support available to the borrower. The same loan can represent a manageable investment for one household and an unacceptable risk for another.

Arun RS, a Bengaluru-based AI consultant who studied engineering, took a bank loan of ₹9 lakh and paid back ₹15 lakh with interest, after working for seven years. “I had the privilege of getting the support of my family—there was no pressure to get a job immediately. Dad was already working and then my brother also started working, so I could afford to sit at home and study,” he says.  

That buffer changes the psychological meaning of an exam. Gurugram therapist Dr Prerna Kohli, founder of MindTribe, has worked with students who experience preparation as a debt owed to their parents. “Someone studying to learn can tolerate a bad mock test, but one studying to repay their parents cannot, as every low score becomes evidence that they have wasted their family's money,” she says.  

For medical aspirants, rank can determine the scale of that investment. Government medical colleges in India generally charge substantially less than private institutions, although fees vary by state, college, and seat category.

Private institutions now hold the majority of India’s medical-education capacity. According to the National Medical Commission’s 2026–27 seat matrix, they account for 73,643 of the country’s 1,36,939 MBBS seats, or 53.8 per cent. Government institutions account for 63,296. India has expanded medical education largely through the costlier side of the system.

The growth of private medical colleges in India means missing a subsidised government seat can turn the same degree into a much larger bill. Admission remains possible for families able to pay it. For everyone else, rank becomes a financial cutoff as well.

Fee regulation remains fragmented. National Medical Commission guidelines cover fees for 50 per cent of seats in private and deemed institutions, while implementation is shaped by state fee committees and court decisions. Dr Kanishka Das, professor of paediatric surgery at AIIMS Bhubaneswar, says families often turn to loans to manage private-college fees, creating financial upheaval that extends well beyond the student.

Why competitive exams still carry the promise of mobility

The financial risks have not weakened the appeal of these examinations because the aspiration behind them remains rational. A career in medicine, engineering, or the civil services can transform a family’s income, security, and social standing. 

This is evidenced from the story of the late Akanksha Chaturvedi, an 18-year-old NEET aspirant from the Ajay Nagar Ambazari Hilltop slum in Nagpur, whose father, Krishna Kumar Chaturvedi, came from a farming background in Madhya Pradesh. 

“There is no doctor in my extended family. So, when Akanksha said she was interested in the field, it became our collective dream. I was happy, I thought ‘naam roshan hoga.’ If I knew she was going to take such a drastic step, I would have asked her not to pursue it. I never imagined I would lose my daughter because of an exam,” says Chaturvedi, recalling Akanksha’s dreams of being able to buy a house and finance her younger brother’s education.  

Preparation also means taking a gap year to focus entirely on studying. “When a family is living close to the edge, a drop year is not an investment. A person who could be earning ₹15,000 a month is instead consuming money. That student is not preparing for an exam; they are running a clock against their family's survival,” says Kohli. 

The examination system draws much of its moral force from the cases in which it works: a candidate clears the test, enters a prestigious institution, and changes the circumstances of an entire family. Those outcomes are real. They can also obscure how much financial endurance the route demands from everyone who attempts it.

What the NEET UG 2026 re-exam revealed 

The NEET-UG 2026 re-exam made the cost of institutional failure unusually visible. After the 3rd May examination was cancelled following a paper-leak investigation, candidates had to prepare for a fresh test on 21st June. They were not charged a new examination fee, and the NTA began refunding the original fee. Travel, accommodation, additional preparation, and delayed admissions remained unreimbursed.

To fund children’s education, Chaturvedi says, he took two loans amounting to ₹3 lakh and ₹7 lakh to start his own catering venture. “But the interest rate was too high, so I took a loan of ₹10 lakh from my sister to pay the banks and to fund Akanksha’s NEET-UG coaching for a year at Physics Wallah. This cost around ₹1,00,000–₹2,00,000,” he says. 

Akanksha died by suicide following the announcement that the May examination would be cancelled and conducted again. “She was scared of not being able to perform well again and be allotted a seat at a private medical college, which would mean taking another loan for a higher amount,” says Chaturvedi. 

“I still have to pay back ₹10 lakh. She isn’t asking for it now, but she will at some point. We were relying on Akanksha to help us pay it back,” he says of the family’s debt. 

“An examination in India is not an administrative event. For many, it's the single largest psychological event of their lives... Protecting the integrity of that process is a mental health obligation." Prerna Kohli

According to NTA’s official 2026 data, 22,79,743 candidates registered for the fresh examination and 19,99,895 appeared. That left 2,79,848 candidates absent. Compared with the original May examination, 2,05,140 fewer candidates returned. The data does not establish why individual candidates were absent.  

NEET’s history has repeatedly been interrupted by legal disputes and administrative failures. In 2015, the Supreme Court cancelled the All India Pre-Medical Test following a leak and ordered a fresh examination. In 2024, 1,563 NEET-UG candidates affected by a dispute over grace marks were offered a retest. In 2026, the cancellation required nearly two million candidates to sit the examination again.

When these things happen frequently, it leads to a loss of integrity and faith in the institutions. “A leaked or cancelled paper is a betrayal. An examination in India is not an administrative event. For millions of young people it is the single largest psychological event of their lives, and they have staked years on the promise that it will be conducted honestly. Protecting the integrity of that process is not only an educational obligation. It is a mental health obligation,” says Kohli.

The premise of a standardised examination is that every candidate answers the same paper under the same rules. The economy surrounding the paper is far less uniform. One candidate can buy years of coaching and relocation. Another studies around paid work. One family can absorb a cancelled examination. Another has already borrowed against the expected result.

Infrastructural issues mean students who have passed the exam and been allotted a seat are still spending months waiting to join. “It’s a waste of someone’s career, besides the fact that cancellation of exams, paper leaks, red tapism, biometrics taking a long time to be verified, etc., adds to the aspirants’ stress, and takes a human toll,” says Dr Das. 

The current education system, built as it is with high expenses, deep hidden costs, and immense pressure—higher if you’re from a lower income background—ends up working as a systemic reinforcement of the economic divide in the country, favouring the rich at every step instead of being a truly equitable structure. 

Predictable calendars, clear communication, timely refunds, and stable admission schedules would reduce the costs created by administrative failure. Transparent college fees and stronger quality controls would make admission less arbitrary. These reforms would not erase the underlying inequality. They would stop institutions from deepening it.

Competitive exams in India promise to turn talent into mobility. In practice, the cost of preparation, repeated attempts, and professional education means they also sort candidates by how much financial loss their families can survive.

Lip balm. Chapstick. Medicated salve. Lip mask. The lip-care aisle is crowded, but the internet has already picked a winner.  

The lip mask has turned a swipe of hydration before bed into a full skincare ritual. The Korean product format, popularised by brands such as Laneige, Dr Jart, The Face Shop, CosRx, and Medicube, is now a beauty staple. 

Market research firm Grand View Research identifies lip masks as the fastest-growing segment in India’s lip care market, although lip balm still held the largest share of revenue in 2025. 

The sales pitch is texture: richer, glossier, and supposedly more nourishing. But does richer really mean better for the thin skin of the lips? 

What is a lip mask and how is it different from lip balm? 

Both product formats serve the purpose of preventing transepidermal water loss and keeping moisture intact. The difference lies in their ingredients, performance, and texture. “A lip mask feels thicker mainly because there is a higher ratio of dense butters, waxes, oils, and occlusive ingredients. Compared to a typical balm, lip masks often contain more shea butter, cocoa butter, or petrolatum, creating a richer layer that sits on the lips and traps moisture,” explains dermatologist Dr Madhuri Agarwal. “Some formulas also include waxy polymers or silicone derivatives for a cushiony gel-like texture.”

That longer wear time is the main argument for a lip sleeping mask. “A lip mask is formulated to sit on the lips for a longer period, often overnight, allowing ingredients to reduce transepidermal water loss and support repair, particularly when the lips are already dry, chapped, or compromised. The distinction is in the formulation, and the intended use for both products usually differs,” says board-certified dermatologist Dr Geeta Mehra Fazalbhoy. 

Does a lip mask work better for dry lips? 

A generous coat of lip mask can camouflage the damage underneath within seconds. Lip masks are often marketed as a ‘treatment’ for dry and chapped lips that a lip balm failed to repair. The richer texture and lasting slip can create the perception of deeper nourishment.

Real nourishment and barrier support depend on the formula. Texture is only part of the story. 

“Thickness indicates texture and occlusion, but that does not automatically mean better nourishment,” says Agarwal. “A product can feel heavy simply because it contains a lot of wax, even if it has fewer hydrating or barrier-repairing ingredients. What matters most is the formula itself. A mask made mostly of wax and mineral oil may seal moisture well, but true nourishment comes from ingredients such as humectants, replenishing lipids, ceramides, and fatty acids.” 

Occlusives work by sitting on the surface and slowing water loss; they do not need to penetrate the lips to be effective. The difference comes down to the rest of the formula. A wax-heavy lip mask may seal in moisture but offer little beyond occlusion, while a balm that combines occlusives with humectants and barrier-supporting lipids can work just as well. 

“In many cases, a lip mask is just a richer lip balm in more premium packaging and at a higher price. The line between the two has become blurred, especially as brands repackage similar wax and butter formulas as overnight treatments,” shares Agarwal. 

“A well-formulated mask is usually designed to stay on for six to eight hours so it may contain higher levels of lipids and humectants for longer contact time. A balm is made for frequent daytime reapplication and is expected to wear off more quickly. So while marketing often exaggerates the formulation logic behind it, the difference isn’t always as dramatic as the packaging suggests.”

Lip mask or lip balm: what should you choose? 

The beauty industry works overtime to sell the lip masks as a cure-all for damaged lips. Dermatologists are less absolute.

An overnight lip mask is most useful when lips are already dry, flaky, or cracked, such as during winter, after long flights, or after overusing lip scrubs, says Agarwal. “In these situations, the longer undisturbed contact time gives the ingredients more chance to work, particularly when the formula contains ceramides or ceramide-like lipids that support the lip barrier.”

A lip mask can also be useful after excessive sun exposure or while using drying medications such as oral retinoids or antibiotics. “I recommend looking for ingredients such as cold-pressed coconut oil, ceramides, shea butter, lanolin, glycerin, or hyaluronic acid, depending on individual tolerance,” says Mehra Fazalbhoy. 

If lips are sensitive or already inflamed, avoid heavily fragranced, flavoured, or potentially irritating formulations, adds the dermatologist. During the day, a lip balm with SPF is the more practical choice because it also offers UV protection. 

Is a lip mask just lip balm with better PR?

Marketing has drawn a cleaner line between the two than most formulas can support. Many lip masks are simply thicker balms designed to stay put for longer. Richer texture can make dry lips feel better overnight; it does not guarantee better ingredients or deeper repair.

For everyday dryness, a well-formulated balm can do much the same job. A lip mask earns its place when lips are flaky, cracked, or need an undisturbed layer overnight. The ritual may feel more serious. The chemistry is often less dramatic.

Indian bread types have never belonged to one shape, one grain, or one method. Across India, bread is baked in tandoors, steamed in leaves, fried for travel, fermented with toddy, kneaded with millet, rice, wheat, or jaggery, and shaped by climate, labour, migration, and appetite.

Yet for many urban Indians, ‘bread’ still means the sliced white loaf, sourdough, focaccia, or milk bread, while regional Indian breads are still treated as accompaniments rather than archives. From Kashmiri girda and Goan poi to Maharashtrian bhakri and North Eastern pitha, India’s bread map tells a larger story: who grows the grain, who fires the oven, who keeps the staple alive, and what happens when those communities begin to disappear.

India’s breads don’t follow one rule. They follow the grain, the season, the oven, and the household.

During the pandemic, many urban Indian kitchens graduated from banana bread to sourdough starters, while sandwich shops across the country began serving focaccia, Japanese shokupan, and other polished versions of Western bread. It’s a step up from the sliced white loaves made using fermented dough that Indians associate the word ‘bread’ with, but it also ignores the strong and rich culture of regional Indian breads. Whether it’s a stuffed paratha, a dosa, or a wheat flour tawa roti, the Indian flatbread has long been the norm in many parts of the country. 

How Indian bread types differ from the Western bread concept

Ask what counts as bread in India and the answer changes with the kitchen. It might be a roti puffing on a tawa, a paratha heavy with leftover dal, a rice cake steamed in leaves, a festive puri fried in ghee, or a sour Goan poi pulled from a neighbourhood bakery. Indian bread types do not always arrive as loaves, and that is the point.

“Compared to the West, Indian regional breads are chewy, dense, more serious, and unsweetened, so that they can be had with a curry, achaar, or sabzi,” says food critic and author Marryam H. Reshii. 

“As India eats seasonally, elements which need to be accompanied with something are usually made with an ingredient that can be stored and cooked when needed,” adds chef Sanjeev Kapoor, who was awarded the Padma Shri in 2017. 

Both elements of the meal vary from region to region, depending on what’s grown locally. This is why Indian bread types change dramatically across geography.

North and Central India are wheat-centric. “Coasts in the West, South, East, and North East India grow and eat more rice. Start moving inward from coastal regions, and millets are grown, besides jowar, bajra, and ragi, which are used to make flatbreads,” says Kapoor. 

The same grain is treated differently from region to region to make local breads. Take the finger millet or ragi. The ragi mudde in Karnataka is a steamed ball that’s broken and eaten like bread. Mandua is a thicker ragi roti in Uttarakhand and Himachal Pradesh made on the tawa. 

“That same millet in the south of Maharashtra and North Karnataka is also being used to make a bhakri—the dough is kneaded with hot water so it’s much softer,” says Kapoor. 

Geographically, regions like Punjab, Rajasthan, Bihar, etc., that use firewood or cowdung do make similar breads, but shape it differently. Or season it differently: the bati in Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh and litti in Bihar both use cow dung as fuel, and are whole wheat flour balls with other ingredients.

“In Rajasthan, where water was scarce, communities evolved breads like baati and thick millet rotis that could withstand long journeys and remain edible for days,” says chef Manish Dandriyal, Head Chef at INDY by Qla, in Delhi. 

“India has a flatbread market because fermentation was seen as a sign of spoilage in India. Fermentation happened accidentally in the non-fridge era with leftover batter or dough—like the Amritsari kulcha. Indian fermentation has been more focused on pickling,” explains Kapoor. 

That does not mean fermentation was absent from Indian food. Rather, India did not build its bread culture around the Western loaf. Fermentation appeared differently, through dosa and idli batters, appams, sannas, toddy-led Goan pois, and other regional staples.

Fried versions of bread are made to either increase shelf life or make it travel-friendly, making them snackable. Think mathri and papdi, or the Sindhi dal pakwaan, where pakwaan is a fried flatbread. 

“When fried dough has ghee and jaggery, it’s sweet and rich, making it celebratory,” adds Kapoor.

A map of regional Indian breads and Indian roti varieties 

Across India, regional breads are shaped as much by daily habit as by geography. Some are made by community bakers, some inside family kitchens, some at shared tandoors, some during festivals, and some only because a particular grain grows nearby. The result is many different Indian bread traditions.

Kashmiri bread types: girda, lavasa, and the kandur-waan tradition 

Kashmir’s bread-making community is perhaps the strongest. Given the harsh weather conditions, the regional breads of Kashmir work as a filling, flavourful meal even when eaten with just tea—whether it’s the nun chai or the Kashmiri kahwa. 

Pairing also matters. “Kashmiri harisa, a slow mutton preparation more prominent in the winters goes well with the girda. Sheermal pairs with kebab, a thin lavasa with barbecued fare. Lavasa or a girda, which can be eaten with just butter, are day-time staples,” says Nalini Sadhu, co-founder and head chef, Matamaal, which has been serving Kashmiri Pandit cuisine in Gurugram since 2016.

This variety is possible because every region in Kashmir has a local kandur-waan or traditional Kashmiri bakeries, usually family-run, that came from the trade routes of Central Asia and Persia. 

Kandurs cater to 50-plus houses at a time, and fire up the clay tandoors in the morning. Locals line up at their community kandur waan to buy an array of breads determined by the heat required to make it. 

“The girde, eaten by Kashmiri Pandits and tchout, eaten by Kashmiri Muslims for breakfast require more heat to bake while roti and kulcha breads are made at the end of the day as they cook quicker,” explains Reshii.

Celebratory regional breads in Kashmir include roth, a sweet flatbread with dry fruits and poppy seeds on top. A basket of it is made by the local kandur and sent with the bride to her new home to be distributed to the whole neighbourhood in celebration.

Kandurs making regional bread remains a daily ritual in Kashmiri households even today. “Every kandur’s bread varies a tad—the grind of the flour is different, which changes the texture or taste. It’s like chai, the recipe is the same but everyone’s end product tastes distinctly different,” says Reshii.

Still, the number of these regional community breadmakers is dwindling. “The younger generation of Kashmiri bakers aren’t interested in traditional baking because it’s labour intensive and lacks growth prospects,” says Sadhu. 

“When Western-style bread and bakeries did arrive in Srinagar, they simply took their place beside the kandur waan as a second, separate institution,” says Hans Sadhu, founder-director, Matamaal Restaurants and Kanz & Muhul, highlighting the region’s array of bakers influenced by the British. “These are the breads the younger generations are taking forward over the traditional tandoor one because of convenience and ease in scalability,” adds Hans. 

Punjabi Indian roti varieties: stuffed parathas, makki di roti, and community tandoors 

The regional breads of Punjab focus on their local harvests beyond wheat: ragi, bajra, jowar, corn. These come with variants like stuffed paranthas that function as a non-messy, travel-friendly meal for farmers, the primary population of the state. 

“Which is also why breakfast needs to be a filling meal—paranthas are as filling as the breakfast Kashmiri khamiri,” says chef Harjinder Singh, who has been focusing on Punjabi cuisine for 30 years. “Stuffed versions of rotis and parathas also came about because people utilised leftover dal and vegetables instead of letting it spoil,” he adds.

 The flaky atta laccha paratha with red chilli or spices for variety, and the fried Amritsari puris are more popular than the katlama—a big, deep-fried wheat bread eaten with chhole and suji halwa. 

It’s not just wheat. Punjab has missi roti made with besan and spices, and makki di roti, which has lesser-known versions with radish or methi (fenugreek) in it. There’s also a slightly sour fermented khamiri kulcha made with dough that’s rested overnight.

These are regional breads in Punjab that aren’t made by community bakers but were traditionally made in community clay tandoors constructed by the potter community of Kumhars  who make diyas. 

“In the 1950s, a cluster of 10–15 houses in Punjab had a common empty verandah space where a small tandoor was built. The women of the houses would get their dough to the tandoor fired up in the morning to cook their rotis, paranthas, and kulchas,” says Singh. It was also a means to socialise and a daily routine. 

That isn’t the case anymore. Today, these wood and coal-fuelled or upla (cow dung cakes)-fuelled tandoors only exist in villages, especially with coal tandoors being banned in cities. 

Maharashtrian breads: bhakri, Parsi pao, and festive sweet breads 

“In Maharashtra, making regional bread is limited to the family kitchen, where traditional millet or rice bhakris are made,” says Saee Koranne-Khandekar, culinary consultant and author of Crumbs!: Bread Stories and Recipes for the Indian Kitchen (2016) and Pangat, a Feast: Food and Lore from Marathi Kitchens (2019).  

Among Indian bread types, Maharashtra’s range moves from everyday millet bhakri to Parsi pao and sweet festive breads. Regional Maharashtrian breads include dashmi, a breakfast millet flatbread where the dough is kneaded in milk or sugarcane juice, lending a subtle sweetness and distinguishing it from the bhakri. 

“The Konkan region eats sandan, steamed rice cakes fermented with a rice flour starter and coconut water, usually with mutton curries, especially at Konkani Muslim weddings. Its sweet version, typically made in the Hindu families there, is made using mango or jackfruit puree, and eaten with coconut milk and ghee,” says Koranne-Khandekar. 

Puranpoli, purnache mande, tel poli, and gulachi poli are fried festive sweet breads with a longer shelf life. Gharge is another sweet fried pumpkin puri snack. 

A majority of Maharashtra also consumes a lot of pao, shaped by Parsi and Irani bakery culture. Variations include soft ladi pao, the harder karak pao, which takes longer to make due to the fermentation process and low baking temperature, and the brioche-like bun maska with tutti-frutti. 

“Parsi breads have Portuguese and Dutch influences, made of rich doughs or made into complex puffs. Like the Shrewsbury biscuit inspired by butter biscuits and shortbread cookies. Or, the mawa cake, a tea cake spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon,” says chef and author Anahita Dhondy, who has been championing Parsi cuisine for more than a decade. 

These variations are still supplied to Parsi households, extending to khari, tarts, khasta biscuits, sweet biscuits, and even desi macaroons. 

Mumbai also has local bakeries that deliver fresh pao every morning to households, though most of them are commercialised, not personalised.

Goan bread types: poi, pao, sannas, and the poder tradition 

Baked bread was introduced to Goa after the 1500s, when the Portuguese set up bakeries in the South of Goa in villages like Majorda, Loutolim, and Raya. 

“They trained locals—who were used to flatbreads made using rice and millets—in the European tradition of bread baking. But yeast wasn’t available in Goa, so toddy—the local alcohol—acted as the fermenting agent,” says chef Pablo Miranda, chef and restaurateur in Goa who has been working in the food industry for 15 years, focusing on Goan cuisine. 

That toddy fermentation gave Goan bread its sour flavour, chewy texture, and distinct aroma. And the poi was born.

Goa also has an array of paos like the katre pao, shaped like a butterfly, undo, a round loaf with a slight slit in the centre, and the bangle-shaped and flakier kankonn, which is more chewy. “The steamed sanna is reserved for the festive season, paired with a tangy, spicy sarapatel or vindaloo to balance its sweetness,” says Miranda.

Most of these breads, especially the poi, are made by a community of bread makers called Poders, who would bake two batches, for mornings and evenings, with locals queuing up to buy their day’s share. 

Even though Poders still make pois and other regional breads, delivering them to people’s doorstep, the community of bakers is shrinking. 

“It’s not profitable anymore. Plus, using commercial yeast changes the flavour and texture, even as it extends the shelf life. And as the number of toddy tappers decreases, so does the usage in making traditional Goan breads,” says Miranda, who recalls going to the neighbourhood bakery with his father and waiting for that first batch of baked pois. Miranda would add a small sachet of butter to it and have it as a morning snack. 

South Indian fermented Indian bread: dosa, appam, idli, and pathiri 

Southern Indian states use more rice and millets than wheat—there’s ragi roti, jowar roti, and the corn-based jala roti, and puttu, a coarsely ground rice dish that’s layered with fresh coconut and steamed. 

But the staple regional breads across Kerala, Tamil Nadu, and Karnataka, whether idli, dosa, or appam, are made with fermented batter. They are essential to the Indian bread map because they challenge the very shape, texture, and definition of bread.

Even Mangalore buns are fermented. Lore is that Mangalore buns were invented in the Udupi temples, using bananas that were offered, by mixing the bananas, yogurt, spices like jeera and green chilli, coconut, and whole wheat, letting it ferment overnight, and frying balls of the dough.

“Varieties of idlis include the large, cylindrical moode made in screw pine leaves, and kottige made in jackfruit leaves, where the leaves form the vessels. Kottige is made during Diwali and moode during Ganapati. Also, because these are bigger versions of idli which come in handy while cooking for large families during festivals,” says chef Shriya Shetty, chef-founder of BuCo. Artisanal Bakery & Cafe, who is also known for cooking traditional Mangalorean cuisine. 

“Pathiri is the daily staple of Malabar Muslim households, variations of which are prepared for festive meals, especially Ramadan and wedding feasts. Kerala also has a baking tradition thanks to colonial influence, making Western breads, cakes, and biscuits popular,” says Harish Rao, brand chef, Hosa, in Delhi and Goa, which also serves a traditional Malabar parotta. 

“Its flaky layers reveal cultural exchange along the Malabar coast, sharing similarities with layered breads found across West Asia,” adds Rao.

North East Indian breads: pitha, phaley, tingmo, and rice flour staples 

For the rice-eating states of North East India, where local breads are shaped by rice flour, breads are usually steamed, pan-fried, or deep-fried, pairing better with the region’s diet of fish and slow-cooked stews. 

Take the steamed wheat tingmo, which contains yeast. Or its pan-fried and steamed variant, logo momo. 

There’s also the jelly-textured laphing, a steamed gelatinous roti made using rice starch, haldi, and salt, seasoned with garlic and stuffed with wai wai, which is eaten like a snack. 

“The region also uses rice flour to make breads, like the Assamese flatbread pitha and the deep-fried sel roti from Sikkim and Darjeeling,” says Doma Wang, chef-owner, The Blue Poppy Thakali in Kolkata which serves dishes from the region.

Assam is known for pitha, made with ground sticky rice, by dry-roasting, frying, or steaming. Varieties like til pitha (sweet, roasted black sesame seeds and jaggery filling), ghila pitha (deep-fried small pancakes, crispy on the outside), and tekeli pitha (steamed rice cakes layered with jaggery) make it an ideal evening snack in the region. 

“Arunachal Pradesh includes the khura, a buckwheat pancake popular in the Tawang region as a breakfast bread,” says Wang, which can be eaten with gravies.  

“Mizoram has the chhangban to be eaten with curries, made using ground sticky rice that’s mixed with water and steamed in banana leaves,” says Wang. It has a deep-fried, snacky version called chhangban kan.

The region also has a thick, fermented, dough-like porridge. “The regional staple is called dhedo in Sikkim and Darjeeling, made by whisking millet, buckwheat, or maize flour into boiling water, stirring it till it becomes a thick, smooth, porridge,” says Wang. Zan, a savory porridge for the Monpa tribe in Arunachal Pradesh, uses ragi in a similar recipe. 

Though there are no community tandoors in North East India, there are bakers in Sikkim and Darjeeling who used to cook a range of phaleys, Tibetan-influenced flatbreads. The deep fried sweet or savoury woeshang phaley and the sweet-ish amdo phaley were picnic favourites. 

“Sha phaley is a tea snack that’s like a puff pastry that’s deep fried, with a sugary crust on top. Degi phaley is a small version of the phaley that is stuffed with a powdered brown sugar mix,” says Wang, who recalls every locality having their own phaley seller, who would swing by as early as 5 am with at least two versions: a regular savoury version, and the sweeter su phaley. Today, there aren’t as many local phaley makers in the area. 

“But the community comes together to cook. Especially when it’s labour-intensive dishes. For example, before the new year, everyone comes together and makes the khapse. Or during Diwali, everyone makes their own sel roti and sends portions to neighbours,” says Wang. 

Can regional Indian breads survive in Indian cities?  

Even as the number of local bakers making regional breads dwindles in India, there’s a slow pivot back to traditional regional breads, considered healthier, besides piquing the interest of the identity-driven younger generations of Indians. 

“There’s a growing appreciation for regional identity in India. Diners today are curious not just about the dish but also about the story behind it, where it comes from, the grain that’s used, and the family traditions associated with it,” says Rao.

But the younger generation hasn’t actually tasted these breads. “That’s where restaurants play a role, by presenting regional fare in ways that resonate with contemporary diners,” says Dandriyal, who serves the khaimiri roti, the Malabar parotta, variations of the laccha paratha, and the Mangalorean bun and poi with curries from their respective regions of origin, at INDY by Qla. 

But even appearing on the menus of the many restaurants that focus on a region’s cuisine isn’t enough to resuscitate regional Indian breads. What’s needed is a steady, regular clientele that makes that particular bread a daily habit. “It has to be a staple that people can’t do without, or the breadmaker won’t be able to sustain a living,” says Reshii. 

For all the renewed interest in regional Indian cuisine, these breads cannot survive as nostalgia alone. They need the thing that made them matter in the first place: habit. 

Every viral wellness routine arrives with the confidence of a prescription. Wake at five. Drink electrolytes. Add protein. Walk 10,000 steps. Book Pilates. Track sleep. The instructions are precise, the footage is flattering, and the promised result is a life that finally appears under control. 

Wellness now shows up everywhere, from everyday conversations to pop culture and social media feeds, where highly personal habits are increasingly packaged as universally desirable ways to live. 

On the surface, it seems promising: products, services, habits, and fixes for every conceivable problem. But here’s where things get tricky: no one can predict whether the same wellness routine will deliver equal results for two people with completely different biological makeups.

“Take identical twins, for example. Same genetic blueprint. Same house, same rules growing up. And yet, one sleeps like a baby; the other counts sheep till 3 am. If twins can’t share a health plan, how could the rest of us, billions of completely different people, be expected to?” questions foundational medicine and lifestyle expert Luke Coutinho.

The contradiction is built into contemporary wellness. It is marketed as deeply personal, yet social media distributes it through imitation. A routine travels because it can be seen, saved, and replicated. Whether it can survive contact with another person’s body is a more complicated question.

How social media turned the wellness routine into an aesthetic

Social media was the first display window for wellness. It soon became one of the most persuasive sources of information.

A Boston Consulting Group report found that approximately 40 per cent of ‘optimisers,’ a term coined to categorise consumers wanting to optimise their beauty and wellness routines, now use social media to discover products and services. One in every 20 users also touted social media as their most trusted source of wellness information. 

Today, wellness has become a visual code on social media, quietly signalling a lifestyle before proving its value. The aesthetic of that lifestyle can become a more influential incentive to subscribe to it than the wellness routine itself.

There’s a trade-off between creating visibility and sharing authenticity, says Akshat Rajan, founder of Akiko Wellness. “Often what’s authentic isn’t viral. As we got really good at making things look good on social media, wellness became the next thing to work on.” 

He has witnessed this shift in emphasis with the attendees of his sound bath sessions. “The material of the eye mask and blanket worn matters because each part of it has to look even better. We’ve [society] started describing practices based on how they look instead of what they actually do to the nervous system.” 

The problem isn’t that a restorative experience looks considered. It begins when the image becomes the evidence. “A photograph of stillness takes two seconds, but getting there will still take 45 minutes,” Rajan says.

This is how a viral wellness routine acquires authority. 

On the one hand, it has normalised conversations around meditation, recovery, nutrition, sleep optimisation, and preventive healthcare in ways that were far less visible before, notes Dr Joseph Christy, wellness director at Dhun Wellness in Delhi.

On the other hand, everyone’s got an opinion; everyone claims to have cracked the code. 

Even if two influencers are advocating for a five am wake up habit, one will nudge their audience towards a slow, mindful routine, while another will promise that starting the day strong and energetic is the right approach. One creator will champion the healing effects of saunas while another will attest that cold plunges are the ultimate reset. One creator will talk extensively about their life altering experience with supplements, another will emphasise natural remedies. What works for one individual is increasingly presented as the ultimate answer, applicable to everyone.  

The bigger problem: wellness has been flattened into aesthetics. What remains outside the frame is the person’s health history, paid support, available time, baseline fitness, and everything else that made the routine possible. 

How the wellness industry in India made health social

The spread of wellness cannot be explained by algorithms alone. Across yoga studios, sound baths, Pilates classes, run clubs, spinning sessions, and HYROX events, the wellness industry in India is increasingly organised around groups.  

A 2025 Deloitte report revealed that fitness facility memberships in India are expected to double over the next five years, from 12.3 million members in 2024 to 23.3 million members by 2030. Boutique fitness studios, offering instructor-led formats such as high intensity interval training (HIIT), yoga, and Pilates, are described as the fastest-growing segment in India, with a projected compound annual growth rate of 18.8 per cent through 2030.

The numbers describe a commercial shift, but the appeal is also social. “Years ago, people gathered at nightclubs to meet like-minded people. Today, they’re meeting at run clubs, Pilates studios, and recovery lounges,” says Riya Ranka Lekhrajani, an integrative health coach and founder of Paava Wellness. “The social function remains similar, but with the added perception that you’re investing in your health.”

Rajan notices the same pattern at Akiko Wellness. People may arrive for a moon ritual, pop-up, or sound bath, he says, but they stay for the room and the people doing it alongside them. At Way Well, which curates wellness programs and retreats, founder Alekha Advani Jain has watched strangers become friends through shared practices. 

Community can make a routine easier to sustain. It can also make participation feel compulsory. Once the Pilates class, run club, or breathwork session becomes the place where social life happens, opting out can feel like missing more than a workout. 

Why wellness trends in India can feel more credible than they are

The most persuasive wellness trends in India are not always the ones supported by the strongest evidence. They are often the ones seen most frequently.

Psychologists call this the ‘mere-exposure effect,’ the preference people can develop for something because they encounter it repeatedly.

Repetition creates familiarity, says psychologist Ekta Bhanushali. “What happens is when something is familiar, when something is everywhere, we mistake it for accuracy. We think, ‘It must be the correct thing, the truth, the fact.’ Our brain starts predicting that it is the ultimate truth, and will increase my chances of success. And, hence, I should be doing it too.”

“WHILE IT IS ENCOURAGING THAT PEOPLE ARE TAKING AN INTEREST IN THEIR HEALTH, MANY ARE SURPRISED TO LEARN THAT THOSE ROUTINES MAY NOT SUIT THEIR MEDICAL HISTORY, METABOLISM, OR DAILY SCHEDULE” –– Nicole Linhares Kedia

The algorithm intensifies this effect. Engage with one fasting video, supplement stack, or 5 am routine, and the feed supplies more of the same. The repetition of content can create the impression of consensus even when the algorithm is simply responding to earlier engagement.

That matters because wellness advice is rarely neutral. One expert insists breakfast is essential; another swears by fasting. A food becomes a superfood, then a problem, then a comeback ingredient. The constant turnover creates a peculiar form of pressure: health starts to feel like a sequence of updates that must be installed. 

“There’s a real difference between being inspired by people around you and feeling like you have to keep pace with them or fall behind. If you start running purely because your whole friend group is suddenly training for 10ks, that motivation is coming from outside you. It’s borrowed, not yours,” adds Coutinho.

Constant exposure to advice, online and offline, can leave people feeling pressured to follow the “perfect” wellness routine, says celebrity and sports nutritionist Nicole Linhares Kedia. Greater access has created more choice, but also more confusion over which advice is actually relevant to an individual. 

Why one wellness routine cannot work for every body

No wellness routine is inherently useful or harmful in every context. Its effect depends on who is following it, why they are following it, and what the routine asks their body to do. 

“Traditional systems like Ayurveda and Traditional Chinese Medicine have always recognised this concept of body constitution. In Ayurveda, two people with the same symptoms may receive completely different recommendations because the underlying imbalance differs,” says Ranka Lekhrajani. “Today, modern approaches such as functional medicine have reinforced this philosophy through the concept of bio-individuality. The reality is that the same stimulus doesn’t produce the same response in every body.” 

That difference becomes especially important when a routine moves beyond general habits and into specific protocols. Prolonged fasting, restrictive diets, high supplement intake, or intense training can interact with health conditions, deficiencies, digestion, medication, injuries, and recovery in ways that a short video cannot account for. 

Linhares Kedia gives the example of a high-fibre salad. It may support someone with a healthy digestive system while worsening bloating or symptoms of irritable bowel syndrome in another person. “In the same way, prolonged fasting or restrictive diets may lead to nutrient deficiencies, fatigue, or hormonal imbalances if followed inappropriately,” she says. 

Christy sees another risk in copying exact routines: it can distract from the reason someone is feeling unwell in the first place. Digestive problems, poor recovery, or persistent fatigue may be treated as a failure of discipline rather than symptoms that require proper evaluation. A personalised wellness routine does not need to be elaborate. It simply needs to account for the person expected to live with it. Health history, age, fitness, sleep, work hours, culture, food preferences, budget, and access are not inconveniences to be optimised away. They are the context that determines whether a practice is realistic.

How to borrow from a wellness routine without copying it 

If stumbling across a wellness routine on Instagram inspires someone to take health and well-being seriously, there is nothing wrong with that. The distinction lies between borrowing an idea and importing an entire protocol. 

“More clients now arrive with routines they’ve seen from influencers, celebrities, or social media, expecting similar results,” says Linhares Kedia. “While it is encouraging that people are taking an interest in their health, many are surprised to learn that those routines may not suit their medical history, metabolism, or daily schedule.”

Getting inspired to start walking after seeing someone’s Strava log is a great starting point. Wanting to clock in 10,000 steps on day one is not. Without personalisation, even the best wellness routine may prove inefficient. 

Ranka Lekhrajani suggests identifying the feeling or outcome behind the routine. “If you try to replicate someone’s 5 am morning routine while your workday naturally ends late, it’s going to make you more tired and drained than before. When seeking inspiration, we need to think of the feeling that we’re seeking rather than the actual routine. Once you understand the outcome you’re seeking, you can create your own version of that ritual in a way that fits your schedule, responsibilities, and body.”

The same distinction applies to exercise and nutrition. Moving more is a principle; copying an advanced training split is a protocol. Eating enough protein is foundational; reproducing another person’s supplement stack is derivative. Improving sleep is a goal; buying every device on a stranger’s nightstand is a shopping list. 

Coutinho separates broadly supportive habits from highly specific instructions. “Staying hydrated. Getting outside. Practising gratitude. Cutting back on ultra-processed food. Moving daily. Sleeping properly. Building some form of mindfulness into your day. These aren’t trends; they’re just how bodies function well.” 

However, problems can arise when practices are copied at a more specific level. Exact fasting windows, calorie targets, therapeutic diets, supplement regimens, and training intensity require more context. “Your meals need to account for your digestion, allergies, culture, actual preferences, what your body handles well, and your budget. Your training needs to match your age, fitness level, whatever old injuries you’re carrying, how well you recover, where your health stands right now. And things like supplements, fasting protocols, calorie targets, therapeutic diets, training intensity, these are never generic,” explains Coutinho. 

The internet is exceptionally good at making a finished identity look transferable. A viral wellness routine shows what discipline wears, what health buys, and where it spends Sunday morning. Actual wellbeing is less photogenic. It changes with the body, the season, and the life around it. The most useful routine may be the one that no longer looks exactly like the post that inspired it.

Soju arrived in India carrying the full K-drama starter pack: green bottles, tiny glasses, and a great deal of televised heartbreak. It stayed because Indian bars discovered something more useful. The Korean spirit is lighter than whisky or vodka, pairs easily with fruit, citrus, and spice, and can stretch a night without immediately turning it into an endurance sport.

Soju in India has since moved beyond Korean restaurants and speciality liquor stores. It appears on cocktail menus, at group dinners, and in a growing number of Indian-made bottles. What began as a recognisable piece of Korean culture is becoming part of India’s own lower-alcohol, flavour-first drinking culture.

“Soju in India started becoming visible around the late 2010s, but its popularity really accelerated over the last three–five years,” says Rohan Mangalorkar, co-founder, Gaijin Mumbai. He has watched it move from a handful of Korean restaurants and speciality retailers to mainstream bar menus.

The K-wave opened the door. India’s cocktail culture has since made it its own.

What is soju? The Korean drink finding an Indian audience

Soju is a clear Korean alcoholic drink traditionally made by fermenting and distilling ingredients such as rice, wheat, or barley. The category has evolved considerably. Many widely sold modern versions are made by diluting a neutral spirit with water, with sweeteners and flavourings added depending on the expression. 

The answer to what is soju, in practice, varies depending on the bottle. Traditional distilled soju can be layered and significantly stronger, while the mass-market and fruit-flavoured versions more commonly found in bars tend to be lighter, cleaner, and noticeably sweeter.

“Over the past few years, the spirit has seen a significant rise in popularity, with premium bars, cocktail programs, and retail outlets across the country increasingly stocking and serving soju to meet growing consumer demand,” says Raviraj Shetty, bar head, Bandra Born. 

That accessibility has become central to the drink’s appeal in India. Soju rarely arrives with the acquired-taste reputation that can surround whisky, rum, or even sake. A chilled bottle can be shared at the table, taken in small glasses, or treated as a base for cocktails. The green bottle may suggest one fixed ritual. The liquid inside is increasingly open to interpretation.

Why soju in India is moving beyond the K-wave

Korean television, music, and food gave soju instant cultural recognition. Viewers had already seen bottles being shared over barbecue, office dinners, romantic confessions, and ill-advised late-night decisions. By the time many Indian drinkers encountered soju in a restaurant, they already understood that it was meant to be social.

That familiarity gave the category a head start. Korean restaurants supplied the context, while India’s bars found new uses for it. Homegrown labels including Seoulmate, So Good, and Miho have since placed Indian flavours and locally made expressions alongside imported Korean bottles.

The result is a slightly different drinking culture. In Korea, soju is closely associated with food, shared bottles, and etiquette around pouring. In India, it is just as likely to be mixed with yuzu, guava, kokum, coffee, or chilli.

The expansion is partly practical. Flavoured bottles offer an easier starting point for drinkers who find conventional spirits too harsh. Smaller-format bottles suit sharing. A relatively restrained alcohol content makes soju easier to place in highballs and fruit-led cocktails.

Soju alcohol content: Why lower ABV works for Indian cocktails

The typical soju alcohol content varies significantly by style. Many fruit-flavoured and mainstream bottles fall between 12 to 20 per cent alcohol by volume (ABV), although traditional and premium distilled versions can be considerably stronger.

“It’s clean, slightly sweet, and easy to drink, especially for guests who may not usually order whisky or stronger spirits. Soju flavours like peach, grapefruit, and green grape have also helped introduce new drinkers to the category,” says Mangalorkar.

Modern soju generally has a lower ABV than whisky, rum, or vodka. Its soft mouthfeel and subtle sweetness can also make it more accessible to first-time drinkers. 

“It also has a soft mouthfeel with subtle sweetness, making it approachable even for first-time drinkers,” says Shetty. Even versions with an ABV of between 16 and 20 per cent remain lighter than most conventional spirits, making soju suitable for more casual, social drinking. 

That lighter profile is also why soju and sake can work well in cocktails. At Bandra Born in Mumbai, Shetty serves the Dita Von Tease, made with Mikadomatsu Meihin sake, fresh peach, lemon cordial, umeshu, and green apple air.  

“Soju and sake are incredibly versatile spirits for cocktails because of their light, clean profiles,” he says. “They pair beautifully with fresh fruits, citrus, herbs, florals, and subtle spices, allowing the other ingredients to shine without overpowering them. For Indian consumers, tropical fruit flavours and citrus work particularly well.” 

Soju flavours in India are getting a local accent 

“Indian consumers respond well to combinations that incorporate citrus, tropical fruits, tea, sesame, and subtle savoury notes, as they complement soju's clean and delicate profile,” says Sushil Pant, beverage head at Bright Hospitality Pvt. Ltd. 

Top Banana, the company’s Delhi bar, serves a soju cocktail called Golden Child. It pairs soju with tequila, Okinawa brown sugar, known as kokuto, a dark, unrefined cane sugar from Japan, sesame, and coffee, to create a sweet, nutty, and subtly bitter drink.

“Some flavour combinations that work particularly well include Green Grape Soju with yuzu and soda, lychee and jasmine, watermelon and shiso, citrus highballs, or even Indian ingredients such as guava and kokum,” says Rahul Kamath, bar operations head at Idoru and Izumi.

At Chaiyo in Mumbai, Flavours of Nippon combines vodka, soju, yuzu kosho, and yukari dust. Yuzu kosho brings the heat: a salty, fermented paste of chilli and yuzu peel. Yukari dust, made from dried shiso leaves, adds a tart, herbal note with an almost plum-like edge. Together, they give the cocktail its citrus, spice, and savoury depth.

“It’s spicy, savoury, and packed with umami, like stepping into a Tokyo izakaya in one sip,” says Karan Bane, chef-partner at Chaiyo. “Soju's neutral character makes it a great base for bright citrus, spice, and fermented flavours, which is why bartenders are having so much fun with it today.” 

“Bartenders are increasingly using soju in India as a lighter alternative to vodka because it carries fruit and citrus flavours exceptionally well,” says Kamath. Izumi serves a Soju Chuhai, its interpretation of the Japanese highball traditionally made with shochu, soda, and citrus or fruit. 

“We've given it our own interpretation by replacing shochu with Green Grape Soju,” says Kamath. “The result is a refreshing drink with a softer fruit profile that resonates well with Indian guests. It's a good example of taking inspiration from Japanese drinking culture while adapting it for contemporary tastes.”

Another reason for the growing popularity of Korean soju in India is the variety of flavours available. 

“While the classic clear soju remains the most popular, flavoured variants such as peach, green grape, strawberry, and grapefruit have gained significant popularity in recent years, especially among younger consumers,” says Pant. “These flavours, along with its versatility in cocktails, have made it more accessible to a wider audience.” 

How to drink soju beyond the soju bomb

The soju bomb has also helped introduce the Korean spirit to a wider audience. It adds a visual and interactive element to the experience rather than functioning as just another mixed drink. 

View this post on Instagram

A shot of soju is balanced on chopsticks and placed on top of a glass of beer. The table is thumped until the shot drops into the glass. 

The performance can act as an icebreaker at group dinners and celebrations. “It's a fun, social drink that's become a staple of Korean nightlife, less about ceremony, more about bringing people together,” says Bane. 

“It’s called ‘Somaek’ in Korean, which combines the Korean words for soju (So) and beer (Maekju),” says Shetty. 

While India has embraced a more cocktail-driven approach to soju, it is traditionally served chilled in small glasses alongside meals in Korea, particularly Korean barbecue. “Soju is a deeply social drink with many traditions—people rarely pour it for themselves, and sharing a bottle is part of the ritual,” says Bane. “The etiquette around serving each other is just as important as the drink itself.” 

Someone at the table pours the drink for another person, who later returns the gesture. When drinking with elders or seniors, it is customary to receive the glass with both hands and turn slightly away while taking the first sip as a mark of respect.

“At its core, soju is a drink that celebrates hospitality, companionship, and shared dining experiences,” Kamath explains further. 

In India, those traditions are being interpreted more loosely. “Soju in India is being treated more like a social sipping spirit rather than only taking shots,” says Mangalorkar. 

The best soju brands in India, from Korean imports to Indian adaptations

The range of soju brands in India now includes established Korean labels and locally produced adaptations. Prices and availability vary by state, retailer, and bottle size.

1. Seoulmate Soju

Seoulmate Soju is an Indian brand, launched in Goa in 2025 by Nuvola Spirits. The homegrown label produces rice distillate-based soju with a 15.5 per cent ABV. 

It is available in flavours including Original or Classic, Strawberry Mint, Pink Guava Chilli, Cola Vanilla, Watermelon Bubblegum, Black Grape, and Peach Iced Tea. The soju comes in 375 ml bottles and is available at select retailers, restaurants, and bars.

Availability: Delhi, Goa, Karnataka, and Haryana

Soju price in India: ₹500 onwards 

Find more details on their Instagram

2. So Good Soju

Launched by Penguin Overseas, So Good Soju is an Indian craft soju brand based out of Nashik, Maharashtra. 

The brand uses a 72-hour oxygen infusion process to make its soju, which has an ABV of 16 per cent. It is available in still and sparkling expressions.  

The still range includes Classic, Peach, Green Apple, Strawberry, Blueberry, and Green Grape, while the sparkling variants include Yuzu Lime and K-Bomb. 

Availability: Haryana, Maharashtra, Karnataka

Soju price in India: ₹600 onwards

Find more details on their Instagram

3. MIHO Soju

Crafted in Goa by UMAGO Beverages, Miho Soju is an Indian craft soju inspired by Korean drinking culture. 

The non-carbonated, vegan, and gluten-free spirit has an alcohol content of around 11.3 to 12 per cent ABV. Its flavours include Berry Bliss, Son Daze (Yuzu), Peach Please, and All Funso, made with Alphonso mango.  

Availability: Goa and select Indian metro cities

Soju price in India: ₹180 per 60 ml shot onwards

Find more details on their Instagram and website

4. Jinro Chamisul Soju

Produced by Jinro in South Korea since 1924, Jinro Chamisul is one of the world's best-known soju brands. 

Made using grains like rice and filtered multiple times through bamboo charcoal, it is known for its clean taste and smooth finish. 

The range includes Chamisul Fresh and Chamisul Original, alongside fruit-infused variants such as Green Grape, Peach, Plum, Strawberry, Grapefruit, and Lemon. The 360 ml bottles range from 13 to 20.1 per cent ABV depending on the variant.

Availability: Across India through select retailers

Soju price in India: ₹530 onwards

Find more details on their Instagram and website

5. Chateul Soorok

Produced by Applease Korea, Chateul Soorok is a premium Korean soju made from apple wine instead of the traditional grain base. 

It is matured for three years in onggi, which are traditional Korean earthenware vessels, and filtered through charcoal. Its alcohol content ranges from 14 to 19.3 per cent ABV. 

Besides the Original expression, it is available in fruit-forward flavours such as Peach, Lychee, Strawberry, Watermelon, Honey Lemon, Kiwi, and Moscato, all sold in 360 ml bottles.

Availability: Across India through select retailers

Soju price in India: ₹560 onwards

Find more details on their Instagram

6. Soonhari Soju

Launched in 2015 by Lotte Chilsung in South Korea, Soonhari is a popular flavoured Korean soju label.  

The Apple Mango variant combines natural apple and mango flavours with a spirit made from grain, rice, and tapioca. It has a smooth, fruity profile and an ABV of 12 per cent.

The wider range includes Peach, Yogurt, Green Grape, Strawberry, Citron, Plum, Lychee, and Blueberry, available in 375 ml bottles.

Availability: Across India through select retailers

Soju price in India: ₹666 onwards

Find more details on their Instagram and website

Soju vs sake: What is the difference? 

Although they’re frequently mentioned together, Japanese sake and Korean soju are very different drinks. The confusion partly comes from the fact that both can work as relatively neutral cocktail ingredients. 

“Soju is a distilled spirit, while sake is brewed from rice, more like beer than vodka. Soju is lighter and crisper; sake is softer, richer, and usually enjoyed differently,” says Bane.

Sake is brewed using polished rice, water, yeast, and koji. It can range from delicate and floral to rich and umami-led.

“Sake is typically enjoyed slowly and can be served chilled, at room temperature, or warm depending on the style,” says Mangalorkar. “Soju is most often served chilled and is commonly shared around the table.”

People also confuse the soju bomb with the sake bomb, although the latter is not traditionally Japanese.

“The drink is widely believed to have originated in Japanese-American restaurants in the United States during the 1970s and 1980s,” says Kamath. “Diners would drop a small cup of sake into a glass of beer after banging the table and shouting ‘sake bomb.’ It's more a product of Western bar culture than a traditional Japanese drinking ritual.” 

Kamath serves a sake bomb at Idoru because of its interactive nature, another quality customers increasingly look for while drinking at a bar.

That same desire for interaction and experimentation has helped both sake and soju in India find space on cocktail menus. Soju, in particular, offers enough flexibility for bartenders to personalise drinks through fruit, spice, and locally familiar flavours, even as its social character remains rooted in Korean drinking culture. 

On 3rd July 2026, Satluj, a biopic of Sikh human rights activist Jaswant Singh Khalra, starring Diljit Dosanjh, finally reached Indian audiences after nearly four years in the certification limbo. Forty-eight hours later, it was gone. 

By then, the film had already passed through three titles and 127 requested cuts. It began as Ghallughara, a term used for historic massacres of Sikhs, became Punjab ’95, owing to the year Khalra was abducted, and finally arrived as Satluj.

Officially, the Central Board of Film Certification, or CBFC, classifies films by audience suitability. In practice, its decisions can alter what is seen, delay when it is released, and shape what gets financed in the first place.

That kind of unexplained removal is a familiar shape to anyone who has spent time inside India's censorship apparatus, an institution that, on paper, removed the term censor from its name in 1983.

How the censor board of India became the CBFC  

When the Cinematograph Act, 1952, folded India's regional censors into a single national body, it called that body the Central Board of Film Censors. In 1983, revised rules dropped ‘censors’ for ‘certification,’ signalling that the board's job was to sort audiences by age, rather than decide whether a film should exist. 

On paper, that's still the mandate of the Central Board of Film Certification. In practice, ‘censor board’ never left the public vocabulary, and people who've worked around the institution say that's not a branding problem.

Professor Ramna Walia, who teaches Film Studies at FLAME University, traces it to an assumption baked into the institution from the start. "There's a certain infantilisation of Indian citizens that happens, and cinema in particular is seen as this really threatening medium," she says. Unlike a book, a film reaches people "outside the realms of literacy," absorbed instantly in a dark room. "The powers that were meant to just certify took on the mantle of also enforcing the Act, and a lot of cutting started happening.”

Asked about how the board’s legal mandate differs from the popular perception of ‘censorboard,’ current CBFC chairperson Shashi Shekhar Vempati who took office in May 2026, after former chairperson Prasoon Joshi’s term ended, responded in writing only that the board's guidelines "lay out the mandate clearly," and that as a "Quasi-Judicial Body" it "cannot further elaborate beyond the statute.” 

Asked separately what reform he'd personally push for, he said only that "an outreach process with industry stakeholders... is underway."

How often does the CBFC demand cuts? 

Government data given to the Rajya Sabha this year offers the clearest picture yet of how CBFC operates at scale. Over five years, the board certified 71,963 films; 11,064 or about one in six, required cuts or modifications. Only three were refused certification outright. 

"THE CBFC STILL RETAINS THE STATUTORY AUTHORITY TO DEMAND MODIFICATIONS OR REFUSE CERTIFICATION ALTOGETHER" — Malabika Boruah

High Court challenges to CBFC decisions, meanwhile, have climbed sharply: two in 2021, four in 2022, one in 2023, four in 2024, and 10 in the first months of 2025 alone.

Read one way, those numbers suggest the system mostly works quietly: the overwhelming majority of films pass through without a fight reaching court. Read another way, the rising number of court challenges suggests that ‘quietly’ is starting to break down, with more filmmakers deciding that the internal process isn't enough. 

Both things can be true, and the board's own account understandably emphasises only the first.

How film certification in India works

Entertainment lawyer Malabika Boruah of Naik & Naik Co., which provides counsel to top production houses and individuals in the film fraternity, describes the sequence: a producer files an application, the film is screened, and an examining officer sends a recommendation to an Examining Committee within three working days. 

For unusually sensitive subject matter, including defence, medicine, and foreign relations, the chairperson can call in an outside expert.

What emerges from the CBFC certification process is meant to be a suitability stamp: U for unrestricted exhibition, UA for a parental nudge, A largely reserved for explicit content or graphic violence, and S for material meant for specialised, restricted audiences. 

A 2023 amendment split UA into 7+, 13+, and 16+ bands, borrowing from tiered systems in the UK and Australia, and made certificates valid indefinitely rather than requiring renewal every 10 years. It also stripped the Central Government of its old power, under Section 6(1) of the 1952 Act, to reopen a CBFC decision after the fact.

Those are real structural changes. What they don't touch is the guideline layer underneath: judgment calls like whether violence is glorified or whether drug use is gratuitous rather than contextual to the story. Those calls stay a matter of interpretation, not a checklist. 

"WHAT'S THE POINT OF HAVING AN ENTIRE BATTERY OF LEGAL COUNSEL IF YOU STILL CAN'T MAKE THE ART YOU WANT TO MAKE?" — Priyanka Khimani

Boruah recalls the inconsistency this produces in practice. She cites a mid-air kiss trimmed from James Gunn’s Superman (2025) film for duration, while The Jungle Book (2016), a children's film, still landed a UA over animal violence. In fact, in the new Spider-Man: Brand New Day (2026) film, eight seconds of romantic scenes were cut in total to make it suitable for a younger audience and receive the U/A 13+ rating. 

Walia points out that a 2016 committee chaired by Shyam Benegal had already recommended the same age-tier system, plus a rule that cuts occur only in "exceptional circumstances." "Only partially was that taken into account," she says. "The age shift happened. But the CBFC still retains the statutory authority to demand modifications or refuse certification altogether."

Can filmmakers challenge a CBFC decision? 

The clearest legal test of that authority remains Udta Punjab. In 2016, examiners demanded 89 cuts from the film, about Punjab's drug crisis. A Revising Committee brought that to 13, including stripping every reference to Punjab and its politicians. 

The producers took the case to the Bombay High Court instead of complying. "We had to prove that it was relevant to the portrayal and that it did not threaten public order, and it was the filmmakers' creative expression," Boruah says. 

The court agreed: restrictions must connect directly to narrow constitutional grounds, films must be judged as a whole rather than scene by scene, and the CBFC certifies rather than censors. All but one cut was dropped.

That ruling is still the boundary Indian law has drawn, but it took a High Court case, and High Court cases are expensive, borne almost entirely by producers. "It's ultimately, unfortunately, the producer or the studio," says entertainment lawyer Priyanka Khimani, who represents artistes like Shraddha Kapoor, Karan Aujla, Huma Qureshi, AP Dhillon, and Divine. "Every cut affects your edits, your prints, the copies sent out. The platform isn't bearing that cost." 

For a studio, that's a line item; for an independent filmmaker, it often isn't survivable. 

When filmmaker Onir took Shab through the certification process in 2017, he says a board member called the film's gay characters "disgusting" during the screening. “It took over a year to clear it, that too after two tribunals in Delhi, which was a huge loss, because it’s expensive when your film gets delayed,” he said. 

In 2022, four years after India decriminalised homosexuality, the board initially refused certification of Pine Cone (2023)—Onir’s semi-autobiographical LGBTQ+ drama film—over a nine-year-old's dialogue asking what "gay" means. "They told me, children do not need to know all this," he recalls.

It would be a mistake to read the pattern as confined to festival or activist cinema. Pathaan—a mainstream, mega-budget Shah Rukh Khan blockbuster—was ordered to make roughly a dozen cuts in 2023 after politicians objected to a bikini's saffron colour and to dialogue mentioning India's intelligence agency by name. 

Then-chairperson Prasoon Joshi framed it as routine compliance with guidelines. His predecessor, Pahlaj Nihalani, publicly  said he suspected pressure from the ministry. 

The specifics differ from Satluj's, but the mechanism—discomfort translating into a certification demand dressed as procedure—is the same one Onir, Boruah, and Walia describe. 

How CBFC ratings shape which films get financed 

That pressure doesn't begin only after a film has been made; it influences which films get made at all. 

Walia points to the CBFC certificate itself as a financial instrument, rather than only a content rating. "As the size of the film industry's markets has grown post-liberalisation, bigger studios want a UA certificate because it's linked to audience size, TV rights, and partnerships," she says. "As the stakes tied to money rise, what kind of stories get financed and what's seen as 'safe' becomes really important. Because films are such an expensive, collaborative art form, bigger studios are less likely to take risks with money." 

An A certificate narrows the audience a studio can sell to; a UA one keeps the film marketable across theatrical, television, and streaming deals alike. The safer CBFC rating therefore gets built into the pitch long before a script is finished.

That's the caution Khimani sees legal counsel increasingly reinforcing rather than resisting. "What's the point of having an entire battery of legal counsel if you still can't make the art you want to make?" she says. "Then I feel we're failing in our job as counsel. You don't want people telling you what you can't do—you want people advising you on what you can do, and how to do it in a form that's true to your style of filmmaking." 

Why film censorship in India extends beyond the CBFC 

Even the films that clear that filter, and get made anyway, rarely settle the argument. “I also think there's a lot of extra legal pressure, financial threat, there's a threat of litigation, there's a threat of social media campaigns, there's threat of political mobilisation, there's a threat of boycotts,” says Walia. She further adds how, “in the larger media ecosystem, everything is capable of becoming a scandal at any time.” 

The anxiety is about timing, rather than only the material, she adds, noting how the Punjab elections were approaching when Satluj was pulled. 

Filmmaker Anurag Kashyap, discussing the takedown on Kunal Kamra's YouTube podcast, called the certification process "a Kafka-esque face"—impossible to hold to account because guidelines shift with public sentiment around whatever else is controversial that week. Asked separately for this story, Kashyap said he had nothing to add beyond the podcast, and was tired of being reduced to a clickbait quote on the subject.

Shoma Chatterji, a critic who has written on Indian censorship for four decades, puts it more simply: "The censor board depends entirely on who the chairperson is." 

On a wider level, Onir says, “It is all about what the government wants. When we were criminalised by law, I could get a certificate by showing a police officer sexually assaulting someone in I Am (2010)," he adds. "Now, despite being decriminalised, I'm facing all kinds of problems." 

The CBFC's own account of this process is more optimistic about how much gets resolved before it reaches a court at all. Chairperson Vempati noted in an interview with The Established that the “Revision Committee process is meant to also resolve irreconcilable lack of consensus at the examination stage. Provision also exists for a second revision in cases where the first revision also fails to reach a consensus.” In his framing, it is an internal mechanism built specifically to catch disagreements before they turn into litigation. For filmmakers, though, the distinction between certification and intervention remains harder to draw.

A generous lather has long done most of body wash’s PR. The bigger the bubbles and stronger the squeak, the cleaner the skin supposedly was, formulation be damned.

For dry skin, body wash has never been an easy match. Too often, the formulas that perform cleanliness most convincingly leave it feeling stripped instead. The best body wash for dry skin rejects that logic. It removes sweat and grime without taking the skin barrier down with them, leaving skin comfortable rather than tight, reactive, and immediately in need of moisturiser.

“Many of us were taught that a good bath product should lather well and leave skin feeling squeaky clean. But that squeak is actually a warning sign,” shares dermatologist Dr Madhuri Agarwal. “It usually means the wash has removed the natural oils and lipids that help the skin retain moisture.”

Dry skin is hardly a niche concern. A Bayer survey on dry skin in India found that it affects one in two Indians. An overly harsh cleanser can make matters worse by stripping away the oils that help the skin retain moisture. For a product used daily, and sometimes twice, that is more than a minor formulation flaw. 

Why some body washes leave dry skin feeling tighter 

Body washes rely on surfactants to lift oil, sweat, and grime from the skin. Some formulas use high concentrations of anionic surfactants, including Sodium Lauryl Sulfate (SLS) and Sodium Laureth Sulfate (SLES) to produce a lather-packed cleanse. But the real story isn’t a single ingredient—it’s the surfactant system as a whole, its concentration, and the way the formula is built around it. 

The problem is that some formulas cleanse too aggressively. Along with surface grime, they can strip sebum and disrupt the lipids, including ceramides, cholesterol, fatty acids, that support the skin barrier, says dermatologist Dr Manasi Shirolikar. “A cleanser with a high surfactant concentration that also uses anionic surfactants (like SLS) will have a high denaturation effect on skin proteins and can solubilise barrier lipids, leaving gaps in the cement between skin cells.”

Given the formulations of such body washes, their pH levels pose yet another threat to the skin. “Soaps and body washes sit around pH nine to 10, while healthy skin pH is around 4.7–5.5. High pH swells the skin, disrupts the enzymes that maintain barrier lipid production, and increases water loss,” Shirolikar explains.

Repeated use of an overly harsh formula can contribute to redness, irritation, and increased sensitivity. 

What to look for in the best body wash for dry skin 

If there is a cleanser, there will be surfactants. What determines whether it is skin-friendly or not is the class of surfactants used, and their concentrations.

“Gentler options include cocamidopropyl betaine, sodium cocoyl isethionate, decyl glucoside, and disodium laureth sulfosuccinate. These cleanse effectively while being gentle to the skin barrier,” says Agarwal. “On product labels, ingredients appear in descending order of concentration; if sulphate is listed among the first few names, that indicates a more drying formula. If milder surfactants appear first or sulphates are entirely absent, the wash is likely more barrier-friendly.” 

The ingredient list provides clues, though it cannot reveal everything about the way a formula performs. Some gentle body washes barely lather; others can produce foam without leaving the skin stripped.

“SOAPS AND BODY WASHES SIT AROUND PH NINE TO 10, WHILE HEALTHY SKIN PH IS AROUND 4.7–5.5. HIGH PH SWELLS THE SKIN, DISRUPTS THE ENZYMES THAT MAINTAIN BARRIER LIPID PRODUCTION, AND INCREASES WATER LOSS” –– Dr Manasi Shirolikar

The best moisturising body wash for dry skin may also contain ingredients that help limit moisture loss and support the barrier.

“Dry or compromised skin should look for barrier-supporting ingredients such as ceramides, glycerin, and hyaluronic acid to draw water into the skin. Colloidal oatmeal, niacinamide, and panthenol can help calm irritation and support repair. Shea butter and squalane hydrate without feeling heavy,” recommends Agarwal. 

Several body washes now contain physical exfoliating beads or strong acids. For dry, compromised skin, using these ingredients in a daily cleanser can do more harm than good. “Such formulas will strip the skin, and are not recommended in a daily barrier repair cleanser,” says the skin expert. 

Is fragrance bad for dry or sensitive skin?

According to Mintel’s 2024 research, Bar Soap Reigns in India’s Cleansing Market: Body Wash Struggles to Lather Up, 43 per cent of consumers are highlighted in relation to India’s cleansing market trends. Fragrance sits at the heart of body care’s sensorial promise. For dry, reactive, or compromised skin, however, it can become a trigger rather than a mood-booster. 

“Fragrance (whether natural essential oils or synthetic) is a leading cause of contact dermatitis, and can independently irritate already-compromised skin, even when the surfactant system is gentle,” says Shirolikar. “This matters more when the barrier is damaged, because a disrupted barrier allows fragrance allergens to penetrate more easily and provoke sensitisation or flare-ups.” 

If skin is actively compromised through an eczema flare, over-exfoliation, or a recent procedure, fragrance-free is the safer default until the barrier recovers. Once the skin is stable and non-reactive, low-fragrance formulas may be better tolerated.

Shower cream, shower oil, or gel: texture matters

It is common to associate a beauty product by its headline ingredients. Ceramides moisturise, salicylic acid exfoliates, lactic acid resurfaces, and vitamin C brightens. 

But in a rinse-off product, texture also shapes how a cleanser spreads, rinses, and feels against the skin. Cream, oil, and cushioned gel textures often appear in formulas designed to provide a softer cleanse, although texture alone is not proof of mildness. 

“Cream- and lotion-based washes usually contain emollients and humectants that soften cleansing, making them suitable for dry or eczema-prone skin,” says Agarwal. 

Oil-based cleansers work similarly by lifting dirt while limiting disruption to the lipid layer. They can be particularly useful when looking for the best body wash for very dry skin or a body wash for dry skin in winter. 

Don’t automatically assume that gel means harsh. A gel-based body wash can still work for dry skin, depending on the surfactant blend and concentration used. Foam is not automatically disqualifying either: the formula matters more than the bubbles alone.  

The best body washes for dry skin to know 

Not every product below is fragrance-free. The scented shower creams and oils are better suited to dry but non-reactive skin. Anyone dealing with eczema, active irritation, or a compromised barrier should prioritise a fragrance-free cleanser and patch-test new formulas.

L’Occitane Shea Butter Hydrating Shower Cream

The cream-like texture, backed by shea butter, shea milk, shea oil, sunflower seed oil, and sweet almond oil, makes this a strong option for dry skin. Although it does not lather profusely, the shower cream offers enough slip and cleansing power to remove everyday grime without leaving the skin feeling squeaky.

Priced at ₹2,300

Available at Tirabeauty.com

The Body Shop Shea Shower Cream

Created for dry skin, this shea butter shower cream leaves the skin feeling soft and hydrated after rinsing. The vegan formula contains 91 per cent natural original ingredients and produces a soft, creamy foam to ensure the skin barrier remains intact. 

Priced at ₹395

Available at Nykaa.com

The Bare Bar Warm Vanilla Creamy Body Wash

This creamy body wash, which smells like freshly whipped vanilla ice-cream, is a promising choice for dry, non-reactive skin that still enjoys scented bodycare. Coconut milk powder, vanilla oil, glycerin, and plant-based surfactants give the pH-balanced formula its soft, low-lathering texture. The wash contains a low dose of salicylic acid, patch-test before use. 

Priced at ₹699

Available at Barebar.in

Sol De Janeiro Delicia Drench Shower Oil

For deeply parched but non-reactive skin, this oil-enriched body wash offers an indulgent cleanse. It contains glycerin, bacuri butter, prebiotic hibiscus, vitamin E, and a blend of nourishing plant oils. The oil-to-foam texture leaves the skin feeling soft and supple after a shower.

Fragrance appears prominently in the formula, making this better suited to dry skin that is not eczema-prone or actively sensitised.

Priced at ₹2,790

Available at Tirabeauty.com

Uriage Cleansing Oil

With 25 per cent glycerin and a soap-free cleansing base, this oil-textured wash offers a cushioned cleanse for dry skin. It is designed to limit the tight, itchy feeling that can follow a shower. However, it does contain SLES and traces of fragrances. 

Priced at ₹1,800

Available at Nykaa.com

How the best body wash for dry skin should feel

How the skin feels after using a body wash, particularly during the first hour of use, reveals a great deal about the formula. 

The best body wash for dry skin should cleanse without stripping the skin or stinging on broken, eczema-prone skin. “Immediately after, the skin should feel soft and calm, not tight, itchy, or stripped. A brief feeling of being clean is normal; a lasting taut sensation is not,” explains Shirolikar. “If you need to slather on lotion right after every wash just to feel normal, the wash is likely doing damage the moisturiser is compensating for.”

Until recently, cosmetic surgery in India often came with an obvious before and after. Plumper lips, vanished dark circles and sunken under-eyes, sculpted cheekbones, lifted eyes, and a chiselled jaw. If cosmetic work didn’t announce itself, it barely counted. 

The brief is changing. According to Tara Adashev, an NYC-based board-certified cosmetic nurse who routinely administers injectables, consultations have changed more in the past two years than in the previous 10. “Nobody sits down and says ‘give me duck lips’ anymore. They pull out a photo of themselves from 2019 and say ‘I just want to look like this; like me, but rested.’”

The common thread in her recent consultations is restraint. Cosmetic work is moving towards subtler, barely detectable interventions: work that changes the face without appearing to remake it. 

For much of the 2010s, the ‘Instagram Face’ made cosmetic intervention easy to recognise. Kim Kardashian was one of the most visible reference points, followed by Kylie Jenner and Bella Hadid. Lip fillers, cheek lifts, rhinoplasty, and blepharoplasty became part of a newly recognisable facial vocabulary, according to a study published in the Aesthetic Surgery Journal, based on Google Trends data analysed between 2004 and 2020. 

That standardised visual language travelled across social media and into clinics around the world, including India. Now, many of those features have become shorthand for looking visibly ‘done.’

How cosmetic surgery in India moved beyond the ‘Instagram Face’

In India, cosmetic work is becoming more common and less conspicuous. The country recorded an estimated 1.29 million aesthetic procedures in 2024, ranking seventh globally, according to the International Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery.

Nearly half were non-surgical, including 97,160 hyaluronic-acid treatments, 85,120 chemical peels, and 76,720 Botox and botulinum-toxin procedures. Discretion now defines the brief: gradual upkeep, minimal downtime, and a face that still looks recognisably yours. 

Not very long ago, a face that immediately signalled remodelling, aka the coveted ‘Instagram Face,’ was the gold standard of cosmetic surgery. Today, it looks dated. 

In its place is a far quieter brief: leave no visible evidence. “Everyone tells me the same thing: ‘I don’t want anyone to know,’” says Adashev.

By 2021, dissolving dermal fillers had already become commonplace, up 57 per cent globally from the previous year. The rise coincided with growing awareness of migration, overfilling, and adverse effects. More people were getting fillers, and more people were learning that the results could outlast the aesthetic they had signed up for.

New Delhi-based dermatologist Dr Kiran Sethi has seen this aesthetic retraction play out in real time. “Patients actively voice a fear of looking ‘over-done’ or falling into the ‘uncanny valley’ of hyper-volumisation,” she says. “I spend a significant amount of my time dissolving old, migrated hyaluronic acid fillers from the early 2020s to restore natural anatomical contours.” 

“ANYONE CAN BUY AN OBVIOUS LIP. NOT EVERYONE CAN MAINTAIN A FACE FOR 15 YEARS SO QUIETLY THAT PEOPLE JUST ASSUME YOU HAVE GREAT GENES” — Tara Adashev

Today, patients favour smaller doses and precise placement, preserving the face’s natural movement. “If someone can tell you’ve had work done, it is now culturally and clinically viewed as a failure of the treatment.”

The visibility of botched and unnatural results has also made the ‘Instagram Face’ a cautionary tale. The aesthetic erased the line between enough and too much until excess became its most recognisable feature. “Cases of excessive filling and unnatural results have become well-known instances of how patients have become more cautious,”says Dr Usha Beloshkar, dermatologist at S. L. Raheja Hospital. “It is clear to individuals today that cosmetic excesses can be detrimental to face proportions, and lead to unnecessary attention being drawn.” 

The point of reference has also changed. Patients are moving away from celebrity photographs and towards dermatologists, beauty influencers, and people documenting their treatments online. 

A 2023 American Academy of Facial Plastic And Reconstructive Surgery report revealed that just 20 per cent of surgeons report patients referencing celebrities when coming in for consultations. Another 2023 Cureus Journal of Medical Science report found that approximately 50 per cent of the respondents obtained cosmetic surgery information from social media. Celebrities have not vanished from the mood board. They are increasingly being used as evidence of what patients hope to avoid.

“A few years ago, patients would walk in with a photograph of a celebrity and ask to look like them. That isn’t the case today,” shares Mumbai-based celebrity dermatologist and founder of The Bombay Skin Clinic, Dr Batul Patel. “That single shift tells you everything about where aesthetic medicine is headed. People are far more educated now; they follow practitioners online, they know the difference between a frozen forehead and a softly relaxed one. Undetectability is not an aesthetic trend as much as it is a return to individualised, anatomy-first treatment planning.”

“DECADES OF BEAUTY INDUSTRY MARKETING HAVE CONVINCED US THAT COMPLETELY COSMETICALLY MANIPULATED FACES ARE WHAT LOOKING WELL-RESTED LOOKS LIKE” — Jessica DeFino

Today, the distinction between transformation and refinement is shaping the brief. “Patients prefer healthier skin, a refined texture, natural contours of the face, softened expression lines, and subtle rejuvenation without any changes in their appearance,” says Beloshkar. She has also witnessed an influx of people seeking treatments that can’t be detected by colleagues and families. “The expectations have changed from looking young to looking fresh and healthy. Plus, they are expecting low downtime treatments, incremental changes, and personalised approaches to maintain the harmony of their facial features.”

Why non-surgical cosmetic procedures now favour restraint

Cosmetic surgery switched codes. Maximalism is out, maintenance is in. Cosmetic work no longer means getting a lip filler and exiting the dermatologist’s office with a visibly altered face. Instead, it presents a more complicated paradox: getting more work done to look less done. 

“The homogenisation of faces on social media—or the ‘Instagram Face’—led to an identity crisis. People lost their unique ethnic and familial markers and want their individuality back,” observes Sethi. 

“Destigmatisation has, counterintuitively, increased the desire for discretion,” adds Patel. “Now that cosmetic treatment is common and openly discussed, the real marker of sophistication has become doing it so well that nobody can tell.” 

Patients are no longer pointing towards an isolated wrinkle and asking for it to be erased. The current paradigm is focused on structural integrity and cellular optimisation, notes Sethi. “The most common request I hear today is, ‘I want to look like myself on my best day—well-rested, vibrant, and biologically younger, but completely undetectable.’ The expectation has shifted from altering features to optimising skin health and tissue elasticity. They want to reverse the biological clock, not wear a surgical mask of youth.”

The clock, of course, is not actually moving backwards. These treatments can soften visible signs of ageing and improve skin quality, while biological ageing continues on schedule.

How regenerative aesthetics is reshaping cosmetic surgery in India

As the aesthetic brief changed, the treatment menu followed. Biostimulator injections, Morpheus8, exosome therapy, and non-surgical facelifts now sit alongside radiofrequency, High-Intensity Focused Ultrasound (HIFU), thread lifts, and microneedling. 

The connecting promise is collagen production, greater elasticity, and skin that appears gradually improved instead of abruptly filled. Regenerative aesthetics is selling patients a result that develops slowly enough to pass for nature.

“I explain it to patients like this: a traditional filler is like propping something up from underneath; it works, but eventually you can see the prop,” says Adashev. “Biostimulators are more like convincing your own house to rebuild its foundation.” 

As a result, Sculptra and Radiesse have become regular fixtures in Adashev’s practice. 

Biostimulatory injections have also become clinic staples for Patel. “Unlike traditional fillers that simply add volume in a specific spot, biostimulators work by encouraging the skin to gradually produce its own collagen over several weeks,” she says. “The result builds slowly and looks like the skin has genuinely improved in quality, rather than been filled. This is very different from a quick, obvious volumising effect.”

Minimally invasive treatments come close behind, offering lower downtime and less immediately visible intervention. 

Regenerative aesthetics has become a business of scale. Worth $3.15 billion in 2026, the global market is expected to more than double to $6.72 billion by 2031, though the estimate includes treatments beyond facial aesthetics.

Preventative Botox was an early expression of the maintenance mindset. Regenerative aesthetics has turned it into a much broader category. “There is an emphasis on the use of regenerative and preventive methods as they stimulate the development of collagen, tightening, hydration, and elasticity, which will make your face look healthy rather than being obviously treated,” says Beloshkar. “The objective is to retain the shape of your face and age elegantly.” 

That emphasis has also expanded the treatment menu. Sethi points to polynucleotides and exosomes as newer additions to skin-quality work. “Polynucleotides, derived from DNA fractions, and exosomes, which are cellular signalling vesicles, are micro-injected to repair the skin barrier, turn off chronic inflammation, and improve elasticity at a cellular level without adding a millimetre of physical volume,” she says. 

For patients with genuine laxity that injectables cannot address, Patel refers them to a qualified plastic surgeon for what is being called a ‘quiet facelift.’ “It takes a more limited, natural-looking surgical approach, but that decision and procedure must always sit with an appropriately trained surgeon, not a dermatologist.”

Why natural-looking cosmetic work has become a luxury signal

The new brief is the ‘I-woke-up-like-this’ face. Not obviously plumper, brighter or fuller. Just suspiciously well-rested. 

“I say this to younger nurses I mentor all the time: the richest women in my chair are the ones you’d never suspect of having a chair at all,” says Adashev. “It’s not about hiding it out of shame. Invisibility itself has become a luxury. Anyone can buy an obvious lip. Not everyone can maintain a face for 15 years so quietly that people just assume you have great genes. That takes money and time and a very good relationship with someone like me. The flex isn’t the procedure. The flex is that nobody knows.”

Subtle tweakments and undetectable procedures have defined cosmetic surgery’s version of quiet luxury. Looking natural has become part of the brief. In a 2023 survey by the American Academy of Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery, 24 per cent of plastic surgeons said their patients’ biggest fear was appearing overdone.

“Historically, obvious cosmetic procedures signalled affluence because they were expensive,” says Sethi. “Today, entry-level cosmetic procedures have been widely democratised. An over-filled, frozen face has ironically become a counter-signal.” 

A complexion that appears effortlessly healthy, she says, now carries its own status cues: sustained upkeep, tailored treatments, and the time to keep both invisible. “People want to look genetically blessed and effortlessly vital. Looking ‘done’ implies you are trying too hard, whereas looking ‘undone’ implies you are winning the biological lottery.”

The treatment may happen in a clinic. The desired result is supposed to look inherited.The phenomenon isn’t just about looking well-rested. It can also operate as a status signal. “Of course this is associated with status and wealth, since everything about it screams that I have funnelled a lot of time and money into this look,” says beauty editor and commentator Jessica DeFino. “This is like the quiet luxury of the face—a part of status signalling, but also taste signalling.” 

A face that appears quietly maintained over several years suggests sustained investment, discipline, and access, says Patel.

Sethi shares that a single session of Morpheus8 or Microneedle radiofrequency at her clinic can cost anywhere between ₹12,000 and ₹18,000. Profhilo, one of the most discussed biosimulator injections, costs approximately ₹35,000 to ₹40,000 per session. The single-session price, however, tells only part of the story. While Morpheus8 or Microneedle radiofrequency typically involves between four to eight sessions, spaced two months apart, Profhilo’s course asks for two sessions spaced 21 to 60 days apart, followed by repeat courses bi-annually. This makes just the first-year spend over ₹1,00,000. 

Treatments designed not to reveal their presence and therefore function as markers of wealth, privilege, and access.

This also explains the rise of lunchtime procedures, from chemical peels to Botox injections. “I think as the world becomes more virtual, how we see ourselves and are perceived by others becomes more and more important,” says DeFino. 

Patel sees convenience as another major driver. “Minimal downtime treatments have grown significantly, largely because they fit into how busy professional women are actually living their lives,” she says. “I regularly see patients who come in during a lunch break for a quick skin quality treatment or a small touch-up of a neuromodulator, and are back in a meeting within the hour.” She frames the development less as looking good becoming more important and more as aesthetic maintenance becoming as routine as a haircut or facial.

DeFino, however, argues that squeezing these procedures into the middle of a working day complicates the idea that cosmetic intervention is simply self-care. The lunch-break appointment can also reveal how seamlessly beauty labour has been folded into professional life.

The emotional return is harder to pin down. A 2025 systematic review found some short-term gains in body-area satisfaction and self-esteem after cosmetic surgery, but the evidence was thin and long-term outcomes remained unclear. A 2018 study of 75 patients receiving facial fillers or neuromodulators found the same tension: they felt better about their appearance six weeks later, but not necessarily better about themselves.

How wellness culture is recoding cosmetic surgery in India

Cosmetic surgery and wellness once appeared to belong to opposing industries. They now speak almost the same language. 

India is reportedly the seventh largest wellness market in the world. The Longevity Paradox report published by the Boston Consulting Group in 2025 also concluded that longevity is becoming increasingly important for Indians. 

Wellness culture has made a rested, fresh, and visibly healthy appearance increasingly desirable. The lifestyle associated with that appearance, however, demands time, consistency, and resources.

When the lifestyle is difficult to sustain, its visual codes can still be purchased. A regenerative treatment cannot manufacture sleep, balance a life, or produce systemic health. It can, however, approximate the complexion wellness culture has taught consumers to associate with all three.

“Looking well-rested is the ultimate biomarker of vitality,” says Sethi. “The rise of the longevity movement has taught consumers that superficial beauty cannot be decoupled from systemic health.” 

She says a rested face can imply optimal mitochondrial function, low systemic inflammation, balanced cortisol, and high-quality sleep architecture, while also pointing towards healthy DNA as a key marker of youth. “In skin longevity medicine, we are aiming to match the patient’s phenotypic appearance with their optimised healthspan.” A rested appearance has become cultural shorthand for cellular wellness. That does not make it medical proof.

When a result looks natural, it can also suggest biological superiority. “You are communicating that I’m naturally like this; these are my genetics. I am superior in this way that doesn’t take as much work as it takes other people to look well-rested,” says DeFino. This is connected to the rise of the longevity craze, she adds. “Decades of beauty industry marketing have convinced us that completely cosmetically manipulated faces are what looking well-rested looks like when that’s not really the truth,” she says. 

“Longevity, when it comes to skincare, is really just anti-ageing; like the tech bro way of rephrasing anti-ageing to gain new customers who want to believe their obsession with appearance is about health.” 

Cosmetic surgery is no longer a taboo. Botox isn’t a hush-hush. As cosmetic surgery in India becomes more accessible, status is migrating towards discretion. The new flex is a face that gives nothing away.

The catch is harder to hide: when intervention becomes invisible, the beauty standard it creates can pass for nature.

The August 2026 horoscope brings fresh momentum across career, family, and emotional wellbeing. This month encourages every zodiac sign to trust its instincts, explore new creative directions, and make space for rest. Read on for the August 2026 horoscope for each zodiac sign, including key dates, karmic guidance, and lucky colours. 

August 2026 horoscope for each zodiac sign

Aries August horoscope 2026

This month, slowing down before making major career decisions is recommended. Expect a new opportunity to shape the professional path between 5th and 12th August.  Health benefits from managing stress and getting adequate rest will emerge. Honest conversations bring harmony within the family. 

Karmic tip: Trust the process. 

Lucky colour: Crimson red 

Taurus August horoscope 2026

Steady effort will begin to pay off after 10th August, bringing recognition at work. Taurus August horoscope 2026 shows the need to maintain healthy routines and get enough rest to avoid exhaustion. Family matters settle with a calm approach. 

Karmic tip: Trust divine timing. 

Lucky colour: Emerald green

Gemini August horoscope 2026

Astrology predictions August 2026 show exciting collaborations and career opportunities emerging between 7th and 13th August. Geminis need to pace themselves to avoid mental fatigue and stay focused on completing one goal at a time. Honest communication strengthens family relationships. 

Karmic tip: Finish what you start. 

Lucky colour: Sky blue 

Cancer August horoscope 2026

Professional clarity is on the cards for Cancerians between 11th and 18th August, aiding in confident career decisions. Prioritising emotional wellbeing and not ignoring the need for rest are vital this month. At home, healthy boundaries create greater peace.

Karmic tip: Prioritise yourself. 

Lucky colour: Pearl white

Leo August horoscope 2026

The August 2026 horoscope for Leo’s birthday season shows fresh opportunities, especially between 8th and 15th August, with chances of career recognition. Balancing a busy schedule with enough rest to maintain energy should be the primary goal according to health horoscope August 2026. Family celebrations bring joy. 

Karmic tip: Be authentic. 

Lucky colour: Gold 

Virgo August horoscope 2026

As Virgos near their season, expect momentum to build, particularly after 20th August, making it an excellent time for interviews and negotiations, according to career horoscope August 2026. It’s crucial to listen to the body and avoid pushing it. Family members may seek Virgo’s guidance. 

Karmic tip: Embrace progress. 

Lucky colour: Olive green 

Libra August horoscope 2026

This month asks that growth be chosen over comfort, particularly between 9th and 16th August, when career decisions become important. Prioritise emotional balance and avoid unnecessary stress. Family harmony improves through open communication. 

Karmic tip: Trust yourself. 

Lucky colour: Soft pink 

Scorpio August horoscope 2026

Expect a build-up of momentum in career post 12th August, making this a favourable period for interviews, promotions, or new responsibilities. Releasing emotional stress will positively impact health and wellbeing. Family relationships soften through forgiveness. 

Karmic tip: Learn to let go. 

Lucky colour: Deep maroon 

Sagittarius August horoscope 2026

This month brings opportunities around travel, learning, or expansion that can positively influence careers, between 6th and 14th August. Stay active, but avoid overextending the body. Optimism strengthens family relationships. 

Karmic tip: Stay disciplined. 

Lucky colour: Royal purple 

Capricorn August horoscope 2026

Recognition for hard work is likely after 15th August, bringing career and financial progress, according to monthly horoscope August 2026. Maintain healthy routines and avoid overworking despite increased responsibilities. Family discussions create long-term stability. 

Karmic tip: Be patient. 

Lucky colour: Charcoal grey

Aquarius August horoscope 2026

Expect innovation that will work in Aquarius’ favour between 10th and 18th August, bringing fresh career opportunities and meaningful partnerships. Protecting mental wellbeing by creating space to recharge is vital. Expect family relationships to improve through quality time. 

Karmic tip: Learn to receive. 

Lucky colour: Electric blue 

Pisces August horoscope 2026 

Pisces August horoscope 2026 shows delayed career matters moving forward with renewed momentum after 13th August. Prioritise quality sleep and emotional wellbeing to stay centred throughout the month. Compassion helps heal family relationships. 

Karmic tip: Trust your intuition. 

Lucky colour: Sea green

Editor’s note:

Down in a Hole is graphic novelist Appupen's portrait of the artist from the inside. He is best known for Halahala, the expansive fictional world that serves as the backdrop for acclaimed works including Moonward (2009), Legends of Halahala (2013), and Aspyrus (2014). In this graphic narrative, he uses vivid, surreal imagery to follow the long arc of an artist, from fascination to dependence, until storytelling ceases to be an ambition and becomes the force that orders a life, despite everything it demands.

My grandfathers fed me lots of stories. One focused on the Biblical, the other went into mystery and horror. Both were darkly twisted, and my fascination for stories grew with me. 

I wrote gags and plays in school and college, illuminated with bad cartoons.

The birth of Halahala—my universe of stories—traces back to the pages of a particularly threatening B. A. economics textbook. 

I dabbled in advertising, animation, and film, but my joy lay in making original stories. My brand of stories was usually situated away from the mainstream, and comics proved the easiest and most economical vehicle for them. 

The more we dig in, the more we discover. I have been digging into comic territory since an inspired evening in 2002. Doubts were unearthed, fear excavated. But we dig past all that. And now I’m in too deep. What started as an escape had begun to assume the shape of my life.

That’s when I started thinking of the art of making stories as a vice or a drug. It’s such a rush, and it’s addictive. A guilty pleasure which may become illegal soon, the way things are going.

Appupen, 2026

Rose has spent decades trapped in the same perfume cliché: sweet, powdery, and conventionally feminine. The best rose perfumes break it open with oud, leather, pepper, coffee, and smoke, revealing a flower with far more edge than its reputation suggests.

Rose sits at the heart of some of perfumery’s oldest traditions. For centuries, rose petals have been distilled into scented oils and blended into custom attars. 

Centuries later, high-quality fragrances that feature rose still use extraction methods designed to retain the flower’s complexity: floral, powdery, zesty, clean, and sparkling. 

Over time, mass-market renditions often flattened rose into its sweetest and most familiar register. The outcome? Rose perfume became typecast as the ‘grandma’s scent,’ a sweet, conventionally feminine fragrance that can feel heady and oversweet. 

At its most compelling, rose perfume feels fresh, soothing, grounding, and velvety. Perhaps the idea of rose perfume has overshadowed the product itself.

Why does rose perfume smell old-fashioned to some people?

Rose is one of perfumery’s most emblematic flowers, but it also comes with a strong cultural heritage, notes Véronique Le Bihan, founder and art director of niche fragrance brand Atelier Materi. “For many people, it still evokes a romantic, powdery, or conventionally feminine vision of fragrance.” 

Vaishnavi Perumbully, a perfumer from Grasse, shares that rose is one of the first raw materials students learn to reconstruct in perfume school. “This is when we learn how many facets a rose can bring to a composition, and how complex, yet simply beautiful it can be. Yet there is a tendency for people to avoid rose-centred fragrances because it could be very mono-note-like.” 

The stereotypes associated with rose perfume strongly shape perceptions, limiting exploration. “Since rose was highly used back in the day, it can seem old-fashioned. But there is also another factor that makes people avoid it, which is the gender stereotype around rose or any floral notes. There is an assumption that floral fragrances are meant for women only, but the truth is that fragrances have no gender,” adds Perumbully.

Rose appears in some of the most cult-favourite perfumes around the world, from Chanel No. 5 to Byredo Rose of No Man’s Land and Miss Dior. Even so, its reputation remains stubbornly narrow.

What makes a rose perfume work across genders?

The surrounding notes usually determine whether the final composition feels inviting, overwhelming, familiar, or entirely unexpected.

Handled well, rose can be among the most versatile raw materials in a perfumer’s palette. “Its personality is entirely shaped by the materials that surround it. It can be airy or dense, luminous or dark, delicate or structured,” says Le Bihan. 

Explaining how rose perfume can appeal to a wider range of people, Le Bihan says, “I am drawn to the tension that emerges when rose is placed in dialogue with more austere or textured materials. For example, leathery, woody, mineral, or incense facets reveal a drier, more contemporary expression of the flower.”

“ITS [ROSE] PERSONALITY IS ENTIRELY SHAPED BY THE MATERIALS THAT SURROUND IT. IT CAN BE AIRY OR DENSE, LUMINOUS OR DARK, DELICATE OR STRUCTURED” –– Véronique Le Bihan 

Rose shifts character according to the green, woody, spicy, or smoky notes placed around it.  

“A classic rose combination is with denser, deeper, and earthier notes like patchouli, vetiver, and oud. The complexity of the natural roses along with patchouli, incense, ambers, and spices always gets me,” says Perumbully. 

For greater contrast, rose can be paired with spicy notes like black pepper, pink pepper, clove, and cinnamon, which can also result in a sparkling sillage. A rose perfume infused with leather, tobacco, and saffron can feel powerful without becoming heavy, adds the perfumer. 

Rose need not be imagined as one plain red flower. As Perumbully explains, “It can be a rose in a leather jacket, a white dewy rose, or a spicy, trouble-loving rose. One flower, multiple faces.”

The best rose perfumes in India for every nose 

Secret Alchemist Rose Oud

This rose oud perfume takes the flower in an earthy, woody direction. Oud, musk, amber, and pink peppercorn add depth, turning a familiar floral into a darker, more textured blend. 

The formula uses naturally derived oils and grain-based alcohol and is free from synthetic dyes, parabens, and phthalates.

Priced at ₹1,499

Available at Secretalchemist.com

Tom Ford Café Rose

This rose perfume explores the sensual, earthy character of the floral note, combining it with dark-roast coffee to create an unexpected yet wearable fragrance. 

The effect balances polished softness with the bitterness of coffee, preventing the rose from becoming syrupy.

The fragrance develops gradually on the skin, leaving a lingering sillage.

Priced at ₹12,900

Available at Sephora.in

Thameen Amber Room

This blend from UK-based niche fragrance label Thameen presents a warm, spiced take on rose perfume. With Turkish rose at its heart, it fuses cinnamon, ginger, and cardamom with earthy and powdery notes like vetiver, sandalwood, amber, tonka, and patchouli. 

The result moves easily across occasions and resists conventional gender categories.

Priced at ₹18,900

Available at Scentido.com

Bvlgari Rose Goldea

Bvlgari Rose Goldea stays close to the fresher facets of the flower.

It avoids intense, syrupy notes, taking a creamy, fruity, and sparkling turn through to pomegranate, sandalwood, and jasmine. The finish is clean and fresh, with none of the heaviness commonly associated with sweet florals.

Priced at ₹10,000

Available at Nykaa.com

Forest Essentials Sunehere Din

This rose perfume draws on the language of Indian perfumery, combining the freshness of rose with saffron and marigold.

Its essential oils-led composition gives the otherwise delicate floral notes greater presence and staying power. 

Priced at ₹5,400

Available at Forestessentials.com

Amal Jain Oud Al Mukhtar

This potent blend initially reads as a traditional oud perfume before changing character as it settles on the skin.

This rose oud perfume combines vanilla with leather, tobacco, and oud, before mandarin, grapefruit, jasmine, and lavender bring in a cleaner, more citrus-driven finish. 

Despite the number of notes, the composition remains controlled rather than overwhelming.

Priced at ₹22,000

Available at Amaljain.com

Atelier Materi Rose Ardoise 

This rose perfume opens with a mineral quality before revealing its floral core.

Rose is combined with sage, vetiver, leather, and nutmeg to create an aquatic-leaning interpretation. As the fragrance develops, the honeyed facet of rose returns softness to the composition.

Priced at ₹25,200

Available at Scentido.com

How to identify a high-quality rose perfume 

A natural rose is remarkably nuanced. Beyond its floral character, it reveals layers of freshness, spice, greenery, fruit, honey, and sometimes even earthy facets, notes Le Bihan. “Above all, it evolves continuously on the skin, unfolding with remarkable depth and complexity.”

Rose oil contains more than 200 organic compounds, Perumbully explains. Some are volatile compounds that contribute to its characteristic scent, while others are non-volatile.

“Primarily, there are two types of roses used in perfumery, which are centifolia and damascena. Both have different scent profiles based on how they are extracted.” One signal of natural rose is a non-linear scent profile. “If the scent evolves over time, has more texture, and is not very consistent, it’s natural. A synthetically created rose, on the other hand, usually smells more linear, consistent, and a bit one-dimensional.”

Synthetic ingredients can also make a formula more sustainable and precise. The quality of the fragrance and the nose behind it matter more than a simple natural-versus-synthetic binary.

“In contemporary perfumery, the most compelling creations are born from the dialogue between exceptional natural extracts and carefully selected synthetic ingredients. Each has its own role to play,” shares Le Bihan. 

“Natural rose brings complexity, texture, and an almost living quality, while synthetic materials allow the perfumer to sculpt the composition with precision, enhancing diffusion, contrast, and longevity.” A rose perfume’s appeal depends on the quality of its raw materials and the creative vision behind the blend, rather than the percentage of natural ingredients alone.

How to layer rose perfume like a pro

The most memorable fragrances often bottle contrast, and rose is built for it. 

Layering rose perfume with complementary scents offers an accessible entry point for anyone who finds a standalone floral too sweet or familiar. 

For a fresher result, Perumbully recommends pairing rose perfume with bergamot, lemon, or grapefruit-heavy scents, as well as fresh, aquatic, or tropical fragrances. 

Amber or vanilla adds warmth and power, while musk keeps the blend clean and restrained. “Rose can also be layered with sweet gourmand notes such as vanilla, chocolate, and coffee,” adds Perumbully.

Rose perfume has always held more range than its stereotype allows. Modern perfumers are drawing out its mineral, leathery, spicy, woody, and gourmand facets, while layering lets wearers build a different fragrance profile each time. The easiest route into rose is to skip the candied caricature and pay attention to the notes around it.

Artistes are intuitive creatures, and it’s Arooj Aftab’s intuition that carried her and her music from Lahore to New York, lending legitimacy to the leaps of faith she took. Growing up in Pakistan, Aftab had already started wondering as a teenager how she would’ve liked a song to be, tweaking melodies and basslines in her head, and that’s precisely what she did earlier this year with her own rendition of the iconic ‘Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)’ by the British synthpop duo Eurythmics for Riz Ahmed’s Bait.

“I thought that the [Annie Lennox] cover was a Herculean task because it's kind of an untouchable song,” Aftab says, even as the Urdu reimagining of it—an imploration of everything that’s shiny and ambitious about the world—continues to find new listeners.

The cover makes the point without labouring it: identity lives in the language and the interpretation, but never has to become the headline.

The Grammy-winning singer, songwriter, composer, and producer, who was the first Pakistani artiste to receive the honour, has been a Brooklyn resident for over 15 years, and for her, that’s still “a kind of utopia in itself.”

Pakistan, however, could not offer the ecosystem Aftab needed to become the artiste she imagined: one moving between jazz, Urdu poetry, ghazals, and electronic riffs. “You’ve got to go where the career that you've chosen actually thrives. People who want to work for oil companies or the World Bank are in DC. Hollywood is a hub for actors. New York is a hub for jazz music, and I have a background in jazz, so you've got to go where it's thriving if you want to be part of the pulse of it all. It's a bit of a no-brainer if you're serious,” she says.

Her most recent collaboration with British musician, producer, and DJ Simon Green, better known as Bonobo, is a testament to that creative utopia New York allows her to inhabit. 

From his new album Distance in Static—an electronic, downtempo, ambient production coupled with club-ready cuts in multiple languages—‘Fire on the Water,’ featuring Aftab, is an atmospheric slow-burn that blends Bonobo's textured electronica with her intimate, jazz-inflected vocal style. Built around delicate guitar, strings, and pared-back synths, it uses Aftab’s voice with restraint, but cinematically.

“I BECAME THIS HOUSEHOLD NAME OVERNIGHT. SUDDENLY, YOU'RE EXPOSED TO A WHOLE NEW AUDIENCE—PEOPLE WHO MAY NOT EVEN KNOW YOUR MUSIC, BE YOUR FANS, OR EVEN BE INTERESTED IN MUSIC" — Arooj Aftab

“He exists in this world of dance music, which can sometimes feel very vapid. But his music has always had a lot of soul to it, and it has emotional weight even within its nature,” says Aftab about Bonobo. The creative marriage leads her somewhere new, without requiring her voice to perform a fixed idea of where a South Asian artiste belongs.

Charting these novel territories, however, came at a price—of uprooting oneself repeatedly, and sometimes without the resources or the safety nets in case of a fall. But being a woman, and that too of colour, Aftab didn’t want to constantly contend with the heartache and anxiety of not only being the only female singer in the room but also lacking the technical language to articulate exactly what she wanted creatively.

It’s why, in 2005, she decided to pursue a degree in music production and engineering at Boston’s Berklee College of Music on a scholarship, so that knowledge could become a defence against being diminished in male-dominated rooms.

What Arooj Aftab’s Grammy made imaginable

Aftab is among the South Asian artistes with a major ‘first’ to her name. Her 2022 Grammy win for ‘Mohabbat’ was one of the moments that expanded what international success could look like for South Asian artistes, drawing attention to people who had long been flattened into one-dimensional caricatures on the global stage. 

The artiste remembers what followed after the win. “I became this household name overnight. Suddenly, you're exposed to a whole new audience—people who may not even know your music, be your fans, or even be interested in music. They just know that you're the first Pakistani to win a Grammy. That's a beautiful thing,” she says, about turning into a cultural shorthand for unimaginable success. “It's important because I haven't had a lot of that. I'm really glad that whatever my journey has been, it also ended up there.”

That visibility also shifted the limits of what other South Asian artistes could imagine for themselves. “As a South Asian woman, a Grammy just isn't even on the table. People have that mindset, and then they see, well, she didn't think that way. She didn't care about those limitations. She's always aimed very high. It's the courage and belief in yourself that maybe had been snuffed out a bit. That was rekindled, which is really powerful,” she says.

What it also does is open doors for a community that had remained out of reach until then, and the writing for it is on the wall. Only a year later, in 2023, Diljit Dosanjh became the first Punjabi artiste to perform at Coachella, before going on to sell out arena tours across North America and Europe. At the 2024 Grammys, Zakir Hussain won three Grammy Awards, and in the same year, rapper Hanumankind broke into the Billboard Global 200 Top 10 with ‘Big Dawgs,’ becoming one of the few Indian hip-hop artistes to achieve mainstream global chart success.

On celluloid, in 2023, M. M. Keeravani and Chandrabose won the Academy Award for Best Original Song for RRR’s ‘Naatu Naatu.’ In 2024, Payal Kapadia became the first Indian filmmaker to win the Grand Prix at Cannes for her film All We Imagine as Light, while Anasuya Sengupta became the first Indian actor to win Best Actress in Cannes' Un Certain Regard section for her role in The Shameless. Together, these milestones have invited South Asians to take up more and more room in spaces that have historically been hostile towards them.

Identity is inescapable, but Aftab refuses to let it become a creative instruction.

When identity stops being creatively useful

“When I start thinking about the intricacies of identity and whiteness—which, of course, are things we can't really escape because you see them in every moment, in every interaction—I find it can really suck you in. It doesn't lead to a musically inspiring moment for me because my work isn't in-your-face or literal. It's very surreal,” Aftab says. “The messages are there, but they're presented almost as an invitation of secrets, which is what I like. So the identity is there, but it isn't very literal in my work.”

She may resist making identity the subject of her music, but sexism isn’t easily outrun. Aftab comes prepared for that reality. “I feel like we're never just allowed to walk into a room. There's always extra work. People come in with assumptions that you have to undo before you can even begin your actual work,” she says. 

Over the years, she has entered those rooms in several roles—including that of a film editor on the Emmy-winning documentary Armed with Faith (2017)—and even if the misogyny hasn’t receded, her anxieties about how to deal with it have. “There's often a whole layer of things you have to get past first, and that's just the reality. Time and experience help with that. Achievement helps too, because if people already know and respect who you are before you arrive, they know not to mess with you,” she says.

But today, she has her hands full with composing for two upcoming films and writing for her new album, traversing a whole range in an attempt to “aggressively not try to be in a box.” She knows the world will keep searching for labels, to which her response is to keep making work that exceeds them. "I just want to expand my lungs, musically," she says.

There was a time when ordering an iced coffee in India meant receiving something blended, frothy, and perilously close to dessert. Then came cold brew, oat milk, and cafés that wanted customers to know exactly which hill their beans had come from. Vietnamese coffee entered somewhere in the middle: strong enough for the coffee purists, sweet enough for everyone else, and theatrical enough to justify filming the first drip.  

Today, Vietnamese coffee has become a familiar presence across café menus in Delhi, Gurugram, and Mumbai. At its most recognisable, it arrives as cà phê sữa đá: dark coffee brewed slowly through a metal phin, mixed with condensed milk, and poured over ice. It is bitter, creamy, and unapologetically sweet.

In India, where strong coffee and tea are widely enjoyed, Vietnamese coffee arrives with a brewing ritual of its own. 

Coffee was introduced to Vietnam by the French in the 19th century and eventually became part of everyday life. Condensed milk, which was easier to store than fresh dairy, became part of the drink’s evolving identity. 

“Today, Vietnam is a coffee-obsessed country, and coffee culture is one of the lasting influences of the French colonial period,” says Trang Nguyen, co-founder and chef, Vietnam-ease Càphê, who grew up in Vietnam. “Coffee is woven into everyday life. You'll find people drinking coffee everywhere—from tiny roadside stalls and neighbourhood cafés to bustling city coffee houses.” 

What makes Vietnamese coffee taste different?

Vietnamese coffee traditionally begins with Robusta. Compared with the Arabica beans favoured by much of the specialty-coffee world, Robusta has a fuller body, lower acidity, and a bitterness that does not disappear politely into milk.

“What makes it special isn't just the beans though—it's also how it's brewed,” says Dhruv Kalra, co-founder, Vietnam-ease Càphê.  

"Indian consumers already appreciate strong, full-bodied beverages, whether it’s filter coffee in the South or robust chai across the country" - Joy Singh

The brewing happens through a phin, a small metal drip filter that sits directly over the cup. The coffee drips slowly, usually over a layer of condensed milk, gathering concentration as it goes. 

“The slow brewing process is what gives Vietnamese coffee much of its character. It's a patient process, and that's part of the charm,” says Kalra. “The coffee slowly drips over condensed milk before being stirred together and usually poured over ice to make cà phê sữa đá. It's strong, rich, chocolatey, and incredibly satisfying.” 

“Unlike espresso machines, the phin relies entirely on gravity,” says Joy Singh, co-founder of Cafe Loco in Delhi. “This slower extraction contributes to the coffee’s concentrated flavour and distinctive body.” Condensed milk does more than provide sweetness. It rounds out Robusta’s bitterness and gives the drink its dense, almost velvety texture. Over ice, the result tastes rich without feeling entirely incompatible with a hot afternoon.

Why Vietnamese iced coffee works in India

Indian café culture has spent the past decade becoming increasingly fluent in the language of coffee. Roast levels, tasting notes, and brewing equipment now appear on menus that once stopped at cappuccino. Vietnamese coffee adds another piece of vocabulary, though it remains considerably less austere than the average pour-over.

Its strength recalls South Indian filter coffee. Its sweetness feels closer to the cold coffees many Indians grew up drinking. The ice makes it suitable for most of the year, while the slow phin drip gives the order a sense of occasion.

“Combine a bold, chocolatey coffee [with condensed milk] and plenty of ice, and you have something that's incredibly refreshing in India's climate,” says Kalra. 

The drink also benefits from looking good before it is even ready. Dark coffee falls slowly over a pale layer of condensed milk, creating the sort of contrast that café tables and phone cameras were destined to fawn over.

“It’s also highly visual, making it popular on social media, but what keeps people coming back is the flavour,” says Singh. “Indian consumers already appreciate strong, full-bodied beverages, whether it’s filter coffee in the South or robust chai across the country.” 

Vietnamese coffee is sometimes grouped with lighter iced-coffee options, although there is little restraint around the traditional condensed-milk version. Cà phê sữa đá may be the drink’s international celebrity, but Vietnamese coffee is not exclusively iced. “Vietnamese people enjoy hot coffee too, especially in the mornings,” says Nguyen. 

At Vietnam-ease Càphê, both versions appear alongside coconut coffee, a creamier variation. 

Vietnamese coffee is often flattened into a single idea, even though it is really a spectrum of ways to combine Robusta, sweetness, and ice in the same glass.

Where to find the best Vietnamese coffee in India

1. Vietnam-ease Càphê

Founded by Trang Nguyen and Dhruv Kalra, Vietnam-ease Càphê serves coffee made using an in-house blend of Robusta and Arabica beans brewed through a traditional Vietnamese phin filter. 

Alongside classic hot and iced Vietnamese coffee, the café offers a coconut Vietnamese coffee made with sweetened condensed coconut milk for a richer, creamier interpretation.  

The founders have been serving the traditional Vietnamese coffee since 2019, when the business operated as a home kitchen and supper club. 

Address: Ground Floor, Global Foyer Mall, DLF Phase 5, Gurugram, 122009
Call: 8448848212
Price: ₹345 onwards

2. Devan's Coffee & Tea

Founded by D. Vasudevan in Delhi in 1962, Devan's Coffee & Tea has long been associated with South Indian filter coffee made using beans sourced from estates in Chikmagalur, Coorg, Wayanad, and the Bababudangiris. 

The brand uses Indian beans to make its Vietnamese coffee in both hot and cold versions. The drink brings together locally sourced coffee with the slower extraction associated with Vietnamese brewing.

Address: 131, Khanna Market Road, Lodhi Colony, New Delhi, 110003
Call: 011 47072377
Price: ₹320

3. Blue Tokai Coffee Roasters

Blue Tokai Coffee Roasters was founded in 2013 by Matt Chitharanjan, Namrata Asthana, and Shivam Shahi.   

Its iced Vietnamese-style coffee, which the brand has been serving since 2016, is made using its dark-roasted Dhak Blend, which uses beans sourced from partner estates across India. 

Address: Outlets across India
Call: 9821126015
Price: ₹240 onwards

4. Nandan Coffee

Established in the early 1990s by Hansraj and Hansa Mariwala, Nandan Coffee expanded into standalone cafés in 2024. The cold Coconut coffee latte combines espresso with coconut milk, creating a smoother drink with a more restrained sweetness. The café also serves a Vietnamese protein coffee shake made with oat milk and plant protein. 

Address: Plot 51, Ground Floor, Mulla House, Jahangir Wadia Building, Homi Street, Flora Fountain, Fort, Mumbai, 400001

Call: 7738069879
Price: ₹335 onwards

5. Boojee Café

Boojee Café’s Vietnamese cold brew is bold, creamy, and built for the part of Bandra that treats coffee as an accessory to conversation. 

Founded by Rajdeep Singh Kukreja in 2019, the café also serves a coconut espresso made with coconut milk, almond milk, condensed milk, and double espresso foam. Its salted cold foam coffee pairs cold-drip coffee with a thick, savoury-sweet layer of foam over ice. 

The menu is playful rather than purist, but the drinks understand the appeal of Vietnamese coffee: intensity, texture, and enough sweetness to turn caffeine into an event.

Address: Outlets across Mumbai
Call: 9930203882
Price: ₹300 onwards

6. Subko Coffee

Subko introduced its Vietnamese Drip Cà Phê Sữa Đá in 2024 using specialty Robusta beans from Karnataka's Salawara Estate.  

The coffee is brewed through a traditional custom-etched phin over sweetened condensed milk. It retains the ceremony of the Vietnamese method while placing Indian Robusta at the centre of the cup. 

There is also a hot Vietnamese flat white made with espresso, condensed milk, and milk foam. It is smoother and less traditional, designed for drinkers who want the flavour profile without waiting for gravity. 

Address: Outlets across India
Call: 8591745691
Price: ₹330 onwards

7. Pour Over Coffee Roasters 

At Pour Over Coffee Roasters, the phin is part of the table setting.

Founded in 2025 in Delhi by Ritika Sharma, Aditya Sharma, and Umesh Kapoor, the café serves its Vietnamese coffee with the filter still in place. Customers can watch the coffee drip slowly over condensed milk, turning the wait into part of the order.

Address: Shop 11B, Rabindra Nagar, Khan Market, Delhi, 110003.

Call: 9560073888

Price: ₹295 

Indian coffee is developing its own Vietnamese accent

The growing demand for Vietnamese coffee has created a practical question for Indian cafés: how much of the cup needs to come from Vietnam? 

Imported Vietnamese coffee is more accessible than it was five years ago, but it can remain expensive for cafés to source consistently. Indian roasters are instead turning to locally grown Robusta and Robusta-Arabica blends to recreate the drink’s depth, bitterness, and dark chocolate notes.

“The biggest difference lies in the roasting,” says Kalra. “Traditionally, many Vietnamese coffees are roasted with small amounts of ingredients like butter, caramel, or even a pinch of salt, creating a distinctive flavour profile that is uniquely Vietnamese.”

Vietnam-ease Càphê has worked with Bengaluru’s Black Baza Coffee to develop a blend using sustainably sourced, forest-friendly Indian Robusta and Arabica beans.

Indian Robusta itself has undergone a reputational shift. Once treated as the less sophisticated relative of Arabica, it is increasingly being handled with the same attention to growing conditions, processing, and roasting.

What Indian cafés are serving, then, is often an adaptation: Vietnamese in method or inspiration, Indian in origin, and increasingly comfortable with the distinction.

Not every iced coffee with condensed milk is Vietnamese coffee

As soon as a drink becomes popular, its definition tends to loosen.

On some Indian café menus, ‘Vietnamese coffee’ now means iced espresso sweetened with condensed milk. The drink may be enjoyable. It may even taste convincingly close. But without Robusta or the slow phin extraction, it is better understood as Vietnamese-style coffee.

“In many cafés, it simply refers to an iced espresso with condensed milk,” says Kalra. “While that's certainly inspired by Vietnamese coffee, it usually doesn't take into account the traditional phin brewing method that gives the coffee its distinctive flavour and texture, nor the Robusta beans which makes the taste so special.” 

“Versions like coconut coffee, egg coffee, and salted coffee showcase just how creative Vietnamese coffee culture really is"- Dhruv Kalra 

Purity is not necessarily the only measure of a good cup. Food and drink change as they travel, particularly when ingredients, equipment, and customer preferences shift. Clarity, however, helps. There is a difference between reproducing a tradition and borrowing its most marketable parts.

It also prevents Vietnamese coffee from being reduced to condensed milk over ice. Egg coffee, coconut coffee, and salted coffee reveal a culture far more inventive than the single drink most international menus have selected to represent it.

“Egg coffee is almost a dessert in a glass, while salted coffee is unexpectedly complex and beautifully balanced,” says Kalra. “Versions like coconut coffee, egg coffee, and salted coffee showcase just how creative Vietnamese coffee culture really is.” 

Indian cafés have already embraced the sweetness and spectacle of Vietnamese coffee. The next phase may involve discovering everything that came before, after, and alongside cà phê sữa đá.

In the 1990s, before entertainment became available on demand, FM radio in India was one of the country’s most defining cultural mediums, offering access to film star interviews and new music. 

It was almost a ritual. Switching on the stereo, sifting through the stations, adjusting the frequency and antenna to reduce the static, and then waiting for the familiar voice of the radio jockey (RJ) at the same time each day or week. 

By the early 2000s, FM radio in India had turned that ritual into something distinctly local. Radio offered a quick sense of what was happening in the city, alongside new music and familiar songs. Shows on local FM radio stations varied across cities, shaped by references, language, and concerns that meant something to the people listening. 

RJ Malishka, born Malishka Mendonsa, remembers the old-school stereo in her family home being switched on every evening. She would hear RJ Ameen Sayani’s iconic sign-on of ‘behno aur bhaiyo’ while he hosted Binaca Geetmala on the Sri Lankan Radio Ceylon.

The show aired in Mumbai after 1952, when the Indian government banned film music on All India Radio (AIR), which was tagged as “too Westernised.” The radio station got so popular that AIR lifted the ban in 1957. “I still remember the cadence of Ameen Sayani’s voice. And everyone would hum along to the songs. Listening to the radio was a big thing back then,” says Mendonsa.

For Andrea Hooper, 35, a marketing professional who grew up in Delhi,  the radio was company during hour-long college commutes in the late 2000s. "There were no streaming apps, video, or audio. So, radio was what kept me company. Even earlier, Live Wire, hosted by Raman Bhanot, was the radio channel that introduced me to new English songs. I would go buy the cassette for it after that,” she says.

She also remembers the jokes, RJ banter, and traffic updates her father relied on before Google Maps. During power cuts, the family’s transistor radio carried cricket scores. 

The ritual looks very different today. Streaming platforms, social media, and podcasts now occupy much of the time and attention once held by radio. 

In 2026, Ishq 104.8 FM, Radio Nasha in Mumbai, Radio One in Delhi, Mumbai, and Bengaluru, Red FM’s Magic FM in Mumbai, and Fever FM in Chennai, surrendered their licences. 

Every city has a soundscape. For two decades, private FM helped shape it. As broadcasters surrender licences and consolidate operations, Indian cities are losing one of their last distinctly local cultural institutions. 

“When the internet came in, we thought it would be democratic. But the radio was where the actual exchange of original ideas was happening, and opinions were being formed. The internet turned out to just be an echo chamber,” says RJ Sangram aka Sangram Khopade, 44, a Pune-based RJ who has been in the industry for 25 years. 

How FM radio in India became hyperlocal 

For two decades, private FM radio in India shaped a city’s unique voice. Private stations changed radio from a national broadcast medium into a daily, city-specific habit.

For decades, India’s domestic radio landscape was dominated by AIR, launched in 1936 under the direct control of the Government of India.

“PRIVATE FM OPERATES ON GOVERNMENT-ISSUED LICENCES, CARRIES FIXED SPECTRUM-LINKED COSTS REGARDLESS OF WHAT IT EARNS”— Nisha Narayanan

In 1993, the government began leasing two-hour slots to private players in Delhi and Mumbai. In 2001, private sector participation expanded through open auctions, with licenses granted to 22 private stations across 12 cities, including Bengaluru, Kolkata, Chennai, Goa, Hyderabad, Jaipur, and Lucknow. 

Unlike their digital competitors, private FM channels could not, and still cannot, broadcast news. They began as music programmes that evolved into shows where listeners could request songs.

As their reach grew, radio stations in India began exploring audio entertainment for different audiences and times of day. They set up tailored shows for solo commuters or those driving to and from work in the mornings and evenings, housewives in the afternoons, college kids in late afternoons, and those tuning in late at night. 

The schedule changed with the hour. The tone changed with the city.

This hyperlocal, city-based approach became radio’s defining strength. The humour, slang, traffic updates, late-night conversations, and music reflected the rhythm of the city in ways no national platform could. 

“Every region has a different language and nuances in the way it’s spoken and terms are used. Just the zeitgeist differs from Pune to Nagpur. An RJ needs to be someone who understands that and so, needs to be a resident of the area they want to speak to,” says Khopade.

This was a requirement that Suren Sundaram, the RJ who hosts the Mirchi Top 20 show, understood when he moved from Delhi to Mumbai in 2007. “Even the way people spoke about traffic was different. In Mumbai, a local train delay is not a minor inconvenience—it can change the mood of the entire city,” he says. 

Sundaram spent the first six months in Mumbai speaking with locals and watching Marathi films. He even asked Radio Mirchi to keep him off air till he was truly ready to entertain the city.

Being an RJ was about more than having a resonant voice. It was about how well they could connect with listeners, which subjects they chose to discuss, and the opinions they shared. 

Since radio channels were hyperlocal, RJs also used their on air time to launch campaigns addressing local conditions and civic concerns. 

Mendonsa was part of the ‘Don’t be Horny’ road safety and anti-noise pollution initiative, launched with the Mumbai Police in 2015, dissuading people from incessant honking on roads.

She has also worked on the ‘Bajao for a Cause’ campaign, launched in 2007, that crowdfunded money for different charities in India. The money donated was evidence of not just the radio’s reach in the early 2000s but also of the trust listeners placed in their local radio shows and jockeys.

“PROMOTING CONTENT IN MAINSTREAM LANGUAGES LIKE HINDI INSTEAD OF MARATHI, BIHARI, ETC, WAS A MISTAKE” —RJ Sangram aka Sangram Khopade

“Radio was the only medium of change—and still is—because it’s live and current. You can inform people about the weather, get answers from an authority figure for a civic issue, and even make people move in real time, which is exactly what traffic radio blasts did,” says Mendonsa.  

Much of that information came directly from listeners, allowing the exchange to build a sense of civic empathy. 

How radio jockeys became India’s original audio celebrities

By the early 2000s, radio jockeys in India had become celebrities with instantly recognisable voices—even though listeners had never seen their faces. 

This status made being an RJ a sought-after profession, and opened up opportunities in theatre, television, and film production, even though the earnings from radio itself remained modest. 

“Being an RJ had power because being a recognised voice helped financial prospects come in with voiceover projects, hosting rock concerts, or stage shows, getting into emceeing and anchoring,” says Raman Bhanot, a sports commentator and broadcaster, who made his debut as an RJ in 1995 and worked in radio for a decade. 

He later explored radio ad production, set up his own studio, and started making radio ads and jingles. 

RJs became celebrities of a different kind. Millions of listeners spent hours with them, shared stories, requested songs, and measured their daily commutes around familiar time slots. The relationship was built through voice, routine, and imagination rather than visibility.

“Audio storytelling or conversation opens up the mind to original thought since how a listener processes a person or scene depends solely on the audio, and hence, on the listener’s personal taste, preference, memory, and experience—which is unique to everyone, and feels more personal. When a keen listener starts enjoying that and finds it relevant, the listener builds a connection with the show and the RJ. It’s a relationship that matures over time,” says Annie Arakkal.

Arakkal began work as an RJ in 2006 on 92.5 Go FM, and later hosted the national radio show Afternoons with Annie on 94.3 Radio One, before calling it quits in 2024.

The intimacy often survived even after people moved away from the platform. “People think of the RJ as a friend. On Instagram, people see a curated version of someone. On the radio they hear the same voice while they're driving alone, studying at 2 am, recovering from a breakup, or unwinding after a difficult day. The radio can make a stranger feel less alone for a few minutes,” says Sundaram. 

That sense of companionship led listeners to approach RJs for advice or simply to share what they were going through.  

“So many people would call me up and pour their hearts out, including detailed stories of their divorce or breakup,” says Mendonsa. The connection was so strong that some listeners even named their children after her. 

Bhanot, who hosted the dial-in request show Live Wire every Sunday from 10 pm–11 pm on FM Rainbow for five years, played Cupid several times. “Callers would talk in detail about their breakup and even ask for advice, dedicate songs to their partners after a fight, and request me to call their partner on their behalf,” says Bhanot. He often did.

“They were not pre-recorded or doctored calls but real-time calls where listeners conveyed messages to their loved ones. Which made all the difference,” Bhanot says, about the AIR live segment. 

What helped listeners open up was the fact that the conversation between an RJ and a caller felt one-on-one—even when it was being heard by millions. 

Why podcasts and streaming changed radio listening in India

Today’s audio landscape is fragmented across streaming platforms, podcasts, and personalised playlists, each shaped by a different combination of algorithms, subscriptions, and audience metrics.

“There’s no element of surprise that the radio had. When you know what's coming next, it becomes repetitive,” points out Divya Solgama, a Mumbai-based RJ and content head who worked at Radio Nasha till it shuttered.

Streaming has also fragmented the shared clock that regular programming once created. Listeners would wait for their radio shows, which aired at the same time on a weekly or daily basis—a routine shared by everyone tuning in. If they missed the programme, there was rarely a way to hear it again.

Podcasts can create their own intimacy, but they rarely reproduce radio’s particular combination of live participation, local context, and collective thinking. 

A radio listener could call in and immediately share something with thousands of other people across the same city. Podcast audiences usually respond after the episode has been recorded, through comments, clips, and social media. A podcast host addresses an audience. A local RJ often addressed a neighbourhood, a traffic jam, or a city already in a particular mood.

Many of India’s most visible podcasts now arrive as video, packaged for YouTube, Instagram, and an audience raised on visual social media.

“But, a lot of people watch video podcasts but are only just listening to the audio, while doing chores, etc, not watching the video. So, the audio-only market is huge and growing, and will sustain,” says Khopade.

“RADIO CAN GIVE A VOICE TO THE COMMON CITIZEN THAT EVEN STAND UP COMEDY CAN’T IN INDIA” —RJ Malishka aka Malishka Mendonsa

But India’s Gen Z isn’t listening to the radio—most only know it as something their parents listened to. 

A 2026 study in the South India Journal of Social Sciences titled Gen Z and Podcasts: What They’re Listening to and Why in the Digital Age states that India's Gen Z has largely abandoned traditional FM radio for Spotify and YouTube due to advertising-heavy programming and repetitive or overly talkative RJs. 

Radio’s dependence on advertising has made the listening experience increasingly interruptive. 

“Advertisements are what irritate people the most. And if paying a premium gets rid of them, it’s no longer a free radio station that everyone can access,” says Mendonsa. 

Radio in India is also losing physical visibility. Many cars no longer have the prominent radio dial. “Most 4G and 5G smartphones in India have an FM chip built in but manufacturers keep it switched off by default due to commercial interest in streaming,” says Nisha Narayanan, Director and COO, Red FM.

Commercial pressure has also nudged some stations away from the linguistic specificity that once made private FM radio in India distinctive. As stations chase larger audiences, local language, slang, and references can become easier to dilute.

“Promoting content in mainstream languages like Hindi instead of Marathi, Bihari, etc, was a mistake. But those were decisions made by those who come from a certain socio-economic strata, class, and caste. Who considered the English language to be more cosmopolitan and a sign of being upwardly mobile, versus Marathi which was considered ‘down market,’” says Khopade, who is quitting RJ-ing in September 2026.

The future of radio in India also depends on the financial and regulatory conditions under which stations operate.

“Spotify, JioSaavn, and YouTube Music operate in India without spectrum licence fees, content restrictions, or public service obligations. Private FM operates on government-issued licences, carries fixed spectrum-linked costs regardless of what it earns, and pays an 18 per cent GST when comparable media sectors pay five per cent,” says Narayanan.

“Plus, radio stations need to invest in distinctive personalities as RJs. Because even though technology changes with every decade, the human need for conversation, to have someone to hear them out and give empathetic feedback, doesn’t,” says Sundaram.  

What Indian cities lose when local FM radio goes silent

When a local station disappears, a city loses more than a frequency. It loses a public conversation shaped by people who understood its language, frustrations, humour, and pace.

The silencing of radio also takes away the voice the medium gave people through shows that discussed issues affecting that specific region. These were dial-in shows that people called in to, hosted by RJs who knew the city and represented the people living there. 

During the Chennai floods in 2015, RJ Balaji broadcast real-time information about rescue and shelter operations on Big FM 92.7 and helped crowdsource rescue efforts when conventional communication and electricity failed. 

“Even though radio feels personal, it has always been community-oriented. It can spread awareness with a call to action. Today, radio can give a voice to the common citizen that even stand up comedy can’t in India,” says Mendonsa, emphasising that it’s important for radio to pivot and avoid going silent. 

That public-service function remains relevant when internet services are disrupted and WhatsApp, Instagram, or even regular calls become inaccessible.

Streaming can give every listener exactly what they want, whenever they want it. Radio once gave an entire city something to hear together.

A high-production shoot is built to leave very little to chance. Lights, hair, make-up, styling, props, and monitors shape the image before the shutter clicks, with a crew making sure every detail behaves. 

Other photography styles rely on a different kind of control: knowing when to wait, when to follow instinct, and when the moment in front of the camera is already enough.

These approaches usually occupy different worlds. The 2027 Pirelli Calendar, centred on India, brings them into the same frame. 

Norwegian photographer Sølve Sundsbø is known for images shaped through elaborate production, experimentation, and technology, while the late Indian photographer Raghu Rai built his practice around instinct and observation, responding to people and places as they unfolded before him. One constructs the conditions for an image; the other waits for the image to reveal itself.  

Rai spent three months developing an original body of work for the calendar before his passing. His daughter, photographer Avani Rai, later took over the project, continuing the series rooted in his relationship with India while bringing her own eye to its completion. 

“This [project] is about a way of looking at or looking through and seeing something new, finding the ordinary experiences of life, and turning them into something extraordinary,” says Rai, who focused on trying not to mirror her father as she continued the project.  

Sundsbø, who says Raghu has been his lens into India, recognised that his work would provide a contrasting complement to Raghu’s visual legacy, which emerged from a very different relationship to realism, spontaneity, and photojournalism. 

Placed side by side, these differing image economies go beyond aesthetic contrast: one is designed for seamless global circulation across magazines, ad campaigns, and screens, while the other is rooted in place, unpredictability, and lived observation.

Documentary photography has to notice everything

Avani learnt from her father that documentary style photography depends on attention to every inch of the frame. “Because what’s happening in every inch of space matters—there is no dead space; everything should feel alive. Everything in your viewfinder connects, disconnects, and moves—there is a rhythm to life that exists in there. When a photographer is awake to every little space in that frame, that’s when a connection happens—the frame feels alive,” she says, recalling how her father taught her to remain awake to every moment in that viewfinder. 

“Every frame has to be responsible and respect the moment being photographed—a moment that speaks to you as a photographer,” says Rai. 

That responsibility also means resisting preconceived ideas of what the image should become. “It’s not about putting your views, ideas, and thoughts into what you are shooting or what it should look like. Because the mind starts copying or using memory, and replicating work you think is good. You need to take those visuals out of your system and ask yourself—where are we, who are we, and what is the space saying?”  

Her father’s lessons were less about technical instructions, such as how a subject should smile, pose, or move, and more about remaining responsive to the space in front of the camera. 

Fashion photography is built on control

Those decisions become especially important in fashion photography and advertorial campaigns, where an image must often work across several formats—print, billboards, Instagram crops, and moving images. 

“So, of course, when you shoot for a project like the 2027 Pirelli Calendar, the photographer is already thinking about how the image will eventually circulate and how it will look,” says Sundsbø. 

Yet Sundsbø sees one point of alignment between the two photography styles. “A photographer’s primary thought is to be mindful of the responsibility they have to the talent they are collaborating with, who has trusted the photographer enough to be a subject,” he says. 

For the 2027 Pirelli Calendar, Sundsbø chose more straight photography. The complexity was built into the visual set, so the photographs needed little alteration afterwards. 

Contemporary image culture rewards polished, adaptable, and endlessly reproducible photographs, a demand intensified by algorithmic distribution. This has made photo editing a more visible part of the photographic process. 

Rai sees this most clearly among younger photographers, who may spend more time editing and distributing images than shooting them.

“But street life, journalistic life, and other such documentation of the times we live in has to stand for itself. Removing or adding things to it isn’t an option. Now, in the case of something more related to advertising or that’s fashion-oriented, a photographer is free to play with it post-production to make the image stronger for it, depending on the subject,” she says.

“But every photograph is manipulated, whether it tries to be or not,” says Sundsbø, who explains that pointing a camera at a person automatically excludes everything else—the smell, the sound, the rest of the room. The frame and what’s visible also differ depending on whether the photographer uses  a long lens or a wide-angle. 

“Photography doesn't try to tell the truth. It always lies, whether it wants to or not,” adds Sundsbø.

In fashion photography, the hair, make-up, styling, controlled lighting, and constructed set are already forms of manipulation. “So, even if I don't manipulate the image afterwards, the image is manipulated by the time I take it, in a way. Then you can take it further and make people thinner and stretch them and take away pimples, which is what people mostly react to. The problem arises when the manipulation goes to the point where it's got nothing to do with what you actually took a picture of in the first place,” says Sundsbø. 

Artificial Intelligence (AI) extends that question further. Rai hasn’t tinkered with AI, though she has seen it used in advertising. 

“But in photography, it can’t be used to complete an image. I don't want to be a purist. But, how much is too much, and at what point for any creative person does the art form, especially photography, lose?” says Rai. 

Instagram photography made style a feedback loop

Does photography lose something when slower, place-based images are reformatted to move through today’s algorithmic systems? 

“Today, there's immediate validation due to which people start to do similar work because they’re getting more likes. So your brain also starts working that way where you want immediate validation. Which dies out in a day. And when you're validated so quickly, you don't look further, and the art form gets compromised when it doesn’t push creativity further,” says Rai, admitting that Instagram is an important medium through which she has bagged multiple projects.

Still, she avoids sharing personal work because the space is too small for viewers to pay attention to every detail.  

“Also, as dad would say—trends come and go, but an image has to last forever. That’s why I'm not going to put my work out for it to trend or for that image to die out eventually,” says Rai. She has also observed photographers and other creatives getting stuck in the rut of imitating their own work and calling it their ‘style,’ a form of being imprisoned within one’s own frame. 

“They’re doing the same version of a kind of photography which is not respecting the subject or the location or the people,” says Rai. That repetition is especially limiting in documentary-style photography, where photographers may  spend years trying to get a moment in time right and figure out what that moment means. 

What two photography styles reveal about how India is seen

That attention to place has defined Raghu Rai’s photography for decades, largely untouched by the demands of global image circulation. It is also why Avani returned to the streets for the calendar.

“My father would have never chosen to shoot in a studio,” she says. 

Today, as India is being visually packaged differently for international audiences, the criteria for a successful photograph are also changing. “Today, everybody has a camera. And people have a new way of viewing photographs. Irrespective of their philosophies, if something connects, it does. Philosophies don't matter—then it's just a great image,” says Rai. 

The 2027 Pirelli Calendar becomes a rare instance in which both modes coexist, offering a glimpse into the politics of visual translation: which textures, mediums,  and forms of labour survive global distribution, and which are edited out along the way.

Rai firmly believes that even as AI moves  photography towards something else, people will eventually return to the original, an image made through connection, caught in time and allowed to last beyond a trend. 

Algorithms may improve recall, but they cannot create the emotion that makes a photograph endure.

Ubtan predates the serum shelf. Traditionally made from powdered turmeric, saffron, dried flowers, and multani mitti, ubtan powder can function as a cleanser, mask, and physical exfoliator. In a contemporary routine built around retinoids, acids, and barrier serums, that versatility can also become its complication. 

The practical questions are simpler: how abrasive is the blend, what else is already on the skin, and how comfortable is the barrier?

What is ubtan?

There is no single ubtan formula. Its ingredients and binding agents traditionally vary according to skin type, season, and the concern being addressed. Turmeric, sandalwood, multani mitti, saffron, and other botanicals may be combined with milk, water, aloe vera, yoghurt, rose water, or malai before application. 

“In Ayurveda, each ingredient is selected with a specific purpose to gently cleanse the skin while supporting its natural balance, according to an individual’s skin type, current needs, and the season,” says Dr Taruna Yadav, head of research and communication at Forest Essentials. “These botanicals are traditionally sun-dried and hand-pounded into a fine powder. As ubtans are dry, anhydrous formulations prepared without water, they do not typically require preservatives, allowing the botanical blend to remain true to its traditional form.”

Before face washes, cleansers, and face masks became bathroom staples, homemade ubtan was used across Indian households. 

“Ubtan powders are among the earliest forms of personalised skincare, described as part of dinacharya (daily self-care) and saundarya chikitsa (Ayurvedic beauty care) in classical texts such as the Charaka Samhita and Sushruta Samhita,” says Yadav. “More than a cleanser, an ubtan is a ritual that gently exfoliates, removes impurities, and supports varnya, meaning healthy complexion and skin clarity.” 

Its long history, however, does not make every formulation suitable for every face.

‘Natural,’ ‘Ayurvedic,’ or ‘homemade’ does not automatically imply non-irritating or suitable for every Indian skin type, notes dermatologist Dr Jaishree Sharad. “Traditional ubtans may temporarily leave the skin feeling smoother and looking brighter because they remove surface oil, sweat, and loosely attached dead skin cells. Some ingredients, particularly turmeric, also contain compounds with anti-inflammatory and antioxidant activity.”

A traditional ingredient and a standardised dermatological extract are also not equivalent. “The efficacy and safety of a botanical depends on its species, purity, concentration, extraction process, vehicle, pH, stability, and contact time,” Sharad adds. 

Ubtan vs chemical exfoliants: how they work

An ubtan and a chemical exfoliant may both leave the skin feeling smoother, but they operate differently.

Ubtan powder works largely through physical friction and absorption. Chemical exfoliants such as lactic acid, glycolic acid, mandelic acid, salicylic acid, and polyhydroxy acids act through defined chemical mechanisms and can be formulated at controlled concentrations and pH levels.

“Ubtans are perhaps Ayurveda’s original multitaskers; they can be used as a cleanser, a gentle exfoliator, or a mask,” says Yadav. “They may be used daily for cleansing or once or twice a week as an exfoliating or skin-conditioning ritual, depending on individual skin needs. ” 

Modern masks and chemical exfoliants, by comparison, are formulated with specific active ingredients to deliver targeted and often faster cosmetic benefits.

“I don't see them as competing approaches, but as complementary ones,” adds Yadav.

According to Sharad, a mask containing glycerin, ceramides, colloidal oatmeal, niacinamide, or a standardised clay can be selected according to a specific concern, such as dehydration, barrier impairment, or excess oil. An ubtan is less predictable because household ingredients and proportions vary. “However, neither are scientifically researched, nor have any evidence-based data as compared with chemical exfoliants.”

Stronger exfoliation is not automatically more effective.

“Excessive chemical exfoliation can also disrupt the barrier and trigger irritation or pigmentation, particularly in skin of colour,” says Sharad.

The overlap matters more than the apparent opposition. Both an abrasive ubtan and a chemical exfoliant can contribute to over-exfoliation, sensitivity, and skin-barrier disruption when used too frequently. 

Can ubtan and active ingredients be used together?

Ubtan and active ingredients can coexist, but compatibility depends on the complete routine.

Serums, essences, and ampoules do not necessarily create a need for more exfoliation, Sharad explains. “In fact, a person already using retinoids, vitamin C at a low pH, benzoyl peroxide, or prescription acne medication may already have increased skin turnover or barrier sensitivity. Adding an abrasive ubtan can then lead to cumulative irritation.”

Astha Katpitia, head of Shankara Naturals India, agrees, “Since an ubtan already provides gentle exfoliation, it is best to avoid layering products containing AHAs, BHAs, PHAs, retinoids, and physical scrubs or polishes as that can lead to over-exfoliation and temporarily compromise the skin’s natural barrier. Instead, follow with hydrating and barrier-supporting products such as a soothing serum, moisturiser, or facial oil to replenish the skin.”

This does not exclude ubtan from a modern skincare routine, but its compatibility depends on what the routine already contains. Consider which active ingredients are already being used, how frequently they are applied, and whether the skin feels comfortable, tight, or irritated. The ubtan itself matters too, particularly whether it is finely milled or abrasive and whether it contains fragrance, essential oils, or other potential irritants. These factors determine whether it complements the routine or adds another source of irritation. 

How to use ubtan powder with actives

The texture and frequency of use matter as much as the ingredients.

“As a daily cleanser, mix it into a light paste using rose water, milk, aloe vera juice, or a suitable herbal decoction, massage it gently onto the skin, and rinse it off immediately,” recommends Yadav. 

Sharad advises patch-testing the formulation on the jawline or behind the ear before applying it across the face, and applying it to damp rather than dry skin. “Leave it on for approximately five to 10 minutes; do not allow it to become extremely dry and cracked. For most tolerant skin, once every one or two weeks is sufficient. It should not be considered a compulsory step.”

The recommendations describe different forms of use. A finely milled powder rinsed away immediately is different from an abrasive scrub or a face pack left to dry. Someone already using retinoids, exfoliating acids, or acne medication should follow the more conservative schedule.

Before incorporating an ubtan in the skincare routine, it is important to verify its authentic preparation, given that the market is flooded with adulterated blends. At times, the irritants in compromised formulations are the problem, and not ubtan itself. 

When choosing an ubtan, look for ingredient transparency, high-quality botanicals, and formulations that stay true to Ayurvedic principles while addressing contemporary skincare needs, suggests Katpitia. Besides the usual suspects, neem, sandalwood, papaya, rose, chickpea, and licorice can be beneficial ingredients to look out for. “A genuine ubtan should leave the skin feeling clean, comfortable, balanced, and nourished, never stripped or overly dry.” 

“Essential oils, including sandalwood oil, are documented causes of contact allergy. Applying concentrated oils or fragranced mixtures repeatedly can increase sensitisation risk,” says Sharad. She also recommends avoiding ubtan for a week before and after procedures such as chemical peels, lasers, microneedling, or dermaplaning.

Who should use and avoid ubtan powder?

Whether ubtan powder feels beneficial or irritating depends on skin type, formulation, and the rest of the routine.

Sharad recommends it primarily for normal, mildly oily, and non-sensitive skin types. “For oily skin, a basic, fragrance-free mixture of finely milled besan or colloidal oatmeal with water may be preferable to a complex recipe containing oils, milk, perfume, and multiple herbs,” she says. 

People with sensitive, reactive, inflamed, or irritated skin should avoid it. The same applies to those experiencing rosacea, atopic dermatitis, eczema, or sunburn. Those with active acne should not scrub pustules or inflamed lesions. Friction can aggravate inflammation and increase the risk of post-acne pigmentation.

“Those with melasma or a tendency to pigmentation should also avoid aggressive rubbing,” says Sharad. “In Indian and other richly pigmented skin, inflammation itself can activate melanogenesis and worsen uneven pigmentation.” 

Ubtan can share a routine with serums, toners, and active ingredients. Its usefulness depends on particle size, frequency, and the condition of the skin barrier. In a routine already doing plenty, another exfoliating step may add less than expected.

The impact of social media begins where fantasy hardens into expectation. A face can be softened, a body recast, a room staged, a relationship narrated, and a personality rewritten. Repeat the image often enough and fantasy becomes a standard. Reality is less accommodating.

Social media exploits that gap. It learns what holds attention, sharpens the fantasy, and supplies the tools to step inside it. The user becomes both audience and protagonist, consuming an imagined life while quietly auditioning for it.

“Social media, especially with Gen Z’s focus on aesthetics, is changing what people all over—not just in India—consider desirable,” says Ketaki Chowkhani, assistant professor, Manipal Institute of Social Sciences, Humanities, and Arts. 

That influence extends beyond appearance. Once an aesthetic becomes a recognisable type, it begins to carry instructions about where to eat, what to buy, how to speak, and which version of the self is worth presenting. The feed packages fantasy into a lifestyle, then offers the products, language, and community required to perform it.

The effect is not always straightforwardly negative. Online fantasy can offer language for desires that remain unspoken, access to communities absent offline, and a way to imagine beyond the limits of body, class, or geography. 

The tension begins when repeated, ranked, and commercially reinforced fantasies become the standard against which ordinary life is assessed. The offline self can start to feel incoherent beside the polished identity on screen.

How social media algorithms personalise online fantasy 

On social media, the journey from encountering an image to accepting it as an ideal can be swift and subtle. 

“If you linger on a certain body type, face, aesthetic, or sexualised archetype, you may be shown increasingly refined versions of it. You look, the algorithm learns, it shows you more. Desire can become a feedback loop,” says Leeza Mangaldas, sex educator and founder of sexual wellness and intimacy brand Leezu's.

Algorithms appear to supply more of what already attracts attention. A 2025 review of research on echo chambers and ‘information cocoons’ found that algorithmic curation can amplify confined information environments by recommending content based on previous interactions, preferences, and behaviours. Existing inclinations are reinforced while alternatives become less visible.

Applied to fantasy, a passing interest can begin occupying an increasingly large part of the feed. One way of looking, living, or desiring appears dominant, partly because competing possibilities have receded from view. The fantasy begins to feel established, personal, and self-selected.

In a 2025 opinion article published in Frontiers in Psychology, researcher Jeena Joseph describes this digitally mediated identity as the “algorithmic self.” Recommendation systems, predictive models, and behavioural data increasingly participate in how people interpret their preferences and construct a coherent account of who they are.

Joseph uses Spotify Wrapped, an annual algorithmic event, as a familiar example. The platform collects a year of listening behavior and returns it as a polished narrative about taste and personality. The data is personal; the meaning assigned to it is platform-authored. What someone played becomes evidence of who they are. 

Social media performs a similar operation continuously. It records what someone watches, pauses over, saves, and revisits, then returns those patterns as increasingly precise recommendations. Attention becomes preference, preference becomes a category, and the category begins to resemble identity.

The same systems can introduce people to language, communities, and possibilities absent from their immediate surroundings. The tension emerges when the platform’s interpretation of behaviour begins to carry more authority than introspection itself. 

The impact of social media on identity and desire

Fantasy once had clearer boundaries. It could be located in cinema, magazines, fiction, celebrity culture, or private imagination. Contemporary online content has made it ambient, placing it between messages from friends, shopping recommendations, work emails, and photographs from ordinary life.

It has also made fantasy participatory. An image can supply the aesthetic, products, language, and community required to perform a possible self, while attention from others validates the result.

Fantasy has moved from being privately imagined to being continually produced, commercially packaged, algorithmically personalised, and publicly performed. 

The visual effects of this process were among the first to be named. In 2019, The New Yorker writer Jia Tolentino used “Instagram Face” to describe an increasingly similar look produced through filters, cosmetic procedures, and repeated social media imagery.

The same logic now extends beyond faces. Online culture organises relationships, careers, homes, and lifestyles into recognisable types. Each arrives with visual and behavioural codes that can be understood within seconds.

Identity has always involved performance. Social media makes that performance easier to package through familiar visual cues. A large-scale analysis of 2.5 million Instagram selfies found recurring identity signals around wealth, health, and attractiveness, showing how selected details can stand in for a larger account of the self.

The clean girl, soft boy, tradwife, gym obsessive, or old-money romantic is more than an aesthetic. Each is a readymade character with an implied body, wardrobe, vocabulary, relationship, and consumer life.

Dr Prerna Kohli, psychologist and founder of MindTribe, says she hears a narrower range of answers from young people when she asks what they consider attractive than she did 15 years ago. 

“In India, where internet use has expanded quickly across younger generations and small towns, young people are increasingly measuring themselves not against real peers but against curated, edited, and commercially driven images. Repeated exposure has a well-documented psychological effect—familiarity tends to increase preference. So the standard doesn't just reflect our taste; it quietly shapes it,” she explains. 

A ready-made identity can make a possible self easier to imagine. It can also reduce that possibility to another recognisable type.

Can online fantasy expand identity?

Fantasy is capable of opening the self as well as narrowing it.

“Social media can make people feel that they can exist beyond the boundaries within which they actually live, making it a prime space for all sorts of fantasy,” Sanjay Srivastava, Professor of Anthropology, SOAS University of London, told The Established.

For people whose immediate surroundings offer limited ways of discussing gender, sexuality, desire, ambition, or alternative lifestyles, online fantasy can provide language before it provides a template.

It can make a queer identity visible before someone has encountered openly queer people offline. It can allow experimentation with gender and presentation. It can make lives beyond class or geography imaginable. It can reveal forms of intimacy, work, and self-expression that local culture may not acknowledge.

In 2018, Anish Talpade, 29, a Mumbai-based comic artist and animator, started making comic strips inspired by dad jokes he never dared to crack in public. It was a way to explore his humour through the art he made and posted on Instagram, which found an audience. “It helped me express a part of myself and shaped my humour in real life,” says Talpade. 

When he wanted to explore deeper, darker themes that didn’t fit with the comics, he created his own manga series Endless. “It talks about how the trauma people have gone through is a big part of how people react to things in life. It worked because manga is usually associated with fantasy and is more adult-oriented, with recurring themes of politics and sex. It’s also easily accessible in India,” he says. 

Online personas give users the space to explore parts of their identity—humour, fantasy, desire—that cannot always be expressed in the real world. 

That capacity matters in India, where family, gender, class, and geography can shape which identities feel available in everyday life. Research on adolescent identity development suggests social media can provide space for exploration and self-presentation, while supportive online feedback can strengthen self-acceptance.

A recent study of LGBTQ+ youth found that strategic self-presentation could produce meaningful changes in how participants understood themselves, although platform norms and mixed audiences also constrained authentic expression.

Online fantasy has become a dressing room for the self. An aesthetic can be tried on, a vocabulary borrowed, an identity rehearsed before it enters ordinary life.

The complication is that platforms favour recognisable characters. What begins as an escape from one category can harden into another—cleaner, more coherent, and easier to circulate.

Fantasy can enlarge the range of possible selves. Repetition can also narrow it, until the most legible version starts to feel inevitable.

However, an oversaturation of optimised content might also lead to desire forming in opposition to the dominant culture. When everyone looks the same and follows the same template of what’s considered desirable, no one is memorable.

Kohli recently had a male patient in his 30s who said he felt he had “settled” when he married his wife. “There was a pattern—an hour or two of scrolling content built around a particular look on most nights and he had begun making small comments about his partner’s hair, clothes, weight, etc. It made an ordinary relationship feel like a mistake, which is a quieter kind of damage.” His partner began dressing differently, then stopped enjoying being looked at at all. 

How online content shapes fantasy in India 

Desire in India has long been shaped by cinema, advertising, family expectations, class, caste, gender, and ideas of social mobility. Social platforms accelerate and personalise forces that already existed. 

“For many young people, the first education they receive about what a ‘sexy woman’ or a ‘desirable man’ looks like may not come from conversations with real people at all but from a screen,” says Mangaldas. 

That screen may contain Bollywood, Instagram, Pinterest, and dating profiles, relationship creators, advertisements, or sexually explicit material. Together, they provide scripts for how desirability should look, speak, and behave. 

“But these desires were already shaped by patriarchy and capitalism in the first place. Whether it’s men gravitating towards petite, fair women, or some women finding a man who can whisk them away to fully paid vacations attractive. Technology industrialises reality. Social media platforms take these two forces, bring them together, and amplify the desire they produce,” explains Sukhnidh Kaur, Mumbai-based author and researcher. 

Technology does not arrive as a neutral source of new fantasies. It inherits existing ideas about fairness, femininity, masculinity, wealth, power, and sexual availability, then packages them as personalised content. A fantasy can feel individually chosen even when its architecture is culturally familiar.

Kaur’s work examines how this logic extends to newer technologies. A sex robot, for example, offers a partner who can be controlled and who has no desire of its own. 

“That usefulness is the ultimate patriarchal fetish,” she says.

The larger fantasy is less about sex robots than the fantasy of a world organised entirely around the user, with no competing desire to negotiate. 

When fantasy becomes a way of constructing desirability and identity, reality can begin to feel insufficient. Artificial Intelligence-generated pornography offers one extreme example: highly specific fantasies can be produced on demand, often using women’s likenesses without consent. 

The larger shift is that AI makes fantasy responsive. It can affirm, adjust, and regenerate itself without requiring the user to confront another person’s preferences, disinterest, or refusal.

“It delivers the fantasy of age transgression, or consent transgression, or domination within the household hierarchy, or comically voluptuous or tragically small body types. It offers constant, immediate access to one’s exact fantasy, that can be prompted and manifested visually. All of this lowers tolerance for reality, reciprocity, and the friction of consent,” says Kaur. 

What happens when ordinary life cannot be optimised?

Algorithms do more than define what people find attractive—they blur the line between real intimacy and optimised content. Real-world relationships pale in comparison and real intimacy starts to feel lacking. 

The impact of social media on relationships is one expression of that gap. Increasingly precise preferences eventually encounter a person who cannot be edited, endlessly replaced, or generated to specification. 

Kohli says dissatisfaction may first appear as a vague sense that something is missing. A partner, relationship, or sense of self can begin to feel inadequate when measured against a stream of highly selected representations.

The same restlessness can turn inward. Bodies remain inconsistent, identities contain contradictions, and ordinary life develops more slowly than the feed. The unedited self can begin to resemble a failed version of the one performed online.

Sex education can start to counter all of this by teaching users how to contextualise fantasy as fantasy. Without that reminder, one might start to assume that fantasy is simply how sex is supposed to look, which can quickly become unsafe. 

In India, sex education still speaks in the language of warning. To compete with the internet, it needs to make responsibility feel relevant, desirable, and rooted in pleasure. 

“One of the reasons sex education has struggled in India is that we so often present the ‘responsible’ version of sex as completely devoid of pleasure, while the internet presents the ‘irresponsible’ version as thrilling,” says Mangaldas. “We have to become much better at showing that tenderness, mutuality, curiosity, and communication can be intensely erotic too.” 

What online fantasy cannot replicate

Fantasy removes the parts of intimacy that cannot be controlled: another person’s boundaries, contradictions, and capacity to walk away. 

“Fantasy is compliant by design. It cannot refuse, and something that cannot refuse you cannot choose you either,” says Kohli. “That’s why the risk of rejection is not a flaw in real intimacy—it is what makes acceptance mean something. There’s no cycle of rupture and repair, which is what builds trust in a relationship.” 

Reality introduces variables fantasy edits out: delay, contradiction, and another person’s agency. Online fantasy can still make unfamiliar identities and lives imaginable. The tension begins when personalisation keeps returning the most legible version of that possibility. 

“Being genuinely known and desired by another person may become even more precious in a world increasingly populated by things designed to give us exactly what we think we want,” says Mangaldas. “Real intimacy offers something fantasy cannot—reciprocity that AI can’t mirror.”

India did not need convincing about instant noodles. Korean ramen simply raised the stakes, replacing familiar masala comfort with chewy noodles, fermented heat, and enough cheese to soften the consequences. But that was not how ramen was understood when Indo Nissin Foods introduced packaged instant noodles Top Ramen to India in 1991. It was closer to Maggi than Japanese ramen or Korean ramen.

What is Korean ramen and how did Korea make it its own? 

Ramen may have travelled from China to Japan, but Korea gave it a personality of its own. There, it became ramyeon: instant, intensely seasoned, and designed to deliver maximum comfort with minimal ceremony. 

“Ramen is a great example of how food evolves as it travels. While its roots are firmly in Japan, every culture that has embraced it has made it its own,” says Anand Morwani, chef-partner at Mumbai’s Gaijin. 

In 1958, Nissin Foods founder Momofuku Ando gave ramen a longer shelf life. Chikin Ramen, the first mass-produced noodle, needed little more than boiling water; Cup Noodles followed in 1971, turning instant ramen into a global habit. 

Today, ramen has splintered into countless regional styles, from a tonkotsu pork broth to a savoury miso broth.

Korean ramen vs Japanese ramen: What is the difference?

Although both are noodle dishes, Japanese and Korean ramen are built on different flavour philosophies. Japanese ramen generally centers on the broth. 

“Whether it’s a long-simmered tonkotsu, a clear shio, a shoyu, or a miso base, the emphasis is on extracting depth, balance, and umami through careful stock-making and layering of flavour. Every component, from the tare to the aromatic oils and toppings, has a specific role in the final bowl,” says Morwani. 

Fresh noodles and toppings such as chashu, ajitama, bamboo shoots, and nori complete the dish.

Korean ramyeon is generally more assertive, with bolder spice, richer seasoning, and thicker, chewier noodles.  

“While Japanese ramen is about subtle layers of flavour, Korean ramyeon is known for its intense spice and comforting richness. The broth often includes gochugaru, gochujang, or chilli-based seasoning, resulting in a stronger heat level. The noodles are usually thicker and chewier, and ingredients like kimchi, processed cheese, eggs, or seafood are commonly added,” says Karan Bane, chef-partner, Seefah and Khao Man Gai, in Mumbai. 

Why Korean ramen is popular in India

Japanese ramen began appearing on restaurant menus in Delhi and Mumbai through the 2010s, though it largely remained the preserve of diners already interested in East Asian food. Korean ramen arrived with considerably more cultural machinery behind it. K-pop, K-dramas, and social media turned packets of instant noodles into props, cravings, and eventually, supermarket staples. 

India was already fluent in instant noodles. Maggi and Wai Wai had made the format familiar; Korean ramen simply offered a chewier, spicier, and more dramatic upgrade. 

After the Korean Buldak went viral globally in 2014, cooks soon started adding cheese to cut down the spice, leading to the popularity of the Cheese Buldak. In India, the Cheese Buldak, and then the Carbonara Buldak, became popular around 2023–2024. "While the trend started with the Cheese Buldak, the Buldak Carbonara went viral because of the creaminess and the balance of the spice—even more so than the Cheese Buldak,” explains Ruhani Singh, co-owner and chef at Kimikai-Umami House in Gurugram. The restaurant serves a Spicy Udon Carbonara that combines gochujang, cheese, and udon noodles, creating a spicy, creamy flavour profile similar to Korean ramen.

“Korean ramen is especially popular among younger consumers in India. Although both Japanese ramen and Korean ramyeon have found their own audience in India, with people becoming more curious about Asian food as a whole,” says Bane.

Another reason Korean ramen has grown popular in India is the ease with which it can become an umami-heavy vegetarian meal, particularly in a country with a substantial vegetarian population.  

“Many restaurants now make vegetarian ramen with vegetable broth, mushrooms, tofu, and fresh vegetables to suit the Indian palate. For packaged options, brands like Nongshim Soon Veggie, Samyang Vegetarian Kimchi Ramen, and Paldo Mr Kimchi offer vegetarian versions, making ramen more accessible to vegetarian consumers in India,” says Singh. 

Meat-based broths can be replaced by mushroom, kombu, roasted vegetables, sesame, or miso broths to create deep umami flavours. 

“A well-made vegetarian ramen doesn't feel like a compromise. You can build layers of umami and complexity that are incredibly satisfying,” says Morwani, who is introducing a ramen menu with eight new varieties that include vegetarian options like the Truffle & Wild Mushroom, Smoked Cauliflower Miso, and the Clean Green Matcha Yuzu. 

“Toppings such as tofu, mushrooms, corn, spinach, bok choy, and marinated vegetables make vegetarian ramen just as satisfying,” says Bane. 

Toppings can vary according to region and personal preference. Meanwhile, packaged Korean noodles from South Korea, Nepal, and India are increasingly available through online retailers and specialist offline stores. 

“Nongshim Shin Ramyun is regarded as the gold standard for its rich, umami-packed broth and chewy noodles, while Samyang Buldak—especially the Carbonara variant—is a favourite among those who enjoy bold, spicy flavours. Ottogi Jin Ramen offers a milder, more comforting option with a well-balanced broth, and Nongshim Neoguri stands out for its thick noodles and seafood-based soup,” Singh sums up the Korean brands available in India. 

The best Korean ramen and instant noodles brands in India

1. Samyang Ramen

Samyang launched South Korea’s first instant ramen in 1963. The company later introduced Buldak ramen, or Hot Chicken Flavour Ramen, in 2012, building an international following around intensely spicy Korean ramen.

Much of its range is now available in India, although Buldak Original remains one of its most recognisable products.

Its cheese-led Korean ramen range include Carbonara, a creamy and cheesy version that softens the heat; Cream Carbonara, which has a richer sauce; Cheese, which combines Buldak sauce with cheese powder; and Quattro Cheese, made with mozzarella, cheddar, camembert, and gouda flavours. 

Hotter options include 2X Spicy and the tangy, slightly sweet Habanero Lime. The range also includes Jjajang Korean ramen with black bean paste, a kimchi version, Curry Buldak, and Buldak Stew, a soup-based variation.

Price: ₹150 onwards

Website: Samyangfoods.com

2. Nongshim

Launched in 1965, Nongshim is one of South Korea's largest instant noodle manufacturers. It is best known for Shin Ramyun, which has become one of the world’s most recognisable spicy Korean noodle products. Its range of Korean ramen in India includes the classic Shin Ramyun, the richer Shin Ramyun Black, and the hotter Shin Red. 

The wider range includes Chapagetti, inspired by Korean black bean noodles with savoury chive and onion flavours; Neoguri, with thick udon-style noodles in a spicy seafood and kelp broth; Kimchi Ramyun; Veggie Ramyun; Spicy Chicken; and Budae Jjigae, inspired by Korea’s popular army stew.

The brand has also introduced Shin Ramyun Kimchi Stir Fry, which combines Shin’s characteristic spice with the tangy, savoury flavours of stir-fried kimchi.

Price: ₹112 onwards

Website: Nongshim.com

3. Ottogi

Ottogi entered the instant noodle business in the 1980s and is known for its rich broths and comforting Korean instant noodles. While Jin Ramen remains its best-known product, the company has also developed seafood, black bean, and cheese-based varieties. 

Its range includes Jin Ramen in Spicy and Mild variants, both featuring rich beef and vegetable broths; Yeul Ramen, made for spice lovers with an intensely fiery Korean-style broth; Kimchi Ramen, with the tangy flavour of fermented cabbage; Cheese Ramen, which blends cheddar cheese with a mild broth; Spicy Cheese Ramen, for those who like a balance of heat and creaminess; and a brothless Stir-Fry Cheese Ramen. 

The line-up also features Beijing Jjajang with roasted black bean sauce, Jin Jjambbong with a spicy seafood broth, and Jin Bibimmyon, cold noodles tossed in a sweet, sour, and spicy gochujang sauce.

Price: ₹100 onwards

Website: Otoki.com

4. 2PM Korean Ramen

Introduced in late 2022, 2PM Korean Ramen is produced by Nepal-based CG Foods. The brand brings affordably priced Korean-style instant noodles to South Asian consumers through soupy and stir-fry variations inspired by familiar Korean flavours.

Its range includes Chicken Flavour, with chilli, garlic, and chicken seasoning; Kimchi Ramen, with the tangy flavour of fermented cabbage; and 2X Spicy Chicken, developed for consumers who prefer fiery Korean noodles. 

Most variants are paired with dehydrated vegetables and seaweed flakes to recreate the Korean ramyeon experience.

Price: ₹40 onwards

Website: Instagram.com/2pmnoodles

Where to buy Korean ramen in India: Stores and DIY ramen cafés

1. K Friends, Delhi 

This DIY Korean Ramen cafe opened in 2025 and offers a wide selection of Korean instant noodles alongside snacks such as corn dogs, seaweed dishes, rice cakes, Choco pies, honey butter chips, and shrimp crackers.

The drinks selection includes banana milk and fizzy strawberry milk. 

The space also functions as a DIY ramen bar, where visitors can select a packet from the ramen wall, add boiling water, and customise the bowl with toppings such as soft-boiled eggs. 

The format recreates the self-service Korean ramen experience that has become popular across social media.

Address: Ground Floor, Left Side, B-106/1, Humayunpur, Safdarjung Enclave, New Delhi 110029

Call: 8448524900

2. K-Seon Ramen Cafe, Mumbai

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 🧋 (@madrassc

K-Seon Ramen Cafe is a self-service Korean ramen station, offering a DIY experience. Customers can select a ramen packet from the cafe’s ramen wall, customise it with toppings like cheese and vegetables, and prepare the bowl using automatic cooking machines. 

Beyond Korean ramen, the café serves carbonara-flavoured tteokbokki, Korean drinks such as banana milk and iced tea, green apple ade, Korean bottle pops, salmon chips, and Korean ice cream.

Address: Shop Number 8, Safalya Building, Bhagwan Mahavir Chowk, Mahavir Nagar, Kandivali West, Mumbai, Maharashtra 400067

3. Seoul Store, online

Founded in 1997 in Chennai, Seoul Store was one of India’s early Korean supermarkets. It expanded into e-commerce in 2021, bringing Korean products like ramen, kimchi, gochujang, rice cakes, seaweed snacks, and soju to customers across India. 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Seoul Store India (@seoulstore.india)

Its Korean instant noodles include Samyang Buldak Original, 2X Spicy, Cream Carbonara, and Cheese Hot Chicken ramen, Nongshim Shin Ramyun, Shin Ramyun Kimchi Cup Noodles, Chapagetti black bean noodles, Soon Veggie Cup Ramen, and Ottogi Jin Ramen in mild and spicy flavours. 

The store also stocks flavoured almonds, Kancho biscuits, Lotte candies, fruit, aloe drinks, alongside Korean cookware, dining accessories, and skincare products.

Website: Seoulstore.in

How to make instant noodles taste like the best Korean ramen

Korean instant ramen introduced Indian consumers to a different style of noodle soup and encouraged greater experimentation with flavours and toppings at home. 

“An egg, whether soft-boiled or poached, is always a great addition, and even a slice of cheese is a classic Korean pairing that adds richness and body to the broth. The beauty of ramyeon is that it's incredibly adaptable. It invites you to make the bowl your own, which is perhaps one of the reasons it has become so popular across different cultures,” says Morwani. 

He suggests adding mushrooms, spring onions, spinach, kimchi, tofu, or grilled chicken to make the bowl more substantial. 

“You can also use fresh noodles, and enhance the broth with garlic, spring onions, and a spoon of gochujang if you enjoy spice. Finish with sesame oil, spring onions, and sesame seeds. For extra protein, tofu, chicken, or seafood can be added depending on your preference,” concludes Bane. 

That adaptability is central to the appeal of Korean ramen. A packet can become a soup, a stir-fry, or a more elaborate meal through a few carefully chosen additions. The best bowl is often the one adjusted to suit the person eating it.

Think of the word ‘skinny’ and references arrive quickly: celebrity transformations, shrinking runway silhouettes, and GLP-1 drugs.

The relentless pursuit of thinness is not new. In the 1990s, heroin chic typified it. In the 2000s, size zero became a cultural fixation. Different names, same agenda. 

By the mid-2010s, body positivity had begun challenging the idea that only one kind of body deserved visibility. Yet it did not fully dismantle the hierarchy that placed thinness at the top.

Today, skinny culture is aspirational again. 

On TikTok, the hashtag #SkinnyTok amassed more than 500 million views before its ban in June 2025. On Instagram, #skinny features 5.7 million posts—and counting. Platforms may attach warnings and helpline prompts, but the content remains just another click away.

What makes the return of thinness particularly alarming is the way it has been rebranded as wellness rather than weight loss. Thinness has moved beyond a beauty ideal to become a social credential, presented as proof of discipline, productivity, and a wellness-first lifestyle. GLP-1 drugs have accelerated that shift by making dramatic weight loss appear faster, more accessible, and increasingly achievable. 

How thinness became a wellness ideal 

Once, being slim meant being socially acceptable. Today, the same pressure runs through a new language: health speak. Thinness hides behind optimisation, wellness-maxxing, and holistic well-being, while selling the same physical aesthetic. 

The slender woman leaving Pilates with a protein smoothie has become a familiar symbol of modern wellness. But is the lifestyle the aspiration, or the body that’s presented as its inevitable result? 

Dubai-based longevity health expert Dr Rhea Kotecha routinely encounters patients who approach her with the goal of becoming smaller. “When you label being skinny as wellness, that makes it harder to argue with. Nobody defends a diet that makes you starve. Everybody defends ‘being healthy.’ The word changed. The pressure did not.”

Cultural anthropologist Dr Rahul Advani, strategy manager at cultural insights consultancy Plum Insights, finds it revealing that thinness is criticised when pursued for beauty, but celebrated when framed through fitness or self-care. “When the same body type is presented in the context of someone running, doing Pilates, strength training, on a retreat, or living an active lifestyle, it is, in fact, celebrated. It signals doing something for oneself, not for others.”

The cultural meaning changes, but the body remains the same. Thinness pursued for beauty may be criticised as vanity; thinness presented as the outcome of self-care is celebrated as virtue.

This repositioning makes it harder to distinguish between the pursuit of health and the pursuit of thinness. 

Why thinness now signals status and success 

Today, the crossover between health and success has become more visual than ever. A smaller body is increasingly read as evidence of discipline, seriousness, and control.

Much of aspirational wellness comes with a substantial price tag. Pilates, GLP-1 drugs, wellness retreats, personalised nutrition, and specialist treatments all require money, time, or access. This has helped turn thinness into a marker of status.

Advani argues that this represents a striking reversal in India. “Historically, it was often associated with scarcity. But today, that symbolism has almost reversed. Thinness now represents a different kind of abundance—even medications like Ozempic and Mounjaro are affordable to only a small subsection of the Indian population. It also reflects an abundance of time and knowledge—resources that allow people to prioritise and invest in their bodies.”

Thinness, then, becomes less about the body itself than what it appears to announce: privilege, access, and the capacity to invest in oneself.

Filmmaker Hansal Mehta, who has spoken openly about using Mounjaro under medical supervision, points to what that image conceals. “What someone scrolling doesn’t see is that this person’s morning was cleared for them so they could go to a gym.”

The optimised body is often presented as evidence that the lifestyle is working, while the money, time, and support required to maintain it disappear from view.

On social media, the optimised body often appears alongside a wider narrative of longevity, focus, and high performance. Physical appearance becomes visual evidence that the lifestyle is working.

“Thinness now communicates that someone is able to sustain a particular lifestyle, one built around health optimisation and self-improvement,” Advani adds. “It says ‘not everyone can achieve this body’ because not everyone has the financial resources, time, or access to the environments and infrastructures that make it possible.” 

The danger is that access begins to look like individual virtue. “Via GLP-1 drugs, we have made thinness purchasable, made it fast, and then called that progress," says Kotecha. "Access without context is not the same as care.” 

How GLP-1 drugs made weight loss more achievable

GLP-1 medicines such as Ozempic, Mounjaro, and Wegovy, prescribed for specific medical indications under professional supervision, have become cultural shorthand for rapid weight loss. 

“Nowadays, many people are asking about GLP-1 drugs just to become thinner without considering other factors associated with health risks caused by obesity,” shares Dr Sweta Budyal, endocrinologist and diabetologist at Fortis Hospitals, Mumbai. “Some of them already use these drugs without any control for instant weight loss, and such patient cases are only increasing.” 

While she warns against resorting to GLP-1 drugs for purely cosmetic purposes without getting body mass index, metabolism, and pre-existing conditions assessed, unauthorised sales have enabled unmonitored use. 

A nationwide surveillance in 2026 reportedly identified misuse and prompted greater scrutiny of their sale. 

“Recent research found that whilst nearly one in three people with eating disorders had used a GLP-1, more than double the general population uptake, about one in 10, self-reported misusing it,” shares Dr Emilia Thompson, a UK-based registered nutritionist and disordered eating coach.

“THINNESS NOW REPRESENTS A DIFFERENT KIND OF ABUNDANCE—EVEN MEDICATIONS LIKE OZEMPIC AND MOUNJARO ARE AFFORDABLE TO ONLY A SMALL SUBSECTION OF THE INDIAN POPULATION” –– Dr Rahul Advani

In India, the market for GLP-1 drugs is projected to grow fivefold over the next five years and surpass a worth of ₹5,000 crore by 2030. Intensified competition could also make some medicines cheaper, with costs projected to fall by 40–50 per cent in 2027. 

According to Dr Rajiv Kovil, an obesity specialist at Zandra Healthcare, the price drop may not become the biggest driver of demand in India since “the innovator [Novo Nordisk] had already reduced its price significantly before patent expiry, narrowing the gap between branded and generic products.” 

Device simplicity, patient training, supply consistency, physician confidence, and long-term real-world experience will also shape adoption, notes Kovil. 

Lower prices will certainly improve access, but semaglutide should never become a cosmetic weight-loss drug, he says. “People often associate these medicines with celebrity weight loss, but that is only a small part of the story. India has one of the world’s largest populations living with obesity, Type 2 diabetes, fatty liver disease, hypertension, and other obesity-related conditions. These patients stand to benefit the most from semaglutide.”

This distinction is crucial. Consumer culture has turned prescription weight-loss treatment into a promise of becoming smaller, faster.

Between February 2025 and 2026, the sales of GLP-1 drugs had already hit ₹1,446 crore, up by 178 per cent YoY, at pre-patent expiry prices. After the patent expiry on 24th March, 2026 in India, GLP-1 drugs are set to be sold at a monthly cost of ₹1,290—a 90 per cent collapse from branded pricing of up to ₹16,400 per month. Market data suggests this could result in a 30 per cent-plus compound annual growth rate for GLP-1 drugs in India.  

The hidden machinery behind celebrity weight loss

Several international public figures have spoken openly about using GLP-1 drugs as part of medically supervised treatment or weight loss.

In India, while social media feeds are full of before-and-after images, few public figures have disclosed whether medication or any other medical interventions played a role. 

That silence allows dramatic transformations to circulate without the context required to understand how they were achieved.

When a celebrity loses a considerable amount of weight, the transformation is often attributed to discipline, resilience, and sometimes an infrastructure of experts, including personal trainers, chefs, and wellness coaches. Medical interventions may remain outside the public narrative.  

The problem is not the use of GLP-1 drugs. It is the performance of effortless self-control created when medical assistance disappears from the story.

When Mehta found himself stuck in the pre-diabetic range despite losing weight through exercise and nutrition, his medical provider put him on Mounjaro. He is among the few Indian public figures to have spoken openly about the full context. “I was put on Mounjaro to manage my blood sugar. My doctor said so, I did it. The weight came off along the way—ten kilos or so. That’s it. That’s the story. Where’s the secret in that? I have a stent. Medicine isn’t something I get to have opinions about. When a doctor tells me something will help, I take it. I don’t sit around wondering how it plays on Instagram.”

The response surprised him. “People said I was brave for saying what was on my prescription. If it takes bravery to tell people your doctor gave you something, then something has gone badly wrong with how we talk about this.” 

GLP-1 shaming, he says, remains widespread. “Because everybody is on it. Or knows someone on it. The whispering is constant. The saying it out loud is nonexistent. And in that gap, you get this idea that fitness is only willpower, and if you took help, you didn’t really earn it. There’s no shame in using what’s available to look after yourself, as long as you’re doing it properly and with a doctor.”

Psychologist Utkarsha Jagga says celebrity transformations have always shaped beauty standards, but social media has blurred the line between aspiration and accessibility. “When dramatic transformations are presented without context, whether that’s GLP-1 medications, surgery, genetics, personal trainers, chefs, or immense privilege, it creates the illusion that anyone who ‘tries hard enough’ should be able to achieve the same result.” 

“THERE’S EGO IN WANTING TO HAVE DONE IT ALONE. WILLPOWER IS FLATTERING. A PRESCRIPTION IS NOT. SO PEOPLE TAKE THE DRUG AND THEN TALK ABOUT THE SALAD, BECAUSE THE SALAD IS THE VERSION WHERE THEY LOOK LIKE THEY’RE MADE OF SOMETHING SPECIAL” –– Hansal Mehta

This also risks turning unequal access into a sense of personal failure. “Many weight loss journeys have been framed as journeys of self-discovery, where their thinness is linked to the idea of them taking control of their personal lives, not letting their work consume them, and becoming happier, more confident, even authentic versions of themselves,” says Advani. 

When the money, medicine, and professional support behind a transformation disappear, the result is mistaken for discipline alone.

“Discipline makes you the hero. Medicine makes you a patient. Nobody wants to be a patient,” says Mehta. “There’s ego in wanting to have done it alone. Willpower is flattering. A prescription is not. So people take the drug and then talk about the salad, because the salad is the version where they look like they’re made of something special.” 

How social media normalises extreme thinness  

The relationship between social media and body image becomes particularly consequential when viral fitness scripts are treated as individual health advice.

Thinness often arrives through wellness-coded formats: ‘what I eat in a day’ videos, body checks, workout routines, and transformation reels. Warning prompts may interrupt a search, but similar content continues to circulate through recommendation feeds, making extreme bodies feel ordinary through repetition.

According to a survey, body image distortion among Indian adolescents aged 10–16 years was 49.9 per cent, while body image dissatisfaction was 42.6 per cent. Another study shows that eating disorders were reported in 18 per cent of teenage girls and in 2.4 per cent teenage boys.  

“We are seeing an increase in individuals being impacted by the increase in thin-talk, thin-bodies, and GLP-1 use,” admits Thompson. “This coincides with an increasing number of case reports describing GLP-1s reigniting old restrictive patterns in those with a history of anorexia.” 

“Our brains are constantly updating what they perceive as ‘normal.’ If your feed is flooded with increasingly thinner bodies, your internal baseline shifts. What once looked healthy begins to feel too big, and what was once considered extremely thin starts to seem ordinary,” shares Jagga. “For adolescents, whose identities are still developing, this can become part of how they evaluate their worth. For people with body dysmorphia or a history of disordered eating, this kind of content can become compulsive fuel.” 

Social media does more than circulate skinny culture. Through repetition, it changes the baseline against which ordinary bodies are judged. It also conceals the unequal access behind many transformations, leaving viewers to interpret structural privilege as individual willpower.

Did body positivity change what we value? 

Body positivity made a wider range of bodies visible, but it may not have dismantled the belief that thinness signals health, discipline, and worth. As weight loss appears more achievable, accepting one’s body can even begin to look like a refusal to improve it.  

The pressure now extends beyond desiring a certain appearance. Thinness is increasingly presented as a responsibility, something achievable through the right routines, resources, and medical tools.

That cultural pressure forms part of the environment in which demand for GLP-1 drugs is rising, although it should not be presented as the sole explanation for market growth. 

“The increasing use of GLP-1 drugs has led to their commercialisation, and contributed to reinforcing the misconception that losing weight is easy, forgetting that obesity is a serious chronic disease rather than just aesthetics,” states Budyal. 

Thompson believes the growing visibility of GLP-1 drugs has made body positivity harder to sustain within a culture increasingly focused on transformation. “I hope we can see a quiet migration toward body neutrality, appreciating what the body does rather than demanding you feel a specific way about how it looks, because neutrality doesn’t ask for a performance as much as a quiet knowing.”

“You can respect a body completely, and still care what is happening inside it,” adds Kotecha.

Body acceptance and medical care can coexist without turning the body into a permanent improvement project.

The reason the return of skinny culture feels like more than just a fleeting trend is the language used to market it: success, discipline, self-care, balance, routine, and good health. It makes the obsession with skinny culture appear less like an aesthetic pressure and more like a personal responsibility. “The problem isn’t that people want to lose weight; it’s that we’re assigning moral value to being thin. Suddenly, discipline, success, desirability, self-control, and even happiness become visually associated with a particular body type. That’s where it becomes dangerous,” concurs Jagga.

Thinness is an old ideal with new infrastructure. Wellness has made it virtuous, social media has made it ubiquitous, and GLP-1 drugs have made it appear faster and more attainable. Body size has once again become shorthand for health, discipline, and personal worth.

For decades, Bollywood wrote the rules of the Indian blockbuster. Telugu cinema studied its commercial grammar, borrowed from its scale, and looked to Mumbai as the final measure of success. 

That hierarchy has reversed. 

Today, some of India’s biggest theatrical events are being imagined in Hyderabad. Baahubali (2015) expanded the possibilities of a regional-language film. RRR (2022) took that ambition global. Pushpa (2021) and Kalki 2898 AD (2024) made clear that this was no anomaly, but a new centre of gravity.

Bollywood is now studying the model it once supplied. Its stars are signing Telugu productions, its producers are chasing the scale of southern blockbusters, and Priyanka Chopra is returning to Indian cinema through S. S. Rajamouli’s upcoming Telugu project, Varanasi, rather than a Hindi film.

“Back in the day, it was Hindi cinema from which Telugu cinema learned the syntax of mainstream commercial cinema,” recalls film exhibitor and distributor Akshaye Rathi. 

But asking why Telugu cinema is succeeding—and Bollywood, very visibly, isn’t—may be the wrong question. 

“It’s a little too simplistic,” according to director Vasan Bala. He doesn’t believe the matter is as plain as Telugu cinema having "figured something out" that Bollywood hasn’t. Industries, he argues, move in cycles, and today's winner isn’t guaranteed to remain tomorrow’s. 

A more useful way of looking at it is to ask why the two industries have evolved so differently, and why Telugu cinema seems better equipped for the current theatrical moment. The dominant explanation for Telugu cinema’s rise is that it understands its audience better than Bollywood has. According to trade analyst Komal Nahta, “The Telugu industry makes more rooted cinema, and the style and presentation are novel. We [Bollywood] tend to change our scripts so much in the guise of giving novel content that the films don’t appeal to the audience because they are so radically different from what they want.”

“The audience still wants the regular masala,” he argues, “provided the presentation is different”—with newer techniques, technology, and staging, but stories that remain emotionally familiar. 

Rather than abandoning tried-and-tested ingredients like larger-than-life heroes, family drama, or revenge arcs, Telugu filmmakers have refreshed them through more ambitious world-building, sophisticated action choreography, visual effects, and technical polish. Pushpa, for instance, reimagined the familiar rise-of-the-underdog story through an unusually textured rural setting, while Kalki 2898 AD married spiritual motifs with futuristic science fiction without sacrificing the emotional beats of a mainstream entertainer. 

Rathi agrees that Bollywood became disconnected, but he doesn't believe the problem began in the writers’ room. From his perspective, the divergence began years before Baahubali, when Bollywood’s business model was evolving. “With the advent of multiplexes [in the late 1990s], Hindi cinema urbanised,” he says. 

“YOU THINK THAT IF THERE’S A WAR, PEOPLE WILL WANT TO GO FOR A ROM-COM, THEY’LL WANT TO FIND HOPE. BUT PEOPLE ARE HAPPIER FINDING MORE ANGER”  — Vasan Bala

The rapid expansion of multiplex chains across India’s metros created a new audience willing to pay higher ticket prices for films that reflected urban aspirations and lifestyles. Around the same time, corporate studios such as UTV Motion Pictures, Eros International, Reliance Big Entertainment, and later, Disney and Fox Star Studios began investing heavily in Bollywood, fundamentally reshaping how films were financed and monetised.  

Telugu cinema, on the other hand, continued to build most of its mainstream films for the broadest possible theatrical audience that stretched across cities, towns, and villages alike. 

“Nine out of 10 Telugu films will be mainstream commercial films aimed at getting audiences to theatres, at a large scale, across the length and breadth of the Telugu-speaking regions, rural as well as urban.” That includes star-driven action films like Pushpa 1 & 2 (2021 and 2024), Waltair Veerayya (2023), and Saripodhaa Sanivaaram (2024), and spectacles like Kalki 2898 AD (2024) and Hanu-Man (2024)—all designed as broad theatrical entertainers. 

Meanwhile, “there haven’t been more than 12–20 mainstream Hindi films in a year that actually are mainstream and commercial, and also appeal to the least common denominator of the social strata,” he argues. 

A much larger share of Hindi cinema’s output targets specific audience segments: with urban relationship dramas like Kapoor & Sons (2016) and Dear Zindagi (2016); issue-driven films like Anek (2022), Bheed (2023); family dramas like JugJugg Jeeyo (2022) and Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani (2023); and lifestyle-focused films like Gehraiyaan (2022) and Kho Gaye Hum Kahan (2023) marketed largely towards streaming-oriented audiences.

On the surface, then, the diagnoses offered by both Nahta and Rathi seem to point to the same conclusion—that Telugu cinema stayed closer to its audience, while Bollywood drifted away from it. But that explanation, compelling as it is, also risks being too neat.

Why Telugu cinema’s success goes beyond rooted storytelling

After all, if reconnecting with audiences were simply a matter of telling more ‘rooted’ stories, Bollywood might have solved the problem years ago. It spent much of the 2010s pivoting away from glossy urban romances such as Jaane Tu... Ya Jaane Na (2008) and Wake Up Sid (2009), and towards small-town dramedies like Dum Laga Ke Haisha (2015), Bareilly Ki Barfi (2017), and Stree (2018)—films that, at the time, seemed to reconnect Hindi cinema with audiences beyond metropolitan multiplexes. 

But lately, small-town romances, too, have lost their box-office pull, according to the FICCI–EY Media & Entertainment Report 2025. Whether the shift is driven by repetition, changing audience habits, the explosion of streaming platforms, or some combination of all three is difficult to disentangle. 

What is clear, however, is that post-pandemic theatrical audiences have gravitated more towards films that promise scale, spectacle, and a reason to leave home, as a 2024 report by Ormax Media suggests. Smaller, dialogue-driven films struggle to justify that. 

That shift in audience behaviour also coincided with a change in the economics of filmmaking itself, with multinational corporations entering the picture.

For decades, a Hindi film’s financial fate depended overwhelmingly on its theatrical run. As multiplexes expanded and corporate studios entered Bollywood, the industry’s revenue model diversified. Satellite rights, music rights, and later, streaming platforms, increasingly became significant sources of recovery, Rathi explains, adding, “The recoveries of the investment that goes into movies, rather than being focused on theatrical, actually went to intellectual property rights creation and amortisation of those assets over a longer period of time.” 

 “WHAT ARE PEOPLE EVEN WATCHING? WHO IS LIKING WHAT? DO THEY EVEN CARE ABOUT ALPHA? HOW MUCH MONEY HAS ALPHA MADE? DO YOU BELIEVE THESE NUMBERS THAT THESE STUDIOS ARE PUTTING OUT?” —  Sucharita Tyagi

That, in turn, altered the incentives behind what kinds of films were being made.

“Telugu cinema looked at the profit and loss of every single film as the mainstream business,” Rathi says. “Therefore, the economics of it and the storytelling style of it remained conducive to catering to the widest possible audience and the least common denominator of the social strata.”  

Hindi cinema, by contrast, could increasingly recover costs through satellite television, music, overseas distribution and, eventually, streaming platforms. A film no longer had to succeed exclusively at the Bollywood box office to recover its investment.

The argument also echoes a criticism by S. S. Rajamouli—the director of Baahubali and RRR—expressed in 2022, when he said that the influx of corporate studios into Bollywood, coupled with escalating fees for actors and directors, reduced the Hindi film industry’s “hunger to succeed.” 

Unlike Bollywood, he suggested, Telugu filmmakers continued to operate in an ecosystem where they still had to “swim or sink” depending on whether audiences turned up to theatres. “If you get too comfortable, you will get too complacent.”

If Bollywood’s challenge is partly economic, Telugu cinema’s advantage may also be structural.

Bala, however, cautions against romanticising either system and instead argues that the industry’s financial conditions have changed dramatically. “It is unfair to just say people don't know how to make films anymore. The safety measures the industry got used to aren’t there anymore, and it’s like, suddenly, you’re being asked to do gymnastics on concrete.” 

According to Rathi, the Telugu industry has historically functioned as a far more tightly knit ecosystem than Bollywood, with producers, distributors, exhibitors, and studio owners often working towards the same long-term objective of keeping theatrical cinema healthy. “The beauty is when you're actually creating content with the entire value chain dealing with each other as partners rather than vendors,” he says. 

Because the fortunes of different stakeholders remain closely intertwined, investments are often made with the long-term health of theatrical exhibition in mind, rather than the performance of any single revenue stream. 

The willingness to back ambitious theatrical bets is perhaps best illustrated by Baahubali itself. Producer Shobu Yarlagadda has previously spoken about the enormous financial risk involved in committing to Rajamouli’s multi-year vision before there was any guarantee that audiences across India would embrace it. But once the gamble paid off, it reshaped not only Telugu cinema’s fortunes, but also the entire industry’s assumptions about how regional-language films could travel.

The same appetite for theatrical risk was visible years later with RRR, whose producers delayed its release multiple times during the pandemic rather than settling for a streaming-first release, betting instead that a full-fledged theatrical launch would justify its enormous budget.  

Telugu cinema vs Bollywood: The economics of a blockbuster

Bollywood’s economics, meanwhile, have become increasingly top-heavy, Rathi points out. 

“Today, a Varun Dhawan or a Ranbir Kapoor or a Ranveer Singh will charge a fee to a Jio Studios or a T-Series, and put the load of their fee on the profit and loss of the film, thus making it more vulnerable,” he says. “When every bit of talent charges their market fee, the recovery and the ability to break even becomes tougher.”  

But if Telugu cinema’s success really could be reduced to a checklist—stay rooted, keep star salaries in check, prioritise theatres, and back spectacle—Bollywood could simply copy the model. The fact that it hasn’t suggests the truth may be messier than that.

“IF ANIMAL (2023) HAD NOT RECEIVED THE KIND OF POLARISING RESPONSES THAT IT DID, I BET IT WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN AS BIG A HIT AS IT WAS. LIKEWISE FOR DHURANDHAR” — Akshaye Rathi

And Dhurandhar’s (2025) box-office success complicates any clean comparison between the two industries.

The film has become one of Bollywood’s biggest theatrical successes despite being exactly the sort of polarising, hypermasculine spectacle that audiences were starting to grow tired of, and have since been, too—with the failure of almost every post-Pathaan instalment in YRF’s Spyverse, in addition to movies like Fighter (2024) and Sikandar (2025). 

At present, Bollywood’s challenge also lies in understanding an audience whose tastes have become much harder to predict. “You think that if there’s a war, people will want to go for a rom-com, they’ll want to find hope. But people are happier finding more anger,” Bala explains, adding, “Out-thinking them is, has always been, tough. You’ll always come up with data, but you’ll still always fail because the audience will do what it wants to do.” 

And so, film critic and journalist Sucharita Tyagi, too, is reluctant to accept easy explanations for Bollywood’s recent struggles. She believes that plenty of filmmakers are actively trying to give audiences what they think they want, but the problem is that nobody actually knows what audiences want anymore. “What are people even watching? Who is liking what? Do they even care about Alpha? How much money has Alpha made? Do you believe these numbers that these studios are putting out?” she says. 

Citing an example, she adds, “Bollywood tried to make Adipurush (2023), right? Biggest movie stars [Prabhas, Saif Ali Khan, Kriti Sanon], the Ramayan adaptation that connects with people everywhere, the marketing was like a blitzkrieg... and then when the film came out, it was just like, ‘What is this?’” 

Reportedly made on a budget of ₹700 crore, it failed to resonate with audiences and ended its run with a lifetime worldwide collection of ₹450 crore.

But if audiences have become harder to predict, Bollywood may also have started to rely on signals that may not actually reflect audience behaviour at all. The growing influence of publicity narratives and coordinated online campaigns in shaping industry perception has created an ecosystem in which it’s increasingly difficult to distinguish genuine audience excitement from carefully manufactured consensus, especially when online enthusiasm does not necessarily translate into ticket sales. 

While films such as Nadaaniyan (2025) found enormous viewership on streaming platforms despite widespread online ridicule, theatrical attendance requires audiences to buy a ticket and leave home, a far higher bar than clicking play on Netflix. 

So Bollywood’s challenge may partly lie in its inability to learn which signals are actually worth trusting. 

Unfortunately though, this obsession with online reactions—manufactured or otherwise—has begun influencing creative decisions, according to Rathi, who recalls one leading actor telling him he preferred projects where pre-release trolling could be better controlled. “But if Animal (2023) had not received the kind of polarising responses that it did, I bet it would not have been as big a hit as it was. Likewise for Dhurandhar,” he argues.

Bala, too, believes that filmmakers can’t engineer hits merely by following trends. Every film is still, to some extent, a gamble, he says. 

And that may be the biggest lesson Bollywood can take from Telugu cinema. The industry’s recent success reflects an ecosystem willing to make bold theatrical bets, rather than abiding by any foolproof formula.  

Whether those bets pay off, however, remains as uncertain in Hyderabad as it does in Mumbai. In fact, by Yarlagadda’s own admission, “The first part [of Baahubali] didn’t make any money.”

Perhaps Telugu cinema’s greatest advantage is that it still places its biggest bets on theatrical audiences, rather than predictive models, streaming guarantees, or manufactured online momentum.

In the pre-refrigerator days, when storing leftovers from the night before was not always an option, living waste-free meant making the most of what remained. In a country where rice is eaten in some form across regions, it was among the foods most commonly left over. That practical habit gave rise to fermented rice, a breakfast tradition built around soaking cooked rice in water overnight. These preparations traditionally formed part of nourishing, often microbe-rich meals. They represent inherited knowledge born of frugality, overlooked for years only to return in the language of sustainability, gut health, and low-effort cooking. What wellness culture now calls a superfood was once simply a way of making yesterday's rice useful again. 

During fermentation, microorganisms convert some of the rice’s carbohydrates into acids and other compounds, changing its flavour, texture, and microbial composition. The process varies by region, ingredient, and preparation, which means overnight-soaked rice, fermented batters, and rice-based beverages should not be treated as nutritionally identical.

Fermented rice batter differs from cooked rice left to ferment while submerged in water. The former is usually ground, often combined with lentils or coconut, and fermented before being steamed or cooked into foods such as dosa, idli, or sanna. The latter remains closer to a gruel or porridge and is eaten with its liquid and a range of accompaniments. Both derive nutritional value from their ingredients and fermentation process; one cannot automatically be considered more nutritious than the other. 

Fermented rice beverages follow a different process. Rice is combined with yeast or a traditional starter culture, allowing sugars to be converted into alcohol over a longer fermentation period. 

For overnight-soaked preparations, rice leftover in the evening was submerged in water and covered to prevent spoilage across the rice growing regions of India—which is most of the country. “A dish of fermented rice was created, varying from region to region, plain and sour or creamy or spicy, depending on the type of rice and preparation,” says Abhishek Deshmane, executive chef, Slow Tide, Goa, where sanna, a sweet, spongy steamed rice cake consumed in Goa and Mangaluru is made using soaked rice, freshly grated coconut, sugar, salt, and a leavening agent like toddy or yeast. 

The nutritious soaked fermented rice is often eaten with vegetables, fish, or pickles, and such fermented rice dishes made for an ideal breakfast or early lunch, partly because they could not be kept much longer. 

“They were incredibly cooling and perfectly suited to India's hot summers,” says Megha Kohli, co-founder Logik Hospitality and chef consultant at Public Supply, who has worked on regional cuisines across Kashmir and Bengal.   

Is fermented rice healthy? The potential gut-health benefits

Depending on how it is prepared, fermented rice may contain live microorganisms and fermentation by-products that support digestion and improve the availability of certain nutrients. It is frequently described as probiotic with beneficial microbes that improve gut health, although not every traditionally fermented preparation contains scientifically identified probiotic strains in clinically effective quantities.

“Besides fermented rice, Mizoram and surrounding regions have fermented foods which are rich in beneficial microbes and nutrients that improve digestion, enhance nutrient absorption, provide natural umami flavour, aid food preservation, and, when enjoyed as part of a balanced diet, may also support healthy weight management,” says Zo Sailo, founder and owner of La Breeza, in Chanmari, Aizawl, Mizoram, which serves zo buh, a locally planted rice, with chhawhchhi, a dark sesame rice. 

Fermentation can begin breaking down certain compounds in the grain, potentially making it easier to digest. It may also reduce phytates, naturally occurring compounds that can limit the body’s access to minerals such as iron and zinc. The extent of that change, however, depends on the rice, microorganisms, fermentation conditions, and complete meal.

“The overnight soak does some of the digesting for you, so the rice feels light and easy instead of heavy,” says Shruti Maheshwari Baid, nutritionist, and longevity and functional wellness specialist. Some B vitamins may also increase during fermentation, although this varies considerably between preparations. 

Served with its soaking liquid, fermented rice was also a hydrating meal suited to physical work in hot weather. The cooling, hydrating, easy-to-digest nature of fermented rice sets a gentle tone for the day and fuels physical work in the heat, “which is precisely why farming communities built their day around it,” says Baid. 

Food safety remains important since cooked rice stored incorrectly can allow harmful bacteria to multiply. “One needs to avoid letting it over-ferment into something sharply sour or unsafe,” adds Baid.

Today, fermented rice dishes are finding a new audience among younger Indians who are drawn to their perceived health benefits and ease of preparation. The wellness hack, it turns out, looks a lot like last night’s rice. 

“We often think of regional cuisines as completely separate, but techniques like fermentation quietly connect them all. They speak of climate, agriculture, thrift, and an intuitive understanding of food that existed long before we gave it scientific language,” adds Kohli. 

In Odisha, pakhala bhat is a summertime staple. West Bengal has panta bhat, Assam has poita bhat. “Similar preparations are eaten across Jharkhand, Chhattisgarh, and parts of Bihar. The Northeast also has remarkable traditions of fermented rice, both in food and in indigenous rice beverages, each reflecting local ingredients and community knowledge,” adds Kohli. 

Why fermented rice is returning to Indian menus  

Fermented rice is also finding favour with a generation that has realised the gut-health practices it has been seeking elsewhere may have been sitting in a clay pot at home all along. 

“Young Indians spent years chasing kimchi, kombucha, and every imported fermented ‘superfood’ on the wellness aisle, only to realise their own grandparents had been fermenting rice this whole time,” says Baid. The appeal is not only nutritional. This generation loves food with a story. “Eating pakhala or panta bhat isn't just breakfast anymore. It's heritage, identity, and a quiet flex all in one bowl.” 

That rediscovery is beginning to move a largely home-bound food onto restaurant and cloud-kitchen menus, particularly during the summer and festive periods. 

In Delhi-NCR, Odia cloud kitchen Rosei Ghara serves traditional pakhala with aloo chakata, roasted aubergine, and macha bhaja, alongside hosting supper clubs and pop-ups.  

View this post on Instagram

Khanti Bangali in Tughlakabad Institutional Area lists vegetarian and non-vegetarian panta bhat thalis, served with combinations of fried fish, aloo bhaja, and saag. 

In Mumbai, Baitho Restaurant has Kerala-style pazhamkanji with kanthari chillies and fried fish. Draavin Canteen’s punugulu, or rice fritters made from fermented batter, represents a related fermentation tradition, although it differs from the overnight-soaked cooked rice used for pakhala and panta bhat. 

Here are some of the fermented rice dishes returning to Indian plates, often through a YouTube video, an Instagram reel, or a call to the family recipe-keeper.

Fermented rice dishes across India: Pakhala, panta bhat, and more

Pakhala bhat: Odisha’s fermented rice breakfast

The cooked rice is soaked in water or curd, creating a tangy fermented rice dish suited to the summer heat. “The word ‘pakhala’ is derived from the Sanskrit word prakshalana, which means ‘to wash.’ Pakhala has deep historical ties to the Lord Jagannath Temple in Puri, Odisha. It has been included in the temple's daily mahaprasad offerings since the 10th century AD,” says Deshmane, who grew up eating the dish with fried fish, potato bharta, and fried spinach.

There are also variations such as the dahi pakhala, which is mixed with curd, and the jeera pakhala, in which the fermented rice is tempered with roasted cumin, mustard seeds, and curry leaves.

Panta bhat: Bengal’s traditional fermented rice dish 

Quite similar to Odisha’s pakhala, this traditional Bengali dish is often seasoned with salt, mustard oil, onions, and green chilies. It’s usually served with mashed potatoes, fried fish, or lentil fritters. “The slightly sour and earthy panta bhat from Bengal is part of the Bengali New Year meal pohela boishakh,” adds Deshmane. 

Kanji vada and fermented rice water in Bihar and Rajasthan 

“These vadas are soaked in fermented water—made by soaking leftover rice with water and yogurt, traditionally in a clay pot overnight,” says Puja Sahu, owner of Bihari restaurant The Potbelly Bihari Kitchen in Delhi-NCR. 

Urad dal vadas soaked in kanji are eaten as a snack, while a summer version is made using water, hing, black mustard seeds, and salt. Sahu also grew up drinking maar, the water left after boiling usna chawal, a regional variety of parboiled rice in Bihar, and leaving it to ferment overnight. 

“Salt, pepper, green chilli, lime juice, and fresh coriander are added to it in the morning before we drink it like soup—it’s earthy with sweet notes,” adds Sahu.  

In Rajasthan, kanji vada is made by soaking ground moong dal vadas in a tangy, spiced fermented broth made with mustard seeds, black salt, and water.

There’s also kanji rice, consumed like a savoury gruel in the mornings. 

Pazhaya soru and other fermented rice dishes from South India

Neer aagaram or pazhaya soru is a traditional Tamil breakfast made by allowing cooked rice to ferment in water overnight. It’s mashed with buttermilk, salt, shallots, and green chilies, and eaten with pickles or fried fish. 

The Kerala version, pazham kanji, is served with spicy chutneys. “You eat it with lots of accompaniments including payar—green moong dal or horse gram cooked with coconut. Or with chamanti, a thick chutney made using coconut, shallots, dried red chillies, and tamarind,” says Ruchira Hoon, chef-owner of Draavin Canteen, which focuses on cuisines from South India and Sri Lanka. 

In Andhra Pradesh and Telangana, the rice is sometimes fermented in buttermilk or curd and tempered with onions, green chilies, and spices. 

The tradition of fermented rice in South India also extends beyond leftover rice. Across Tamil Nadu, idlis, dosas, and kuzhi paniyarams are made using batter that contains rice and is naturally fermented, making it a staple fermented rice dish across the region. “Kerala has appams, vellayappams, and kallappams, traditionally fermented with toddy in many homes. Karnataka has its own repertoire of set dosas and kadubus, while Andhra Pradesh and Telangana have regional dosas and batters comprising fermented rice that vary from home to home and are everyday foods. They belong to the breakfast table, but they're equally comforting for dinner,” adds Kohli. 

Poita bhat and fermented rice drinks from Northeast India

Assam has poita bhat, a fermented rice dish seasoned with raw mustard oil, chopped onions, salt, and green chillies, often paired with mashed potatoes or fried fish. 

Northeast India also has a rich tradition of fermenting rice into alcoholic drinks. In Mizoram, the rice beer zu was once integral to community life and brewed for harvest festivals, weddings, village feasts, and even to welcome guests. 

Different varieties such as Zupui, Zufâng, Tin-zu, and Rakzu reflected different brewing methods and strengths. Arunachal Pradesh has Apong, while the Garo hills make a version called Chubitchi.

“Although its consumption has declined significantly, it remains an important part of Mizo cultural history. Together, these traditions show that fermenting rice is one of Asia's oldest culinary practices, shared across cultures while evolving into distinct local foods and beverages that express each community's identity and heritage,” says Sailo. 

Himachal Pradesh also has a version of fermented rice beer called lugdi or jhol which is a mildly alcoholic beverage prepared by fermenting cooked rice, sometimes with barley. The region uses a local plant-based starter culture called phab. Brewed in the summer, this is consumed during winters to provide warmth. 

Fermentation in Mizo cuisine is a reflection of the practical adaptation to the environment and the seasonality of ingredients. “Fermentation was traditionally used to create concentrated savoury flavours that enhanced otherwise simple meals of rice, boiled vegetables, and meat. These ingredients remain central to the identity of Mizo cooking and distinguish it from many other regional cuisines in India,” says Sailo.

Why fermented rice remains central to Indian food culture

Fermented foods emerged from practical needs: preserving seasonal harvests, reducing waste, and adding flavour to meals prepared with minimal spices. Long before gut health became a wellness category, fermented rice had already made a place for itself at the Indian breakfast table. 

“Some historians believe fermentation techniques may have travelled through Southeast Asia, while others point to references in ancient South Indian texts. Over centuries, communities made these recipes entirely their own, inheriting them over generations. Fermentation asks you to slow down, trust the process, and work with nature rather than against it. I think that's a lovely philosophy for cooking,” says Kohli. 

A useful philosophy for a food culture increasingly obsessed with speed, convenience, and wellness trends.