Palak Writes | Content That Connects and travel to the World

I don't remember when people started talking about cortisol face. Or hip dips. Or skin barriers. Or facial harmony. I just remember that one day these words seemed to be everywhere. Every few scrolls, there was another video explaining a feature I had never noticed before, why it mattered, and what it apparently said about me. The strange part is that none of these things suddenly appeared overnight. My face didn't change. My body didn't change. The only thing that changed was that I had learned a new way to look at myself. And I think that's what social media does better than anything else. It doesn't always convince us that something is wrong with us. Sometimes, it simply teaches us where to look. Once our attention has been redirected, it's incredibly difficult to stop noticing the very thing we had lived happily without thinking about before. Beauty standards have always existed. The internet didn't invent them. What it did invent was a never-ending stre...

We all knew privacy was slowly disappearing. Every new app, every smarter device, every convenience seemed to ask for a little more data in return. At some point, most of us accepted that trade-off because the technology was genuinely useful. That’s exactly how I felt when I first came across Meta’s Ray-Ban smart glasses. As someone who creates content, I immediately understood the excitement. The idea of recording your day hands-free, capturing moments exactly as you see them, or interacting with AI without constantly reaching for your phone feels like a natural next step. I’m clearly not alone in thinking that. Meta has already sold over 2 million pairs of these glasses, making it obvious that wearable AI is moving well beyond being an experimental gadget. Whether or not it replaces smartphones, people are already comfortable inviting AI onto their faces. But somewhere between watching product demos and seeing real people use them, my perspective shifted. My feed slowly filled with...

"The better I write, the more AI it detects." That was something a writer friend said to me recently. At first, it sounded funny. Then it sounded absurd. And then, the more I thought about it, the more it felt like a glimpse into a much bigger problem. Because if you're a writer today, this fear is surprisingly common. You spend years learning how to write clearly, structure ideas effectively, and make your arguments easier to understand. You learn to cut unnecessary words, improve readability, and develop a consistent style. Yet one day, after doing everything you've been taught to do, an AI detector looks at your work and suggests it may not be yours. The irony is difficult to ignore.

A few days ago, I came across the news that Kwality Walls is finally transitioning its products from vegetable-fat-based frozen desserts to milk-based ice creams. Most people saw it as a business decision. I didn’t. Because the first thought that crossed my mind was, if milk-based ice cream is the better option, then what exactly have we been sold all these years? And once I started pulling on that thread, I realized this wasn’t really a story about Kwality Walls at all. It was a story about something far bigger. About how some of the world’s biggest food brands sell us the idea of a global product while quietly changing what’s inside depending on where we live. And honestly, I think more people should be questioning it.

A man spends Rs 370 on biryani. When the date ends, he tells the woman he still needs to “recover” his money. The room laughs. The comedian running the show calls it peak Gurgaon content. That clip is why we’re having this conversation again. The internet loves a simple debate. Someone says something offensive. Half the people say, “It’s just a joke.” The other half says, “This proves they’re a terrible person.” And just like that, we’re all pushed into choosing a side.  That’s exactly what happened after the recent Pranit More controversy. The audience member, Himanshu Jangra, ended up losing his job over it; More apologized and called his own reaction a lapse in judgment. It sparked outrage, apologies, demands for accountability, discussions about misogyny, and the inevitable debate about whether comedy is becoming too restricted. I think that debate is a  distraction from the actual question. The real question isn’t whether comedy should offend people. Comedy has always of...