Parenting is one of those topics that everyone has an experience of — as a parent, or as a child. Yet, it rarely gets spoken about openly and honestly. We inherit ideas about it from our families, our schools, and our culture. But we often don’t sit down to unpack what it means in today’s world; especially in the context of neurodivergence, disability, and caregiving.

That’s where the work of Much Much Media and their new chat show "Parenting Aaj Kal" comes in. Co-created by Aalap Deboor and Aditi Gangrade, the show focuses on listening to parents about the complexity of raising children in diverse realities; blending lived experiences with expert voices. 

In this conversation, Aalap speaks about the origins of the show, the deeper questions of invisible disabilities and neurodiversity in workplaces, and why creating supportive environments for children, parents, and employees matters so much. 

(Editor’s Note: This conversation has been lightly edited for clarity.) 

Pushnami: Let’s start at the very beginning. How did "Parenting Aaj Kal" come into being?

Aalap: The story begins in 2021. That was the year both Aditi and I were formally diagnosed as neurodivergent. It was late in life, which meant there was this sudden flood of understanding. Things that had felt confusing for years began to make sense — why certain spaces drained us, why some environments felt impossible, and why our ways of working always looked different.

When you get that diagnosis as an adult, it’s not just about the label. It’s about re-looking at your entire life. And in that relooking, we realised something: in India, there wasn’t much out there for people like us. Especially not content created by neurodivergent people themselves.

That’s how Much Much Media was born. Even the name was intentional. The phrase “much much” came from this idea of abundance. When people hear “different," they think “less.” We wanted to turn that assumption on its head. To say, actually, different can mean more. More ways of seeing, more ways of doing, and more ways of being.

The first project we made was a show named "Alag Hai Kam Nahi" — Hindi for “different, not less.” We filmed neurodivergent people in their homes, and the guiding principle of the show was simple — no one else gets to speak for neurodivergent people. Not their parents, not their siblings. 

After those interviews, we often sat down with the parents. Those conversations were powerful in a very different way. One mother, after we wrapped, asked me, “Who is this for?” I told her, “The general public, so people understand neurodivergent lives.” She paused and said, “That’s good. But I wish there was something for parents too.”

That stayed with me. It was a seed that didn’t go away.

So when we thought about what to do next, "Parenting Aaj Kal" became that space. A show that’s not about instructions, but about honest conversations. A show where parents speak openly, and where each episode brings together a lived experience and an expert perspective. 

We knew from the beginning what the show wouldn’t be: no scare tactics, no “if you don’t do this, your child will…” narratives. It would simply be: here’s what this parent or a young person lived, here’s what an expert says, and you take what resonates.

Even the set was built around that philosophy. We thought about sensory comfort, because that matters. We used blue walls, warm lighting, placed two chairs slightly angled towards each other, put tea on the table, and books behind us. We wanted people to feel like they could exhale the moment they walked in.

A still from "Parenting Aaj Kal"with Ira Khan with Dr Pervin Dadachanji. 

Pushnami: What you just described about the set — the colour of the walls, the tea on the table — it struck me, because so often, even in places that call themselves inclusive, the environment itself can feel alienating. How did the thought behind such detail come in? 

Aalap: Exactly. For neurodivergent people, the environment isn’t neutral. It can either help you show up as yourself, or it can drain you before you’ve even started.

Think about fluorescent lighting, or constant background noise, or the way chairs are placed in a meeting room. For many people, these are minor irritations. For someone who is autistic, or who has ADHD, those details can completely shape your ability to focus or engage.

What we wanted to do was normalise thoughtful design. A place that when you walk in, you don’t have to brace yourself. You can sit, you can exhale, you can start to talk, and make yourself feel at home. 

And that’s actually the bigger point. Accessibility doesn’t have to be a separate category. If you design with care, everyone benefits.

Pushnami: One of the things that stood out to me while watching "Parenting Aaj Kal" was the sheer range of parenting realities you brought in. LGBTQIA+ families, single parents, unschoolers — how intentional was that?

Aalap: It flowed very naturally. Both Aditi and I aren’t parents ourselves, and some people assumed that was a disadvantage. But I think it freed us from assumptions. Because the truth is, all of us have been parented. And we carry those experiences of what we loved, what we struggled with, and what we’d want to do differently. That perspective shaped how we approached the show.

So, when we looked for voices, we didn’t want to box “parenting” into the most conventional stories. The LGBTQIA+ parenting episode with Anjali Siroya is one of my favourites. She’s a trans woman, and her story of being accepted by her father is beautiful. A father saying "You're my child and I'm not going to stop loving you" is everything a queer kid needs to hear. That was powerful, because so often in stories of trans children, fathers are either absent from the acceptance process or the last to come around. Here, the father was present.

Then there was the episode with Natasha Badhwar and Afzal Baig. They unschooled their three daughters. That in itself was radical enough for many viewers. But what stood out was, that one daughter was 22 and another was 15, and they ended up sitting for their board exams together. And Ira Khan spoke so honestly about starting therapy at 13 and how it took her four years before she could really open up. That detail stayed with me. We often assume therapy is like antibiotics — you take it, and things start clearing up. But her story showed that the process of trust and vulnerability can take years. And that’s okay.

The host and the co-creator of the chat show, Dr Vibha Krishnamurthy, and us made a deliberate choice to do the series in Hindi. So many important conversations in India default to English. That restricts who gets to participate, and who gets to feel like this content is “for them.” Doing it in Hindi widened the circle. Suddenly, an uncle in Bhopal or a mother in Meerut could connect. It made the conversation feel more rooted and helped us reach the audiences who needed it the most.

Aditi Gangurde and Aalap Deboor, the founders of Much Much Media, on the sets of "Parenting Aaj Kal."

Pushnami: You mentioned earlier that both you and Aditi were diagnosed with neurodivergence later in life. What has that journey been like for you?

Aalap: It’s complicated. On one hand, a diagnosis brings relief. Suddenly, you can look back at your entire life and things click into place. The struggles you thought were personal failings — like being “too sensitive,” “too distracted,” or “too intense" — you realise those weren’t character flaws. They were differences in wiring.

But there’s grief too. Grief for the years spent pushing yourself against systems that weren’t designed for you. The grief for the energy wasted masking, trying to blend in, and trying to survive in environments that weren’t supportive.

There’s also anger sometimes. You think, “If I had known earlier, how much easier could school have been? How much more could I have flourished?” But then, you channel that into purpose. That’s what Much Much Media is about. We want to take that energy and turn it into something that supports others.

Pushnami: You’ve often spoken about invisible disabilities. How do you define that?

Aalap: Invisible disabilities are those that shape your life, but aren’t immediately visible to others.

If you break a leg and show up with a cast, people instantly adjust their expectations. They’ll offer you a chair, and they won’t expect you to run up the stairs. But if you’re autistic, or live with ADHD, or deal with chronic fatigue, then people don’t see that. They look at your output, or your ability to mask in a given moment, and assume everything’s fine.

That’s the challenge. Because the labour of masking is invisible too. People don’t see that you spend half your energy just managing sensory input in a meeting — the air conditioner humming, the flickering light, or three people talking at once. So, by the time you open your mouth, you’ve already expended so much energy. And when you explain this, sometimes the reaction is disbelief. You hear things like, "but you seem so confident" or "but you’re articulate.” As if those things cancel out your disability.

That’s why naming invisible disabilities matters. It’s about making visible what’s usually hidden, so that systems can adjust and people don’t have to constantly fight to justify their needs.

Pushnami: When we move from homes and schools into workplaces, the conversation about disability — especially invisible disability — often becomes difficult. From your perspective, what does neurodiversity actually look like in an office setting?

Aalap: The first thing I always say is this: neurodiversity is already in your workplace. Whether you know it or not.

There’s this assumption that neurodiverse employees are a rare exception. They’re not. Some know their diagnosis, and some don’t. Some mask it so well that they’ve learned to hide the struggles. But they’re already there in your team, in your meetings, and working alongside you.

The question isn’t, “do we have neurodiverse employees?” The real question is, “are we creating systems that allow them to thrive, or are we creating friction that constantly wears them down?”

For me, the biggest difference came from small, but thoughtful adjustments. Having the option of hybrid work meant I wasn’t exhausted by a two-hour commute before the day even began. Quiet spaces in the office where I could work without constant sensory overload gave me energy to do my best work. Getting agendas before a meeting meant I could process and prepare; rather than being expected to respond instantly.

People often frame these as "accommodations." But I see them as good design. They make work better for everyone. A clear agenda doesn’t only help neurodivergent employees, but it helps the entire team. A quiet space doesn’t only benefit someone with ADHD, it benefits anyone who needs to focus deeply.

That’s the beauty of inclusion. When you design for the margins, you improve things for the majority as well.

Pushnami: If you had to create a kind of workplace inclusion checklist, what would be on it?

Aalap: For me, there are four non-negotiables.

First: let people express themselves in a way that’s natural to them. Not everyone communicates in the same way, with some needing time to write an email after they’ve thought things through. Others, do well in live discussions. It's important to respect those differences instead of enforcing one “right” way.

Second: understand that neurodivergence is diverse. One autistic person’s strengths and struggles don’t define another’s. A person with ADHD might thrive on rapid switching; another might need rigid structure. Don’t assume that what works for one person works for everyone.

Third: broaden your definition of caregiving. Too often, workplaces only think of caregiving in terms of parenting small children. But caregiving includes supporting a partner with mental health challenges, or being responsible for aging parents, or even managing your own long-term health condition. Policies and empathy need to reflect that.

And finally: flexibility. Not as a perk, but as a principle. Flexibility in time, in environment, and in communication styles. That’s how you create a workplace where people don’t have to constantly use energy explaining themselves or fight for small adjustments. They can just focus on doing their work.

Inclusion isn’t about “special treatment.” It’s about removing unnecessary friction so people can bring their best selves to the table.

Pushnami: Another thing you’ve spoken about before is how disability gets represented in mainstream media. What do you think is missing in the way stories are told?

Aalap: The dominant narrative, especially in Indian media, is that disability stories end in childhood. You see films about a child struggling in school, or a parent fighting for their child’s education. And then, the story ends there, as if disabled children grow up and disappear.

But disabled children become disabled adults. They study, they work, they date, they marry, and they pay the bills. 

This is why invisible disabilities especially get left out. There isn’t a “visual marker” that the media can latch on to. So, their stories don’t get told, or they get told in very limited, and stereotypical ways.

When we made "Alag Hai Kam Nahi" and later "Parenting Aaj Kal," we were very conscious of this gap. We wanted to centre the voices of neurodivergent adults — not just as children in need of help, but as people with agency, creativity, and leadership. That shift is essential if we want the broader culture to change how it sees disability.

Pushnami: Looking ahead, what do you hope workplaces, families, and society at large will take away from your work?

Aalap: I hope people stop thinking of inclusion as an “extra.” It’s not an add-on you do if you have the budget, it’s the foundation.

I hope parents feel less alone. That they see that there are other parents navigating similar questions, and that they don’t have to pretend to be perfect. I hope workplaces see that flexibility, accessibility, and empathy aren’t charity. They’re smart design. They make your teams stronger, your employees healthier, and your work better.

And I hope young neurodivergent people grow up seeing adults like them in the media. I want them to know they have a future. That their differences are not deficits. And that their voices matter.