I was trapped.

Try as I might, I couldn’t wake up out of the nightmare. They had me surrounded, and their brightly painted nails & horn-rimmed glasses inched closer, emboldened by my weak-seeming defense.

They crowded round like vultures, anticipating the coming kill with unabashed relish.

Their scarily painted faces, & loud shiny attire did not add any pleasantness to the ordeal.

Their jowls quivered as they leered at me. I could see a lifetime of anxieties & regrets in their bulging eyes. And anger, so much repressed anger. And they were out to fix the wrongs that had been done to them. However, not having the competence & intelligence to fix their problems themselves, they farmed it out to us, the younger generation.

“‘You’re already 30”, crowed one particularly salty aunt. It seemed that the bigger her derriere got, the more her unpleasantness blossomed.

“There will be no good girls left if you wait” One concern troll grunted.

‘”Erm, have you seen the girls around? There’s no good girls left anyway. They’re now a minority here in Mumbai. And good competent guys too, as female friends tell me”

It’s a sea of filthy unwashed masses, atleast when it came to marriage. Tired, unhealthy, overworked, stressed-out people don’t make good partners. Who would have imagined? /s

“Maybe I’ll marry a south Indian girl” I crooned nonchalantly. My counter-offensive had begun.

“South Indian girls are sweet. And even pahadi girls” I added, savouring the powershift. An especially crabby-looking gujju uncle looked like he was going to burst an artery.

‘You know, what’s even the point of getting married. Most of you have been married a long time, and none of you seems to be particularly happy. I’d be completely depressed if I had to spend the rest of my life with someone like one of these “aunties”.’

Boom! Nuclear warhead detonated. It was total annihilation.

Meme warfare works best, when there’s a kernel of truth in there somewhere. I noticed realisation in the male relatives within earshot. They knew I was right, and sheepishly accepted defeat. The women looked at each other, ancient feminine anxieties triggered.

With a few choice maneuvers, the old guard had been destroyed. It was our time now.

My mom was going get an earful from her relatives soon. Casualty of war, I shrugged it off.

Maybe this sort of guerilla warfare is the only thing that works. Going toe to toe with the ogre army would be foolishness, seeing as how outnumbered the bright shining youth are. But the oldies, used to bullying & arguing their way to get what they want, had no countermeasures to this sort of blitz, which young people nowadays are particularly competent at.

Lady friends, if an annoying aunt comes up to you at a wedding, elbowing you in the sides sniggering, ‘You’re next’, do the same to her at the next funeral. See how soon they stop doing that.

Meme warfare is real. Weaponised Autism saves. Spread the word.


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