Every country on this planet know that Indians are famous for three things-tech support, zero and spices. But the real Indian, who makes up the heart and soul of our great nation, resents these stereotypes. She is constricted by the norms of conformity, the desire to fit in.
The country is run by the evergreen, omnipresent, aunties.
Aunties, like water problems, are everywhere. While I’m writing this I’m surrounded by three of them. My Own Personal Dictionary defines auntyjis as an omnipresent entity, who has the power to manipulate people, using their advanced speech skills. They are extremely intellectual, and are extremely aware of their surroundings.
These aunties form the backbone of our nation. In every field that mankind has forayed in, their contribution has been tremendous. After all, Amish Tripathi wouldn’t have become a banker if “pados waale Sharma aunty ke bete ne IIT kiya hai”. The entire Indian intelligence services runs on these fine and capable ladies. If it weren’t for them, how would we know that “pata hai, Roshni ki beti ki sagai toot gayi” or “ Woh Bhattacharya’s hai na? Brahmin ho ke bhi non-veg khaate hai”.
These aunties may fool you by appearing rather slow walkers, usually by declaring “hai mere ghutnein, puttar zara daba dena?”. But this is merely a ploy to confuse their foes, and gain sympathy from the younger members of the society. (By society I do not mean human society, I mean XYZ cooperative housing society). How else would you explain this:
Aunty: “ Puttar pair daba de, aaj kal chala nahi jaata zyada. Hai, meri edhiyan”
Me: “Auntyji woh Bansi kaka, woh fruitwale, woh aam 100 rupay dozen ke bhaav bech rahe hai”
(Aunty runs like The Flash on cocaine. )
But all jokes aside, these aunties are usually the last hope of every hungry student in town. You don’t put out your trash for the kachrewali bai and the next evening the aunty who lives across your house sends chicken curry and rice (testament to their Sherlockian skills of deduction). Do not step out of your house for three days and on the fourth day every aunty who lives on your floor will ring the bell to check whether you’re ill, and Lord have mercy on your stomach if you are. I was once down with the flu, and the maid had decided to take a leave in those days. My neighbor, an old, deaf Christian aunty, saw me with a runny nose and bleary eyes, and all hell broke loose. The gist of it was by the end of the week I was cured of my cold by treating it with a giant dose of indigestion.
However this aunty-giri comes at a price. In exchange for the services provided, they need to be treated with respect. Usually a “Hello aunty “ will do and in some instances you’ll be offering technical support. Fairly cheap right? But wait, there’s more!! They get licence to gossip about you. Now if you’re an engineering student, your life sucks, so there is nothing there to gossip about. But if you’re a player, who can score chicks *wink wink* you sir, have done ‘it’. To put ‘it’ into perspective, imagine if gossip were a viable energy, ‘it’ allows us to kiss the Middle East goodbye and let them sort their own troubles. ‘It’ allows us to shut down every nuclear reactor on the planet and make it into a flower pot.
In conclusion these aunties are what drives us as a nation to excel, for their fierce competitive spirit coupled with their scathing remarks make for a better teacher than Mr Miyagi. Love ‘em , hate ‘em, there is no escape from the Great Indian Aunty.
Booze and Bakwaas 