The Existential Dread of WhatsApp Family Groups

 

 Where emojis go to die, good mornings multiply, and your soul quietly withers

 

The Morning Message Apocalypse

“GOOD MORNING  HAVE A BLESSED DAY!”

It’s 6:01 a.m., and your phone buzzes like it’s trying to warn you about an incoming asteroid. But no, it’s just Auntie #4 sending her 478th consecutive motivational GIF — a glittering rose with “Life is Beautiful” slapped across it in Comic Sans.

Welcome to the existential purgatory of WhatsApp family groups.

The Birthplace of Dread: How It All Begins

It usually starts innocently. A cousin creates a “Family Forever ” group to plan a wedding planning or Diwali potluck coordination. It serves its purpose briefly. Then the event ends. But the group doesn’t.

No, it evolves. Like fungus.

Before you know it, there are 23 members:

•  8 who never talk
•  5 who only send forwards
• 1 who mistakes the group for their personal diary
• And you, questioning your existence while scrolling through sunrise montages 

The Routine of Rituals

Morning Mayhem

You wake up to a barrage of “Good morning” messages. Not one, not two—but dozens. They are all eerily similar:

• A sunrise over a lake.

• A flower blooming in slow motion.

• A baby laughing while the Gayatri Mantra plays in the background.

Sometimes it’s philosophical:

“Each morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most.” – Buddha

It’s barely 7 a.m., and you already feel like you've lived through three lifetime and 12 spiritual awakenings.

The Forwards That Time Forgot

Let’s take a moment to honor the warriors who believe any information is worth sharing, as long as it’s old, inaccurate, or completely irrelevant.

• “Drink hot water with lemon to cure everything from acne to heartbreak”

• “Forward this to 11 people and your luck will change by 6 p.m. 

• “NASA confirms: Earth will go completely dark for 6 days in November. Be prepared”

You try to debunk them. You post a link from WHO . But your Uncle replies with:

“Beta, you have become too western. Learn to trust Ayurveda.”

The irony is so thick you could spread it on toast. i question my career, my life and even my vaccine shots.

The Silent Spectators 

There are always a few who never participate. Ever.

You wonder:

Are they okay? Do they silently scream every time they see the group light up?

Are they still in the group voluntarily? Or is this their personal form of punishment?

They don’t respond, don’t leave, don’t react. They’ve reached Zen. Or maybe they’ve just muted the group forever, they have achieved Digital Nirvana. You envy them and aspire to their level of inner peace.

Passive-Aggressive Pandemonium

No family gathering is complete without light drama, and WhatsApp groups are no exception.

• Auntie #2: “Some people don’t even acknowledge the good morning. Basic manners are gone.”

• Cousin #7: leaves the group

• Uncle #1: “Let’s not fight. Life is short. Here’s a video of a cat singing Om Jai Jagdish Hare.”

The digital silence afterward is louder than any screaming match.

The Exit That Can Never Happen

Here’s the cruel joke: You can check out anytime you like, but you can never really leave.

Because the day you exit the group, three things happen:

1. You’re added back within minutes.

2. You get three calls asking if everything is okay at home.

3. You’re now the family rebel who “thinks they’re too good for us.”

So instead, you suffer. Quietly. Stewing in unread messages and emotional GIFs.

Why We Stay

Despite it all—the cringey quotes, the blurry screenshots, the unsolicited health advice—something odd keeps us tethered.

It’s not just guilt. It’s love wrapped in digital dysfunction. A bizarre blend of tradition, obligation, and that deeply human need to stay connected, even if it’s through a forwarded picture of Lord Ganesha dancing on a lotus.

You might mute it. You might roll your eyes. But you’ll never truly leave.

Because at the end of the day, they’re your people. Annoying, overbearing, emoji-abusing—but yours.

If Dante had written The Divine Comedy today, one of the circles of Hell would absolutely be The WhatsApp Family Group.

Until then, just keep calm and reply with .

 Been scarred by a WhatsApp family group? Drop your funniest story in the comments—or just forward this blog to your own group and watch the fireworks. 

How to Lose Your Mind Gracefully in the Grocery Store

 

A modern survival guide for anyone who’s ever wept in aisle five

I didn’t plan to lose my mind today.

I had a list. A noble, responsible list. Bananas, milk, eggs, bread. Just four things. Simple, minimal, adulting at its finest.

And yet, thirty-seven minutes later, I found myself staring blankly at a wall of olive oils, internally debating whether “cold-pressed” or “extra virgin” would help fill the existential void forming in my chest.

Welcome to the modern grocery store — where sensory overload meets decision fatigue, and a simple errand becomes a full-blown identity crisis.

Let’s unpack how to navigate a supermarket, with style, dignity, and reusable bags.

1: The Parking Lot Panic

Nothing tests your patience like circling a grocery store parking lot at peak hours. It’s a battlefield of aggressive honking, reverse-light bluffing, and poorly executed parallel parking.

By the time you find a spot (somewhere just slightly south of the actual store), you’re already sweating and muttering something about how “people have forgotten how to drive.”

You haven’t even entered the store, and your soul has started fraying like a cheap canvas tote.

2: The Cart Catastrophe

Will your cart squeak? Will one wheel wobble, as if it has unresolved trauma from a previous life?

Yes. Always yes.

You pretend it’s fine, shoving it forward like a stubborn mule while pretending not to notice it dragging 5 degrees to the left. You’re now in a slow-motion race with an elderly man using a walker, and honestly? He’s winning.

3: The Produce Section Identity Crisis

This is where your ambition meets reality.

You came in for bananas, but suddenly you’re contemplating dragon fruit, organic celery, and something called “golden kiwi.”( I identify kiwi with green.)

You question your life choices. Should you be the kind of person who eats microgreens? Should you start juicing? Should you become vegan? Is this who you are now?

And then, a rogue avocado rolls off the display and hits the floor. You take it as a sign from the universe to calm the hell down and buy the bananas like a normal person.

4: Aisle-Induced Amnesia

What did you come in here for again?

You’re in Aisle 7 holding a jar of tahini and a box of quinoa, convinced you’re going to start meal prepping even though you’ve never meal prepped a day in your life.

Your grocery list? Forgotten.

Your budget? Shattered.

Your sanity? Teetering like that tower of cereal boxes you just knocked over trying to reach a “high-fiber” something.

You do that thing where you check your phone, as if your Notes app will save you from your spiraling choices. Instead, it opens Instagram, and you lose six minutes to reels of cats making sourdough.

5: The Existential Checkout Spiral

This is where it gets real.

The cashier is 19, radiates the energy of someone who listens to lo-fi beats and has never once paid a utility bill.

You try to seem cool and composed, but you’re sweating and your reusable bag is ripped, and you just realized you bought three types of mustard but forgot the eggs.

Also, why is your total ₹3,428 for what appears to be two bags of snacks, kombucha, and artisan cheese?

You swipe your card with the solemn resignation of someone who knows they’ll be eating cereal for dinner three nights this week.

6: The Emotional Aftermath

You exit the store, blinking against the harsh sunlight like you’ve just returned from war.

You sit in your car, stare into the middle distance, and whisper:

“What just happened?”

It was supposed to be a five-minute errand.

It turned into a full-blown spiritual journey.

You are older now. Wiser. Hungrier.

Embrace the Chaos

Losing your mind in the grocery store is not a personal failing — it’s a rite of passage. In a world of endless choices, overthinking, and societal pressure to be well and eat clean, even something as mundane as a supermarket run can feel like a crisis.

So next time you find yourself crying in front of the yogurt selection or considering if your soul needs probiotics, just remember:

You are not alone.

We’re all just trying to navigate the cereal aisle of life, one confused cart at a time.

Have you ever had a mental breakdown over pasta sauce? Tell me your grocery store meltdown stories in the comments, and if you liked this, follow for more essays on modern madness and everyday hilarity.

Being a Woman and Living with Ambivalence

 

Recently, the CBSE board exam results were declared. Just like in previous years, girls outshined boys once again. The headlines praised their performance, families rejoiced, and hopes soared. Many of these bright young women will pursue professional courses, while others will choose to follow their passions in diverse fields. A fair number will land respectable jobs, gain financial independence, and for a while, it may seem like equality is finally within reach.

And yet, when we look at the topmost positions in most professions—corporate, academic, political, or scientific—how many are occupied by women?

Very few.

This irony bothers me deeply. It’s not because women lack talent, drive, or intelligence. The problem lies elsewhere—hidden in the undercurrents of societal expectations, familial pressures, and the fine print of being a woman.

A large number of women begin their careers with promise, but many drop out of the workforce around the time of marriage. Some leave willingly, looking forward to a new chapter. But others are gradually, and sometimes subtly, pushed into quitting. The reasons vary. Some are expected to relocate for their spouse’s job. Some are told that the family’s peace depends on their presence at home. Some are gently reminded that they can’t possibly handle both work and home without falling short somewhere. And eventually, many do resign. Not because they are weak, but because they are made to believe inadequate for trying to do it all.

Those who make it past this stage face another fork in the road, when they choose to start a family. Motherhood is beautiful, no doubt. But it comes with its own heavy toll on a woman’s career. Maternity breaks often result in missed promotions, lost opportunities, and in some cases, complete disconnection from the professional world.

And even when women return to work, they do so with a constant undercurrent of guilt. Am I spending enough time with my child? Am I being too ambitious? Am I being judged? Spending enough time and being ambitious is debatable but being judges! Sure!

At times, the judgment is not even external. It creeps in quietly, from within.

I speak not just from observation, but from personal experience. I’ve lived this ambivalence. My work has always meant more to me than just financial security. It gave me purpose, identity, and the satisfaction of contributing to society beyond the walls of my home. Yet, when the time came for someone in the family to take a step back, I did. No one asked me to quit. There was no dramatic confrontation. But as one of our team had to do it, I volunteered. It is just that my better half did not offer. As, if that wasn't a choice at all. It was just silently understood Or so I told myself.

Yes, that was my choice. I did it willingly. But I ask, did I truly have a choice?

There was no extended support system—no mother, no mother-in-law who could step in long-term. I couldn’t sabotage another woman’s freedom to salvage my own. And so, I stepped back. I paused a promising career. I chose family.

Today, when I reflect on that decision, I do so without resentment but with realism. I am among the relatively privileged ones. I have a voice in my household. I’m loved, respected, and included in decisions. My partner tries to help—most of the time. He adjusts his schedule occasionally, contributes to household chores, and doesn’t flinch from changing diapers. But is the primary responsibility of the home ever his? Not quite. The emotional and mental load still lies largely with me.

And parenting? That’s an entirely different ballgame. While men may participate physically, the emotional involvement, the patience to teach, play, and gently guide children; that seems to be a rare trait among them. Most women are just expected to have it.

Now, as my children grow, I find myself in yet another phase. A phase where I must prepare them to take flight, to become independent and responsible citizens. And here again, my inner conflict rears its head.

Have I, in my well-intentioned sacrifices, unconsciously set a pattern for them?

I try to raise my son and daughter equally. I talk about respect, independence, and shared responsibilities. But haven’t I also shown them that when the time comes, it’s the woman who compromises? The one who quietly folds away her dreams in the name of duty?

Values, after all, are not merely taught. They are caught. And that frightens me.

There are fleeting moments when a sense of loss catches me off guard. A strange emptiness, a pang I cannot always name. Those are the times I momentarily dislike being a woman—not because I don’t cherish who I am, but because I hate the limitations imposed on me by this world.

And yet, if you ask me, would I want to be a man in my next life?

A shiver runs down my spine.

No, I would still choose to be a woman.

I love being one. I am kind, compassionate, empathetic, and resilient. I have the ability to nurture, to listen, to communicate with care. I’m capable of immense strength and silent courage. I can multitask with grace. I can lead, support, and uplift—all at once.

Men, too, carry burdens. They are often not allowed to express their vulnerability. They are expected to be providers, stoic, and emotionally restrained. That is their cage. And I haven’t lived in it to fully understand its pain.

This isn’t a war of the sexes.

It’s a plea for balance.

Society won’t change overnight. But change begins with acknowledgement. And empathy. More men are stepping up. More women are pushing boundaries. Small, everyday efforts are shaping a better tomorrow. But we still have a long road ahead before gender equality becomes a lived reality, not just a buzzword.

As for me, I continue to walk this tightrope between contentment and compromise. I try to find joy in what I do and meaning in what I gave up. I strive to leave a different legacy for my children. One where choice isn’t dictated by gender but guided by passion, purpose, and mutual respect.

Because in the end, what we model matters more than what we preach.

An Uninvited Guest and Gift of Orphanhood

 

 

Did all the dishes. Checked…

Cleaned the kitchen platform. Checked…

Chopped the vegetables. Checked…

I checked everything before calling my mistress. Today she approved my work with a slight nod of her head. Still, what I was striving for, a smile and a softness in her eyes were missing.

 I landed at her door a few weeks back. One of my distant relatives arranged this job for me.

“Now onwards this is your home. You should work here like you are working for your own home. Madam is just like your Aai. Don’t ever give her any reasons to complain.” He advised me before taking leave.

Madam hired me as a maid and had some expectations from me. I was trying my best but this was all very new to me. For a ten years old girl, who never did any house chores and who was only asked to study and play.

Once, I was also the apple of my Aai, Baba’s eye. Baba used to call me ‘princess’. We were not rich but Aai, Baba took good care of me. Aai wanted me to study well and had dreamed of a government job for me.

I still remember that day, when my result was declared. I stood first in the class. Baba brought my favorite butterscotch ice cream.

The next day, the lockdown was declared due to some uninvited guests in the world. This dreadful virus created devastation in so many lives including mine. I never wanted this virus to enter the world leave alone my home. I and Aai got confined to the house but baba needed to work.

Schools, offices, and shops all got closed. Baba too stayed at home for few days. But he needed money to feed three mouths. So, he had to move out of the house for work.

Both Aai and I were worried for Baba.

Few months passed and things were returning to normal or we thought so when baba caught this deadly virus. He was not keeping well for few days and Aai was taking care of him.

They didn’t allow me to come near them. Aai too contracted the virus after a few days. They needed medical care but none was available. No one came to help us. Finally, when they got the medical care, it was too late. Both left this world leaving behind me, all alone.

I was hungry and my neighbours fed me. One of them managed to contact some of my relatives and one of them took me along with them, reluctantly. After a few weeks, I reached here.

This family is nice. But I miss my Aai, Baba. More so, when they snuggle and caress their kids. It seems like ages when someone cuddled me. I hugged myself and cried through the night, till sleep took over me.

This uninvited and unwanted virus has taken everything from me and many more children like me.

Sooner or later this virus has to leave this place but the marks left by this virus will take their own sweet time before they get erased.

P.S. One of the secondary impacts of COVID-19 is children orphaned or bereft of their caregiver. These children often face adverse consequences, including poverty, abuse, and institutionalization.

 Globally, more than a million children experienced the death of their caregivers. Orphanhood, defined by UNICEF as the death of one or both parents and the death of caregivers can have severe consequences. As deaths occur within weeks, children and family members are not prepared for the trauma they experience. This can impact children in the form of developmental delays, abuse, mental health problems, sexual violence, and poverty. There is the risk of adolescent pregnancy, the risk of suicide, and an increase in cases of chronic illness and HIV.

As per the National Commission for Protection of Child Rights (NCPCR), more than 30000 children in India have lost a parent or were abandoned due to COVID-19.

Maharashtra has been the worst affected.

We controlled COVID-19 eventually but the childhoods of the children who are orphaned due to this virus are never going to come back.

Let Me Live This Moment

 

I am Rahul. I’m five years old. I know because there were five candles on my birthday cake. My mom told me that my birthday cake would have six candles next year. I have a younger brother too. Mehul. His birthday cake had just one candle. He is the best gift my parents gave me.

My parents love me. But people outside my family give me anxiety. They give me strange glances and inquire about my parents. They talk about some milestones that I haven’t yet achieved. They say my speech is delayed. I have trouble communicating my feelings. I get tongue-tied when I try to speak. Words fail me, but I understand everything. Mehul too doesn’t talk much. But people label him normal. He can't even walk straight. He often trips while walking. I try to support him or help him when he stumbles.

We play together and understand each other. We don't need words to understand each other’s feelings. But when Mehul cries, I too get restless. That is when I want Mom at my side, not Mehul’s.

Doctors had diagnosed me with Asperger’s syndrome. That means I fall on the Autism Spectrum. It was two years ago. It took some time before my parents could accept it. The last two years were tough for us. We were super busy with therapies and frequent visits to the doctor. My dad accompanied me each time. At first, my mom was expectant, and then Mehul came.

My family has come to terms with reality. We live a normal life, but social gatherings can become difficult for us. I feel lost and suffocated, but once I find a quiet corner, my imagination knows no bounds.

I have started going to kindergarten as well. I was scared in the beginning, but now I feel fine. Teachers are sensitive towards me, and so are most of the kids. A few kids get confused about my behaviour. I think they are ignorant souls. I try to ignore them till they start to shout at the top of their lungs. Did I tell you I can’t withstand noise? I become restless, and then I only need my mom.

Mom says I’m a keen observer. They stress this fact. But I find it normal. How can you not appreciate God’s wonderful creations? I like to observe birds, ants, sand, rain, and trees.

The other day I was playing on my balcony. It was airy. The air felt so nice. as if it whispered something in my ears. I tried to listen but it was gone. I wanted to, but I could not ask my mom. I wonder what the breeze says? I’ll try to listen carefully next time.

We have a few planters on our balcony. I love to watch them. Birds come and sit on our parapet. I want to have a close look, but each time I try to approach, they fly away.

I can’t eat on my own. I spill and scatter my food a lot. I’m still learning. But I’m fine as long as my family is with me.

That day, my mom was helping me with my food and Mehul was playing around us when I caught sight of this tiny ant. It was stealing my food from the floor. I tried to block its way, but it changed its route and kept on moving. The crumbs of bread it was carrying were way bigger than its whole body. When Mehul was about to crush it under his foot, I saved her under the cup of my palm. His foot did hurt me a little, but I was happy I could save her.

People think I’m weird, but I think they are. Why can’t they follow me? I don't understand. Why do I need to fit in with their standards? Can’t they try to fit into mine?

I’m happy the way I am. I have my own pace. I’m in no hurry. Only if, you could wait a little while and let me enjoy my moments just like my parents allow me to.

The Reflection

 As a kid, I always loved looking in the mirror and felt good about what I saw. I always found an attractive soul reflecting from that mirror who looked at me admiringly. I did the same in return, admired the image inside that mirror. I simply didn’t see any flaws. 

Two vibrant eyes with all the kindness, an innocent face, and a beautiful smile. I saw what I wanted to see and what was there in my heart. Same I found in others. I saw beauty, inside and outside, because that was the only thing I knew. The world was a beautiful place and all the inmates were beautiful, till the world started exhibiting to me some faults in myself and also in others! Maybe their mirrors were different from what I had. After all, mine was an old, second-hand piece.

That day, I accompanied my mother to her workplace. I wanted to play with the toys of the acquaintances in the house but I wasn’t allowed. They said I was not clean enough and they made me sit outside on the floor. I tried to peep in. It was a beautiful, palatial house. A large mirror was mounted in the living area. I looked at my reflection and didn’t find myself beautiful. “What happened to the girl who accompanied Amma in the morning?” I asked myself.

I picked up a stick from the ground and imagined it was a doll. I often used to play with these kinds of imaginary dolls. They always served the purpose perfectly fine and always made a beautiful toy for me. But today I imagined it was me. It wanted to play with the real me. I scolded it, “You aren’t as clean.” Its surface was so rough and muddy. That day I could only see ugliness in it. The dry rough and grimy. I wanted to but I couldn’t play with it. Then I looked at my hands and found the skin wasn’t as soft as it used to be.

I wanted to go back to my house and have a look in that magic mirror. Surely that was a magic mirror as I always found myself beautiful and clean in it. 

Why was Amma taking so long to finish her work? I didn't like it there. I wanted to go back and clean myself first and then have a look at my beautiful reflection. I needed to do that to acquire my self-esteem back. 

Amma came back after some time which appeared to me like eons. On reaching home, first I cleaned myself. Amma asked, why was I scrubbing myself so much. I didn’t reply. Just kept on scrubbing.

The mirror wasn't the same, the reflection wasn't the same. I was no longer as beautiful as I used to be. My imaginary toys too lost all the charm and sheen.

What happened? The mirror wasn’t good enough or the eyes staring in it had changed? I was made to notice the unattractive me and the world. I was looking through a curtain of dubiety.

It took a long time to realize that the dirty mirror shows a dirty image. When I was rubbing my eyes to have a clear reflection all I needed to do was free my mirror from that curtain and my reflection would have been as clear and beautiful as it used to be.