Avasthapadaren da Chaari 😢😣

There are a few things in life that haunt you forever—your embarrassing childhood nickname, that one school teacher who still remembers you as the “talkative” kid, and, of course, the family WhatsApp group. No matter how much you try to ignore it, it lurks in the background, constantly buzzing with Good Morning messages, conspiracy theories, and life advice you never asked for.

Every single morning, my phone lights up like it’s been possessed. The Good Morning texts flood in—each one grander than the last. There’s always one motivational quote slapped onto a blurry image of a sunrise, a GIF of flowers blooming in slow motion, and a video of an old man smiling at the sky as if he just discovered inner peace. My relatives clearly believe that starting the day without sending these messages is a crime punishable by karma.

And then, right after the sunrise blessings, comes the daily dose of fake news. If WhatsApp university had a degree, some of my uncles and aunties would have PhDs in forwarding absolute nonsense. If I believed everything they sent, I would:

• Never eat a banana after 7 PM because it   apparently turns into poison.
• Rub coconut oil on my forehead to increase brain power.
• Believe that someone in Gujarat has invented a car that runs on Pani Puri water, but the government is hiding it from us.

cause now, instead of “When are you getting married?” the new favorite topic is “When are you having kids?”

I can’t even reply to a Diwali greeting without someone sneaking in a message like:

“Hope next Diwali we get good news from you!”

“Sending extra blessings for a little one soon!”

“Enjoy these festivals, Gayathri , later you’ll be running behind kids!”

Excuse me, I was just trying to say ‘Happy Diwali,’ not start a full-fledged discussion about my reproductive timeline.

And then there’s the festival spam. Every Pongal, Diwali, and Navratri, the group goes into absolute overdrive.Suddenly, my phone is bombarded with:

1. 500 identical festival wishes that only differ by font style.

2. Blurry pictures of homemade sweets that either look delicious or mildly terrifying.

3. Mandatory messages about our culture (as if I was planning to forget it overnight).

The best part? If I don’t reply immediately, the guilt-tripping starts. Suddenly, I get personal texts:

“Gayathri, everything okay? You didn’t reply to my pongal wish.”

Yes, everything was fine until I had to acknowledge 67 versions of the same Pongal greeting.

And let’s not forget the video spam. The content varies from:

• Religious discourses that are longer than my work meetings.
• Random TikTok-style “comedy” clips where someone falls off a chair and my entire family finds it hilarious.
• Homemade cooking videos, where a distant aunt explains how to make idli batter in 47 steps.

And the worst part? Auto-download is ON. Now my phone storage is full of laughing Buddha stickers, blurry festival sweets, and videos of random men talking about karma.

But the real drama begins when someone deletes a message. The notification “Uncle deleted a message” is like a bomb going off. Instantly, the entire group turns into CID mode.

“Uncle, what did you delete?”

“Aiyo, now we all want to know!”

“Tell us, tell us, we won’t judge!”

At this point, even Netflix crime documentaries have less suspense than a WhatsApp family group trying to uncover a deleted message.

And finally, the biggest horror of all—leaving the group. WhatsApp has made sure that if you try to escape, your exit is announced like breaking news. There’s no silent exit, no slipping away unnoticed. The moment I press “Exit Group,” the whole family knows.

Within minutes, my dad calls.

Then my aunt texts.

Then my uncle asks if I’m upset.

“Gayathri, why did you leave? Did we say something wrong?”

At this point, I have only two choices:

1. Apologize and rejoin like a defeated soldier.

2. Pretend my phone got hacked.

So here I am, trapped forever. Muting the group. Ignoring 99% of the messages. But every once in a while, I slip up, and before I know it, I’m stuck reading a 200-word message on why eating turmeric before bed will solve all my life problems.

There is no escape.

And so, I suffer… drowning in Good Morning GIFs, forwarded news about aliens in Chennai , and unsolicited blessings for a child I haven’t even planned for.

May God save us all.