Disclaimer: All events, persons and names mentioned herewith are purely fictitious and imaginary. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely co-incidental and unintentional.
🎬 Episode 1: The Day It All Began
“My son is a Software Engineer from ::insert the name of an ‘elite’ institution:: and is working with ::insert big IT company name::…” ranted Savitha Auntie, our neighbor from ever since I remember.
I was at this "Ladies- Only Welcome party" for the newest addition to the neighborhood, trying my best to zone out. What i did not know, is that my zoning out attempts will be the beginning of a new melting pot...
It was another regular gathering, with the usual neighborhood talk between the ladies of the ‘mohalla’, when suddenly “Rinu’s son’s wedding” (Rinu Auntie is another neighbor, whose son Adi – a Software engineer, is getting married) became the core of the conversation.
I am not fond of these "Auntie gatherings" that happen at our society regularly and almost every time, find something to do by myself. Today was one of the rare occasions where I had no choice but to accompany my dear Maashi to this gathering as Mother dear built up a solid excuse for not going.
So, here I was, at a randomly chosen auntie's house for snacks and chit-chat. My only solace, Anju, another teenager like me and the daughter of our host Jyothi Auntie, had taken off to her grandparents' for the week.
Sheesh.!!
As luck would have it, I had to stick around the ladies and had nothing to do except answer a random question here and nod in agreement to another statement there. The aunties were trying to keep me "involved" you see. Also, the snacks were served in this very place. I decided that it wasn't that bad after all.!
I picked up a random magazine from under the table and sank into one of the sofas in the vicinity that was slightly off the vision for the aunties, but still convenient for me to grab the pakoras (mmm) occasionally. Just as soon as i had found something interesting to read, Jyothi Auntie turned to me to ask if i was "bored", to which i replied in the negative. During this brief Q&A, the other aunties had also turned to give me a glance (looked like they were trying to catch a 7 year old that was punished, do something more crazy!). At that very instant when i had finished answering Jyothi Auntie and picked up the magazine, Kay (short for Kavya Auntie - she did not like being called Auntie - she felt very young at heart!) let out a surprised and loud WOW.! All the ladies were stunned by her sudden reaction and were trying to figure out what had happened, when i caught her looking at the advert for Wedding Clothing in the magazine i was holding. By now, all the ladies were focused on the Model in the ad.
My attempt at being inconspicuous had just fallen flat and very reluctantly, i handed over the magazine to my Maashi, who was holding her hand out for the last 45 seconds.
This is how it all began...
🎬 Episode 2: The Bahu Briefing
Where pakoras are hot and bahu expectations are hotter.
Initially, I didn't understand what was the interest of these ladies in the Wedding. For me, it was just another wedding, celebrations and good food. For the Aunties, it was a hot topic of discussion, which went on to debate and then concluded with an elaborate bragging session of their own lads and lasses.
Each one of them had a story to share - about a wedding they had been to, which was invariably lousy, mismanaged, wrongly chosen and the like, and how they would have pulled of something grandiose and elegant with the same resources.
Try as much, i could not not listen to the conversation. As absurd as it was, i found it interesting that these ladies could remember the minutest details of all the numerous weddings that they had attended. A couple of them even recalled the clothing and accessories of a random lady to the last detail (the audience disagreed, and the speaker fished out a picture from Facebook to prove her point).
When each of them had finished their "story-telling", Asha Auntie remarked - "Hey, Rinu's son is getting married, have you heard?" The very mention of an upcoming event had charged the atmosphere and the increase in excitement was palpable.
Rinu Auntie was not the kind to attend these "gossip meets" as she called them. She led her life on her own terms and gossiping was on her list of most hated activities. She was social and friendly, but rejected the idea of such kitty parties. Her life was her own, and no one knew what she didn't want them to know. No gossip - no nonsense.
It was known to all that Adi was getting married. But not many knew the details (no gossip!). Precisely the reason for the surge in excitement when Asha Auntie mentioned the wedding. Each one of them wanted to know every detail they could lay their hands on and everybody wanted to contribute the little truth (mostly flying rumors they assumed to be true) that they had "heard".
I knew almost all of it was nonsense, because Sana (Rinu Auntie's daughter and Adi's younger sister) and I practically grew up together and confided in each other (we are best buddies).
While i heard the ladies go on, it took me quite some effort not to laugh. Some of the "facts" they mentioned were downright absurd - one of which was that they were already married secretly and this is just a formal acceptance.
Duh!!
The discussion around Adi's wedding died soon enough, because no one knew as much, and the stories were not satiating the curiosity
It was now Savitha Auntie's turn to be in the limelight (i had a feeling she was jealous of Adi, although Kabir - her son - and Adi were good friends).
Savitha Auntie was now looking for a match for Kabir, who was the other eligible bachelor in the neighborhood, and since she had heard of Adi, she was all out in getting her son married as well. Her expectations of the kind of daughter-in-law she was looking for was what made my day.
She had to be at least 5'6" (her son was 6'), dove eyed, fair skinned (Kabir is handsome and fair), slim built with the right curves (her son exercised and maintained healthy weight and shape), Engineer from a reputed institution (her son was one), should know cooking (girls are supposed to know), should have a drivers license (to be able to drive around), the family must be affluent (Her family was) and obviously, the girl must be working yet homely...
In summary, the girl had to be nothing less than perfect.! Good looks, good family, good career, good everything. That was quite some expectation from her would-be-daughter-in-law.
Sheena Auntie (our new neighbor), who was watching all of this silently so far, spoke up just after Savitha Auntie had finished her nearly breathless account of "her requirements".
Sheena Auntie had 2 sons - both Engineers and working. Her elder son - Avi was already married and settled in UK. The younger one - Akash - had just returned from Australia after his internship.
Akash had landed a Job in one of the big "I" companies in the city and that's why they had moved in this neighborhood. He was in the same league as Adi and Kabir, and was the new eligible bachelor around.
Sheena Auntie remarked "I am also now looking for another daughter for myself. I want someone who is sweet and innocent, along with being pretty and educated. Akash is a six footer as well, so i prefer someone who is atleast 5'7"...
She continued on similar lines as that of Savitha Auntie, but notched up nominally on every requirement. I had a feeling that she wanted to be one step higher and was trying to build up to it. It was her first gathering after she had moved last month, and this was her best chance to scale it up.
While I felt that Savitha Auntie's requirements were on the lines of too much, Sheena Auntie upped the game almost 100%.
In addition to the "regular requirements" (in her own words, what Savitha Auntie had described were the usual requirements and it was easy to find a girl that fit her bill), the girl had to match up to what her son was looking for in a life partner.
Sheena Auntie remarked that Akash was talented at both Athletics and Arts (music and dance), and he wanted to pursue his "passions" for as long as he was able. To add to it, he loved to travel, which explained why the family had moved quite a few cities. (Avi and Akash were both travel junkies and every couple years since teenage, had applied to a different school/ university, necessitating travel).
Sheena Auntie was specifically looking for someone who had an interest in music/ dance and was open to the idea of travelling around. Her Bahu would also have to travel along with Akash on his work assignments (Travel being the reason Akash had chosen to work for the company). She could not be home sick or be averse to any form of travel...
Ohhh my Gawd...
🎬 Episode 3: The Bahu AI
When expectations meet algorithms, chaos logs in.
My head was spinning like a low-budget soap opera plot twist. I could not believe the level of microscopic detail these aunties expected from a daughter-in-law. It was like building a resume for sainthood — only with better wardrobe choices.
I needed air. Sanity. Silence. Or a portal to another planet.
So, I muttered something about needing the bathroom. Jyothi Auntie, ever the hospitable ninja, smiled sweetly and pointed me toward the one next to Anju’s room — the only room not filled with matrimonial madness.
I darted out before anyone else could drop another demand like “she must know how to fold a saree with one hand while answering the landline.”
These ladies were listing out requirements as if some matrimonial version of ChatGPT would take them all in and create the ideal bahu overnight.
(If such a Bahu Builder AI ever existed, hell would break loose in this house. I could already hear the competitive shrieks:
“Make mine taller!”
“Add a touch of Madhubala meets MBA!”
“Can she chant shlokas while baking banana bread?!”)
I reached the room on the first floor, collapsed into a bean bag, and finally exhaled. Blissful silence. Nevertheless, I wondered if there was any end to this requirement and how one actually decided who would be the lucky one.
But even here, the echo of their expectations lingered like overboiled chai.
Was there any end to these “requirements”? How does one even win this selection game?
Every Mother of a Son had her own hyper-specific "idea" of how her bahu should be.
Add to it the prospective grooms, each with their own wish-list of aesthetics, academics, and almond milk lattes. And here I was, still figuring out how to fold my fitted sheet without losing my religion.
I had barely spent ten minutes curled up in the bean bag when I heard a voice call out, “Beta, are you okay? We’ve missed you!”
Missed me? I had barely vanished from their line of sight. But apparently, my presence was now “essential.” Before I could say anything, I was politely (read: forcibly) summoned back into the drawing room.
“We need your help,” said Sheena Auntie with that fake urgency only aunties can master. “You’re an engineer, right?”
I nodded, instantly regretting it. Turns out, they were trying to track down some girl’s full biodata from an old wedding album that someone had posted on Instagram four years ago.
And since I was “from IT,” my identity was no longer mine — I had now been upgraded to the neighborhood’s resident hacker, ethical or otherwise. Apparently, if you know how to clear cookies, you can also bypass two-factor authentication and extract Aadhaar details using just a blurry selfie and a food blog tag.
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly unlocked a new dimension — one where every IT student moonlights as a government-grade hacker. But the aunties? Unfazed. They’d already assigned me the job and a spy soundtrack in their heads.
They handed me a screenshot so pixelated it looked like Minecraft had crashed. "Can you trace her through this?" one of them asked. I briefly considered setting their expectations on fire. Or at least putting them in timeout with a modem from 1998.
They showed me a grainy picture of the girl in question, zoomed in 500%, and asked if I could “reverse image search” her lehenga - as if fashion recognition APIs were built for velvet and zari borders.
Kay Auntie had even drawn a sketch on a tissue of what she thought the girl's face looked like. “Can we find her through this?” she asked seriously.
Welcome to CSI: Shaadi Edition — where the aunties have suspects, theories, and a vision board made of shaadi snaps and mehendi motifs.
And there I was, their only hope.
As I toggled tabs and dodged commentary, part of me rolled its eyes. But another part — a quieter, softer part — wondered if someone, somewhere, was doing this for me too.
Was I a folder on someone else’s laptop? A blurry pic being scrutinized under a family’s projector screen while snacks were passed around?
The Bahu Builder AI may not exist yet, but in this mohalla — I was it. And suddenly, that felt a lot heavier than code and cookies.
🎬 Episode 4: Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Detective Thi
Where Ekta Kapoor meets Elon Musk, and logic exits the chat.
I was still clutching the Minecraft-quality printout when the real drama began — and no, I don’t mean the serial kind, though the parallels were uncanny.
“You know who she reminds me of?” whispered Shalini Auntie — one of the old-school originals with a vintage silk saree and permanent judgment squint — adjusting her dupatta like she was prepping for a Doordarshan close-up - “She’s exactly like that girl from Kumkum Bhagya! You know the one who fainted stylishly in every episode but still managed to save the day with a puja thali?” What was her name? The one who married into the rich family but still touched feet even during a robbery?”
“Oh please,” scoffed Savitha Auntie, “she’s more like Tulsi from Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi. Pure. Graceful. And probably owns a puja bell set in six metals.”
“That’s so 2004,” quipped Kay Auntie, flipping her freshly ironed curls. “If anything, she’s more like Kashish from Kahin Toh Hoga — tragic elegance, dignified silences, and the kind of girl who walks away with a suitcase and her dignity when the hero turns toxic.”
Someone gasped. Someone else sipped their chai like it was poisoned with secrets. And then... silence fell.
“Sheena, what do you think?”
Sheena Auntie, who had been suspiciously quiet (probably cross-referencing birth charts and Instagram bios), finally chimed in, “This girl could be the Parvati of our mohalla. But only if she sings bhajans and can bake cheesecakes.”
I wanted to bury myself under the rug — or better, teleport into Teri Meri Dooriyaan, where people at least have some emotional depth and plot twists that don’t involve CCTV footage from mandaps.
But then came the grand reveal — they had found her Instagram.
“She’s private. We need to ‘follow’ her,” someone said, in the same tone someone might say, “We’ve lost contact with the moon lander.”
There was collective tension in the room — as if following someone on Instagram required divine intervention or a secret handshake at a temple. One auntie gasped like she'd just seen a memory-loss twist in the middle of Kasautii Zindagii Kay.
The atmosphere had shifted. This wasn’t social media anymore. This was espionage. Spy Bahus: The Insta Mission.
“Can’t you send a follow request from your profile? She’ll accept you! You look harmless.”
And just like that, they all turned toward me — eyes wide, heads slightly tilted, as if they'd spotted a rare, docile unicorn in a jungle of sass. One even gave me that look — the one reserved for freshly bathed children during wedding season — equal parts adoration and silent judgment.
I half expected someone to pinch my cheeks and say, “So sweet! She won’t bite.”
I blinked. Harmless. Right. Clearly, they hadn’t seen my rage when Flipkart cancels cashbacks.
I lowered my voice and muttered, “I’m not ACP Pradyuman and this ain’t CID. And I definitely don’t have that computer genius — what’s his name — Vivek? Freddy? Whoever! I’m not decoding relationship crimes or tracing influencers on the dark web.”
“Kya?” Maashi leaned in sharply.
“Kuch nahi,” I said quickly, putting on my best innocent-girl face.
But it was too late. I had already been cast — not as the lead, not even as the saheli — but as their password-reset specialist to a future bahu.
Somewhere, Jagriti — yes, that Jagriti from Zee TV, IPS officer and beacon of sense in a sea of sequins — rolled her eyes from the archives.
And in that moment, I briefly considered faking memory loss. Just like every dramatic bahu in every third episode — one head bump, and boom! Everyone forgets the mission and starts crying over kheer.
🎬 Episode 5: Doston Ke Doston Ke Doston Wali Destiny
When the algorithm bows to the aunties.
So, I did it. I clicked follow. Fully expecting to be ignored like an HR email. But the universe — and Instagram’s broken algorithm — had other plans.
Turns out, she was unknowingly a friend of a friend of a friend. One of those six-degrees-of-mohalla situations where the person you tried to ghost at tuition ends up being your cousin’s sister-in-law’s wedding planner.
And just like that... the request was accepted. I didn’t even realize it until the entire living room gasped. Someone had refreshed the profile page like it was stock market live updates.
“She’s in!” Savitha Auntie whispered, clutching her pearls.
Sheena Auntie nodded solemnly like I’d cracked an IAS exam. “Beta, you’re gifted.”
I wanted to say, “No, Instagram just glitched.” But I knew better.
In a flash, phones were whipped out. Zoom-ins happened. Captions were overanalyzed like budget speeches.
Kay Auntie found a post where the girl had written “Work trip to Delhi ❤️” and decided it was a hidden message. “She’s ambitious. But also emotional. See that heart? Classic Cancer sun sign.”
“I think that’s Hauz Khas,” Maashi added, squinting at the background.
Every little detail — from the angle of her smile to the font in her captions — was being overanalyzed. A mental dossier was forming with frightening speed. Meanwhile, I just wanted to scroll through her bio in peace. But no — every swipe brought with it an auntie peeking over my shoulder like a suspicious saas decoding WhatsApp forwards.
Each click summoned commentary. Each pause became a roundtable discussion.
Somewhere between ‘Who’s in the background?’ and ‘Why is she wearing sneakers with that salwar?’, I realised — I had become the human version of incognito mode for these ladies.
And something told me... this wasn’t a one-time gig. I’d been unofficially recruited into Bahu Bureaucracy Services™ — and there was no quitting now.
Just then, Jyothi Auntie — our host and resident over-preparer — dramatically emerged from the bedroom with a spare laptop like she was unveiling a relic from the IT department of 2002. “It’s Anju’s. Works perfectly well for these things,” she said, placing it down like it was a surgical tray.
Asha Auntie, not to be outdone, gasped with sudden urgency. “I have a projector at home! Let me call the driver — he’ll bring it in five.”
I watched in disbelief as she dialed, gave precise instructions like a general dispatching air support, and proceeded to clear space on the wall.
“There’s no screen,” she muttered, eyeing the wall opposite. “We’ll use this.”
That’s when everyone turned to the massive framed painting of a tranquil mountain lake.
“It’s okay,” Jyothi Auntie declared. “Take it down. We can hang it back later.”
And so, with two chairs, one stool, and a ton of unsolicited advice, the aunties carefully brought down the only piece of décor keeping this room from looking like a war room.
This was it — the transformation was complete.
Bahu Surveillance HQ was live. Fully operational. And wired in every way imaginable.
🎬 Episode 6: The Zoom-In Zone
Where HDMI cables tangle and so do plotlines.
The laptop was set. The projector had arrived. The painting was down. And suddenly, our living room had the emotional tension of a war tribunal and the tech setup of a TED Talk — except the topic was “Decoding Bahu Prospects 101.”
Jyothi Auntie sat like a control room operator, adjusting brightness and muttering about HDMI inputs.
Asha Auntie stood next to the wall with a measuring tape, just in case the frame needed to be “realigned” once the surveillance session ended.
Kay Auntie pulled the blinds shut — “Too much natural light, beta. It’s interfering with our stalking.”
The Instagram profile now glowed against the wall like a courtroom exhibit. Every photo was frozen, dissected, zoomed, and reinterpreted through the combined emotional trauma of 7 TV serials and 20 years of mohalla memory.
“Zoom in on this one,” said Savitha Auntie. “No, not the boy. The girl behind the girl. She’s the real mystery.”
Sheena Auntie chimed in, “I think she’s the cousin who studied in London. See the eyeliner. That’s not Indian.”
Meanwhile, I was balancing the laptop on my knees, clutching a wired mouse with the precision of a bomb squad member. My every scroll was being narrated like a cricket commentary.
“She clicked it! Yes — she’s opening the comments!”
“She’s scrolling too fast. What if we miss something?”
At one point, someone — I suspect it was Shalini Auntie — tried to adjust the lens with her dupatta.
“Beta, she has a highlight called ‘Family’. Click on that!”
I did.
Gasps echoed like a thunderclap in a courtroom drama.
“She’s holding a BABY!” — the auntie chorus rose in perfectly synced horror.
“Baccha kahaan se aaya?!” cried Savitha Auntie, nearly dropping her chai.
“That’s her NIECE!” Kay Auntie jumped in like a lawyer mid-trial. “Look at the caption — ‘Cutie alert 💕’. She’s clearly the maasi, not the mummy!”
Someone audibly sniffled. “She used a pink heart... that means she wants a daughter. Mark my words.”
Jyothi Auntie fanned herself dramatically with a magazine. “This is bigger than the Parvati poisoned Baa episode!”
Asha Auntie gasped, “We need to check if she follows any parenting pages. It’s a sign.”
I stared at the screen, my hand frozen on the trackpad. My fingers were cramped. My ears were ringing. I was one Insta story away from opening a black hole of overthinking.
This wasn’t stalking. This wasn’t screening. This was a full-blown emotional dissection on a 100-inch wall. I was no longer a participant in the room. I had become a live-streaming device — a glorified HDMI cable with feelings.
🎬 Episode 7: The Resume Within
Where the bio you fear the most is your own.
Somewhere between the HDMI flickers and Kay Auntie’s eyeliner conspiracy theories, I began zoning out. Not the gentle, daydreamy kind. This was deep-space dissociation. Like my body was navigating Google Photos while my soul was curled up in the recycling bin.
On the outside, I nodded. I clicked. I zoomed in on profile pics and filtered captions as per community guidelines.
But inside — oh boy — I was auditing my own Instagram. Mentally scrolling through years of filtered sunsets, group photos, awkward tags, and that one ill-advised selfie from a train bathroom that I swore looked aesthetic at the time.
Was there anything in my feed that could trigger gasps? Comments? Unwanted conclusions?
“Is this from a party?” “Oh, look — she’s holding a coffee mug. She’s obviously a caffeine addict.”
I shuddered. What if they pulled up my profile someday? Would my use of 🐸 emojis be decoded as sass? Would my Dussehra pic in jeans be labeled as "disrespectful modernity"?
Someone clapped near me and I blinked. Back in the room. Kay Auntie was asking if this girl looked like she wore dupattas by choice or compulsion.
I clicked another picture. Physically present, mentally spiraling.
Back I went — scrolling through my memory like it was an Excel sheet of regrets.
And then it hit me — that weekend getaway post.
A harmless picture at the time. Me, laughing on a lawn with friends and cousins. Someone standing a little too close. Someone else awkwardly distant. The kind of photo that can stir entire family hierarchies when viewed under a projection lens with background gossip playing in surround sound.
Asha Auntie squinted. “Who’s this in the corner? They seem... disconnected.”
“Oh, and look at this boy here — he’s so close,” said Savitha Auntie, narrowing her eyes as if decoding a will.
My heart dropped.
That trip. That fallout. That fight.
That moment when my world had cracked quietly and I’d stitched it back with filters and fake captions. I had almost forgotten how badly it had broken me. Almost.
And now, it was up for public scrutiny like a courtroom exhibit.
I wanted to grab the laptop and launch it out the window. But my fingers just clicked “Next.”
Because this is what girls do. We keep clicking “Next,” even when our hearts are begging us to unplug.
Maashi was still watching me — one eyebrow raised like a lie detector. But just then, someone shrieked about the girl’s hand accessories and she got pulled into the debate.
I exhaled. And went back to calculating how many emotional landmines were left before they’d scroll past my shadow.
Somewhere in the background, a ringtone blared — dramatic violin, obviously — and someone announced that the girl's bio just updated.
A new caption. A new mystery.
And just like that, we were all sucked back in — eyes glued, hearts racing, theories flying.
But little did they know... the next reveal wouldn’t come from her.
It would come from me.
🎬 Episode 8: The Plot Twist I Became
Where silence breaks, and so does the system.
It happened so fast, I didn’t even realize the words had left my mouth. “I think it’s beautiful.”
The room froze. Chai cups hovered midair. Brows furrowed. Aunties turned.
“What is?” Savitha Auntie asked, suspiciously sweet.
“The picture,” I said, pointing to the screen. “She’s with her friends. She’s laughing. She looks free.”
Shalini Auntie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think it’s a bit... much?”
“No,” I said, steadier now. “I think we’ve all forgotten what it means to just be happy without a checklist. Maybe she posted it not to prove anything — but because it reminded her of joy.”
There was a pause. Heavy and unfamiliar. Like the moment before a monsoon — dense with unspoken things, the kind of silence that demands to be felt.
Kay Auntie gave a slow, reluctant nod. “Hmm. It is a good picture.” Her voice softer than usual, as if even she wasn’t sure whether she meant it as surrender or solidarity.
Asha Auntie narrowed her eyes, ready to strike — but something held her back. Maybe it was the way everyone else stayed still. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the truth.
It wasn’t agreement. But it wasn’t resistance either. And in this room, that alone felt like a tectonic shift.
And just like that, the energy cracked — not with chaos, but with something far more powerful.
Permission.
And just as the word settled — not loudly, but fully — the room responded.
A stack of wedding cards, neatly arranged on the side table, slipped and scattered like fate had just sneezed mid-ritual. They fluttered across the marble like fallen tarot, each one carrying someone’s hope, pressure, or projection.
Nobody moved to gather them.
It wasn’t carelessness. It was reverence. Like the moment didn’t need to be interrupted by order.
The projector hummed. The aunties sat still.
And the image on the wall? For once, untouched by commentary — just a girl, smiling into a sunset she didn’t know was being broadcast to a drawing room full of strangers.
The projector was still running, but no one was commenting. Not for a moment. They just... watched.
For the first time all evening, the screen wasn’t a battlefield. It wasn’t a case file. It wasn’t a debate.
It was just a girl. Smiling. Existing.
In that one frame, I saw what we all forget to see — that a moment captured with joy doesn’t need justification. That being happy doesn’t always require explanation.
And I? I felt something shift inside me too. A quiet rebellion against every time I’d swallowed my truth to keep the room calm. A whisper of courage where caution used to live.
Maybe — just maybe — I had defused a landmine instead of stepping on one.
And the silence it left behind? It wasn’t empty. It was sacred.
🎬 Episode 9: The Other Bride
Where filters fade, and fate zooms in.
After all the buildup, gossip, and sleuthing, we finally landed on her profile. No, not the original girl they were hunting — this one was different.
"Wait, isn’t this... Adi’s fiancée?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Gasps. Zoom-ins. Double taps. Confirmations through Sana’s tagged photos.
“She and that girl are cousins,” someone whispered, eyes wide.
“Then why were we stalking her?” asked Kay Auntie, confused but committed.
Before anyone could answer, something else popped up — a photo. From a bachelorette party. Taken two months ago. On a beach.
And right there in the middle — me.
Not a random tag. Not a blink-and-miss. A full-blown, arms-wrapped, laughing-at-something-inside-joke snapshot.
Savitha Auntie zoomed in. “Isn’t that our girl?”
Asha Auntie narrowed her eyes. “That outfit... bit bold, no?”
Maashi cleared her throat in a way that suggested the beginnings of either a defense or a rebuke — unclear which. She also tossed me an eye-roll so theatrical it could've closed a Broadway show. I blinked twice, trying to look neutral, but the judgement storm had already begun brewing in her eyebrow arch.
I wanted to melt. I wanted to click “archive.” I wanted to teleport to that beach and warn Past Me to wear a shawl, just in case future projections needed to be protected.
Jyothi Auntie, ever the host, looked mildly amused. “Interesting connections you’ve got there.”
I fumbled. “We’re... uh... all engineering students. Same college.” (Not a lie. Just a well-cooked half-truth.)
That’s when someone casually mentioned: “Wasn’t Adi dating someone from college?”
Maashi’s face went still. A beat passed. Then another. Her eyes darted to me. The room felt like it had collectively held its breath.
And just like that — chaos rebooted.
No one dared ask me to adjust the resolution — they knew better. They knew I'd launch into a TED Talk on data privacy or roll my eyes hard enough to shift the projector focus. So they scrambled themselves. Someone leaned too hard on the touchpad, someone else messed with brightness settings, and curtains were yanked like it was prime-time television.
Resolution bumped. Clarity enhanced. Suspense thickened.
A painting of mountains and mandirs was taken down with a reverence reserved for mythological idols — all to make way for the high-res version of scandal.
And there I was, front and center. Projected in 4K. Caption: “Beach, besties, and bad jokes.”
Before I could shut the laptop, freeze the moment, or fake a sudden fainting spell, someone whispered:
“She’s close to the family. That changes things.”
A moment later: “But what does it change?”
Before I knew it, they were back in detective mode. Zooming in on rings. Matching dates. Tracing connections. Reading between pixels.
Me? I was frozen.
Somewhere in the chaos, I wondered — was I next? Was this my matchmaking prequel?
But before they could dig deeper, the doorbell rang — loud, sharp, and divinely timed.
A voice floated in from the hallway, all sparkle and sunshine:
"Where’s my shopping partner? I have three bags and zero patience!"
I knew that voice.
Sana.
Cue the dramatic turn of heads, aunties frozen mid-zoom, Maashi dropping her specs in slow motion. The projector flickered.
And just like that... the storm paused.
Cut to black.
🎬 Episode 10: Enter Sana, Exit Chaos?
When retail therapy becomes divine intervention.
The silence after her voice was the kind you hear right before a soap opera title card slams across the screen with a thunderclap.
Sana stood at the door, radiant and smug like she knew she’d saved me from a digital assassination.
She strode in — three shopping bags, one messy bun, zero cares.
“Oh wow,” she said, squinting at the screen. “Didn’t know we were holding a TEDxBahu conference here. Any keynote speakers?”
Kay Auntie blinked first. “Sana beta! You’ve come?”
“Would’ve come earlier,” Sana replied, placing her bags on the couch, “but Zara was having a sale and someone had to rescue our protagonist here.”
Instantly, the aunties scrambled.
“Oh Sana beta, you must try this samosa — still warm!” Kay Auntie offered, waving a plate with the urgency of a distraction spell.
“She likes jalebi more,” Asha Auntie chimed in, already reaching for the dessert tray. "Fresh from Bansilal’s, Sana!"
Someone else mentioned they'd just watched a documentary on Paris. No connection. No context. Just pure diversion.
One of the aunties — perhaps it was Asha — piped up, “Sana beta, did you get something nice while shopping?”
Sana smiled sweetly, “Only dignity. And these heels.”
A collective pause. A beat of silence. Kay Auntie pressed her lips together. Asha Auntie cleared her throat. Someone coughed into their dupatta. That kind of silence.
Then Sana raised an eyebrow. “Nice try, ladies. But let’s not pretend I didn’t see half a projector frame full of my bestie just now.”
They wilted. But only momentarily.
Because Sana was Sana — hurricane and homecoming, rolled into one.
I exhaled like someone who’d just escaped a tornado made of sequins, judgment, and bio-data.
Sana sat beside me, crossed her legs like a queen on her throne, and eyed the paused projection. “Is that her?”
A collective nod.
“And that’s you?” she asked me, smirking.
I nodded. Reluctantly.
“Then good. Let’s tell them the real story before they zoom into your earrings and declare your horoscope is mismatched.”
But before anyone could answer, Maashi did what Maashi does best — reclaim drama real estate.
"It’s not about the earrings," she said, adjusting her dupatta like a curtain at a climax scene. "It’s about what people think those earrings mean."
Savitha Auntie gave a theatrical gasp. “You mean there’s a backstory?”
Sana leaned back. “There’s always a backstory. You just need someone to tell it without turning it into a Wikipedia entry mixed with moral science.”
That shut them up. For a second.
I felt my shoulders drop for the first time that day. Like maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to be both hacker and heroine. Maybe today, I could just be... me.
And then Sana whispered, just loud enough for me to hear: “You owe me momos after this.”
Deal.
🎬 Episode 11: The Backstory BOMB
New twists await
Who is the young lad? That Little dress? The Kid?
Maashi is silent
Lost Love
Coming Soon. Leave your comments on what you wished happened next and any twists :)
#PerfectBahuSeries #IndianSerialSatire #SaasBahuChronicles #DesiDramaUnfolded #BahuBuilderVibes
So true. For me 1 experience was enough to open my eyes. LOL. This is why I never go to any "aunty" gathering even if called for 'relations sake'. :P :D
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