Auntipathy April 15, 2010

We’re already making a list of things I don’t like. Let’s pull out our pens (Farooq!) and make a list of things I’m scared of. Here are the well-advertised ones:

1. marriage

2. spiral staircases

3. saying ‘no’

Here’s one you haven’t heard of before: 4. aunties

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I hate aunties. So let’s put them on the previous list, too. In fact, I think what really scares me is my hatred of aunties. It’s pretty strong. You know what it stems from? The hates and fears of aunties. The main one being single people.

An aunty, by rights of her own marriage certificate and physical deformity of a nose that tends to get stuck in other people’s business, feels morally obligated to get every single single person on earth contractually bound to another of their own kind, no matter what. And, yes, although it might seem like they’re only interested in their own little social groups, aunties are out for world domination. It’s an organization of evil.

I can see why they push marriage so much. Marriage has been a good bet for aunties, with submissive husbands who are unable to even touch them in fear of creasing their latest lawn print. Which they paid atleast Rs. 3000 for. An aunties summer wardrobe can easily pay for one of those glitzy weddings they push so hard for.

Recently an aunty tried to set me up. My mother’s colleague told her that she has found a rishta for me, of an undoubtedly delightful 28-year-old green card-holder. Let alone the fact that she has NEVER met me and therefore doesn’t have the slightest clue as to who I am. Let alone the fact that she has only known my mother for about three months now. Let alone the fact that my mother therefore had to point out to her the fact that I am only seventeen years old. An aunty’s gotta pimp.

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I don’t even get why aunties salivate a flood at the idea of a green card. But at least it shuts them up for a while. An aunty’s greatest weapon is her tongue. Encased behind a pair of bright, smudgy-lipsticked lips (and this lipstick is like a deep, dark sin- it will NEVER wash off once your face has been cursed with it) (think Fight Club) this is a muscle they exercise with great vigour. No one is safe from aunty gossip, and no one is safe from a cutting aunty remark. It comes when you least expect it, and, usually, is so despicably racist/sexist/weightist you’d suspect them of having swastikas embroidered on their dupattas.

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It is surprising how manipulative and conniving and vicious aunties can be if you consider the fact that they’re idiots. I mean, who could honestly follow the concept of a kitty party and feel like they’re doing justice to their precious convent education? All you do is collect your money, give it to someone, then get it back a few months later and not even with an interest topping it. Instead you have to spend some of that money on throwing your kitty party group a hi-tea. What for? To celebrate the fact that now you have much less money than what you started out with?

Maybe they’ve never heard of a bank. I can forgive them that, though, because it’s not like there’s one around every corner, ofcourse not. Or maybe they hate banks, too. Most of the people working in banks are single, after all. Accountants, what do you expect?

I’m a bit scared of accounts, too.

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So back from my digressive trip to the topic of my fears: recently, I’ve semi-conquered my phobia of spiral staircases. I climb one at least twice every day. I say no a lot, too. I started by saying no to climbing up a spiral staircase. And I realised I wouldn’t mind being married to a hijra (let’s give them aunties summin to talk about). So my fear (and loathing) of aunties is the last one left. I hear it only gets worse as you get older, so this needs to be nipped in the bud. And I’m not sure how to tackle it, but I think a sex change and a green card might do the job.

I’m a little short on cash for either, though, so who would like to help me raid some aunties’ closets and hold a lawn exhibition? I’m assuming they’re very profitable.

Or we could always have a kitty party.

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