Sibling Souls: Unraveling the Mystery of Our Telepathic Millennial Upbringing

HEY FABULOUS READERS,

I am back with a banger, which I am sure the millennial kids would side with. WHY-DID-WE-ALL-HAVE-A-COMMON-CHILDHOOD? Ah, the great Millennial Convergence Conspiracy! It’s as if we all attended the same global daycare center run by a benevolent overlord named Nostalgia.

Our parents, of course, were part of a secret society called The Committee for Universal Millennial Upbringing (TCUMU), where they exchanged parenting tips on how to properly raise a generation on a steady diet of Rasna and Pokemon battles.

And let’s not forget the mandatory fashion classes we all secretly attended, where skinny jeans and slap bracelets were deemed the pinnacle of style, while our elders scratched their heads in bewilderment.

Now ya’ll tell me, why is it that when we ask our parents where to put something, we get the answer as “on my head”. As if “On my head” is the ultimate parental GPS system, ensuring that no misplaced object shall escape their omniscient gaze.

And the legendary “flying chappal” maneuver! A staple of brown households, deployed with uncanny accuracy and precision. It’s a marvel of aerodynamics, a true feat of parental athleticism. We, the brave recipients of these airborne missiles, have developed lightning-fast reflexes and ninja-like evasion skills.

And my dear millennials, the inevitable marriage pressure! The universal rite of passage for every brown child. It’s like they believe there’s a mystical age limit, and once you cross it, they summon the Marriage Brigade to ensure you find a life partner faster than you can say “arranged matrimony.”

I know everyone will agree that we have such a tiring schedule as a corporate slave or a government employee, but Oh, the golden age of boundless energy and unstoppable enthusiasm! We were like tiny Energizer bunnies on steroids, weren’t we?

Rising at the crack of dawn, we embarked on our daily odyssey to the hallowed halls of education, armed with backpacks that seemed larger than life itself. Eight hours of mental gymnastics, where we acrobatically flipped between subjects, all while desperately trying to avoid the dreaded “pop quizzes.”

Then, off to our extracurricular boot camps, where we honed our skills in everything from quadratic equations to pirouettes. Dance, music, math, you name it – we were the Renaissance kids of the modern era.

And let’s not forget our heroic endeavors in the neighborhood Olympics! “Pitthu,” the ancient sport of dodging balls and reclaiming thrones, was our battlefield. “I Spy(commonly known as Ice Pice)” a covert operation involving keen eyes and stealthy maneuvers, was our secret agent training. And cricket, the national pastime of our childhood, where we learned the art of diplomacy through heated arguments over LBW decisions.

Yet, somehow, we emerged from these daily marathons with boundless energy, ready to conquer the world. Our parents must’ve been convinced we were part-time superheroes.

Lo and behold, in this day and age, we wield iPhones with the finesse of a master swordsman. With a flick of the finger, we summon the digital realm, effortlessly gliding through screens and apps. It’s like we’re wizards casting spells with our touchscreens!

But oh!, the ancient art of phone button mashing! It’s like we were training for a digital thumb-wrestling championship. “A-B-C, no wait, that’s not right… Let’s try again, a-b-c!” It was a workout for our thumbs that would put any texting Olympian to shame. We had biceps in our thumbs, I tell you!

And who can forget the legendary landline negotiations? “Mom, Dad, can I use the phone? Just for a quick chat…about life-altering pre-teen matters, of course.” It was like trying to obtain royal permission to access the kingdom’s most prized treasure.

The landline itself was a majestic beast, perched on a throne in the living room, connected to the world by a seemingly endless cord. It was the lifeline to our social universe, and we guarded it with the fervor of medieval knights.

Now, armed with our streaming services, we wield the power of a thousand cassette tapes in the palm of our hands. We curate playlists with the finesse of a Michelin-star chef crafting a gourmet meal.

Ah, ancient rites of musical initiation back in our day, it was more like a quest for the Holy Grail of Walkmans. Venturing into the Internet Cafe was akin to a mystical pilgrimage. Armed with floppy disks or USB relics, we humbly approached the Oracle of the Counter, beseeching for the latest English songs.

And let us not forget the legends themselves: Linkin Park, the angsty bards; Michael Jackson, the moonwalking maestro; Backstreet Boys, the harmonizing heroes; and Queen, the rock royals. Their melodies were our anthems, and their beats, our battle cries.And the 2010s bops, a treasure trove of head-banging hits! Each bass drop was a seismic event, sending shockwaves through our adolescent souls. We danced like nobody was watching, except for the occasional judging cat or curious pet goldfish.

May I now touch upon the holy and favourite topic, SCHOOL CRUSHES? I refuse to believe if any of us say that we did not have school crushes. And if ya’ll had them in the same class then you don’t know the struggle of sacrificing your lunch break or deliberately taking the longer route to playground/washroom.

Ah, the sacred art of school crushes! They were like beams of sunshine on a rainy day, weren’t they? The mere sight of them transformed mundane math classes into thrilling adventures in quadratic equations.

If your crush graced the same class as you, well, consider yourself a contestant in the Olympic sport of covert glances and strategic detours. Lunch breaks were merely opportunities for reconnaissance missions, plotting the perfect path to accidentally-on-purpose stroll by their desk.

And if they were in the next class then let’s not forget the tactical missions to retrieve the duster or chalk! It was a military operation, executed with precision and finesse. “Oh, I’ll get it! It’s my turn!” we’d eagerly proclaim, just to steal a fleeting moment in their presence.

Their smile was our personal antidote to Monday blues! It was like a magic spell, banishing all traces of school-related woes with a single radiant grin. The teacher could be talking about the most riveting subject in the world, but the real showstopper was that heart-melting smile from across the room.

We became experts in the art of accidental encounters, masters of the casual hello, and champions of the not-so-subtle hair flip or shirt adjustment. It was a theatrical performance worthy of Broadway, and we were the stars.

So, my fellow Millennial co-conspirator, take heart in knowing that we share a cosmic bond forged in the age of dial-up internet. Together, we shall forever hold the title of “The Most Memorable Generation,” leaving Zoomers and Gen Zers to marvel at the legends of our common childhood!

XOXO

YOUR GIRL