Ever seen those kids at weddings?
The ones running around like they’ve been set loose after years of captivity. No sense of direction, no brakes, just pure chaos in tiny human form. One minute they’re near the stage, next minute they’re under someone’s chair, and before you know it, one of them is about to crash into panditji carrying pooja items like it’s some Olympic sport.
And for a split second, you just stand there thinking, "Why would anyone willingly sign up for this?"
Yeah. I did. I have that kid.
Actually, I think mine is a slightly upgraded version. More stamina. Better talent. A natural instinct to create maximum chaos at the worst possible moment. Give him a bigger wedding, a larger hall, and he’ll probably evolve into something even more… memorable.
What’s funny is, everyone today has advice. On marriage. On parenting. On “choosing the right partner.” On “raising emotionally intelligent children.” Suddenly, everyone’s speaking like they’ve cracked some secret code of life.
Half of them are just repackaging their own confusion into Instagram-friendly sentences. Because when we were kids, nobody told us anything. There was no “emotional awareness.” No “communication styles.” No “gentle parenting.” There was just… “Figure it out.”
And somehow, through a mix of bad decisions, observation and the internet doing half the parenting, we grew up.
Now we’re the adults. And worse, some of us are parents.
The most interesting part? Nobody tells you the truth. Nobody comes up to you and says, “Hey, your kid is being really annoying.” They won’t.
They’ll smile. Nod. Tilt their head slightly and say, “Bachhe hain… masti karenge hi na.”
And you smile back. Because you both understand what’s actually being said. But no one will say it out loud. Because it’s a family function. Because we don’t want to “spoil the mood.” Because being polite is more important than being honest.
Sometimes I genuinely wonder what would happen if we just… said things as they are. Not aggressively. Not disrespectfully. Just normally.
“Hey, your kid is being a bit too much.”
“Guys, can we not scream during the pheras?”
“Let’s keep it quiet for 5 minutes. The ritual isn’t a background score.”
Simple sentences. But in our heads, these turn into full-blown wars.
“How dare he say that?”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Who are you to tell me how to raise my child?”
No, aunty. I don’t know who you are. But your kid just knocked over a chair and almost started a chain reaction. And maybe that’s the real thing. It’s not just about kids. We’re just… bad at being told anything about ourselves.
We don’t like correction.
We don’t read the room.
We don’t think we’re the problem.
We think we’re managing fine.
But then again, this is the part that confuses me: If you remove all of it… The noise. The interruptions. The chaos. What are you left with?
A perfectly organized wedding. People sitting quietly. Everything happening on time. Sounds nice. Also sounds… a little lifeless.
Maybe that’s the trade-off nobody talks about. You don’t just sign up for love, or companionship, or this picture-perfect idea of family. You sign up for inconvenience. For embarrassment. For losing control in small, public, very visible ways.
So yeah. Don’t get married. Don’t have kids.
Unless you’re okay with your life not looking neat anymore. Unless you’re okay being that person at a wedding… standing in one corner… pretending you don’t know which child is yours.
Because chances are… you will.
And weirdly, you might not hate it as much as you thought you would.
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