Up until last year, any child or teenager in Lucknow who dared to refer to Ms. Shreya Singh as “Aunty” would not only receive a vicious, blood-curdling staredown but also be subjected to an expletive-laced lecture on how she was “not their bloody aunty.” However, in November this year, Ms. Singh surprised the entire neighborhood by warming to, and even accepting, the term “aunty.”
Mr. Kumar, a close neighbor, recalls countless incidents where Ms. Singh vehemently rejected the label. “It was like calling her ‘aunty’ was the gravest of all sins,” he exclaimed. “I once saw her threaten to call the police on a young man who simply stuttered over what to call her. The poor guy was petrified.” Another friend, Mrs. Gambhir, added, “Although Shreya does tend to look on the older side of her age, she just decided she wasn’t an aunty yet—and that was final. Nobody dared argue with her.”
When asked what brought about this dramatic shift in ‘aunty’ acceptance, Ms. Singh candidly explained, “One morning, I looked in the mirror and realized I truly did look…auntish. It hit me like a slap. The graying hair, the sensible yet oversized kurtas, the patronizing way I spoke—it was undeniable.” She admitted to having a “quiet funeral” for her youth, complete with a 10:00 p.m. bedtime.
Since her epiphany, Ms. Singh has not only embraced her aunty-ness but is now leaning into it. “I even told the kids in the neighborhood to call me ‘Shreya Aunty,’” she said proudly. “I’ve started handing out laddoos during festivals and scolding them for playing cricket near my plants. Honestly, it’s quite liberating. There’s power in being an aunty—it’s a license to meddle freely and be slightly terrifying.”
Neighbors, however, remain cautious. As Mr. Kumar put it, “It’s a shocking transformation, but I wouldn’t push it. Who knows when she might revoke this newfound aunty status and return to her former self?”
