Sabyasachi Roy
They didn’t say it outright, of course. No one typed, “You have failed us by being this version of yourself.” That would’ve been too honest, too Western. Instead, they sent a blurry JPEG of a banyan tree with the quote “Strong roots do not question the soil” in Comic Sans. Followed by sixteen clapping emojis and a suspicious silence. That’s how it starts. Not with confrontation, but with digital incense. You scroll back and realise: The offense was existing slightly off-script—wearing shorts, saying “I don’t really believe in astrology,” or not forwarding the Lakshmi gif with the threat of seven years of Wi-Fi failure. You’ve disrupted the ancestral algorithm. Now your name is blinking. Now the aunties are circling. It’s time. Time to craft the perfect apology. Not for what you did, but for the greater crime: being born incorrectly and opening your mouth in the group chat anyway.
Step 1: Begin with a respectful greeting.
“Namaste (Use Folded Hands emoji)”
“Jai Shri Ram (Use Om Symbol)”
“Blessed Morning (Use Sun With Face) (Don’t reply, just receive)”
This establishes you as humble, soft-spoken, and likely guilty. It is also how your uncle ends a message that begins with a YouTube link and ends with “think about it.”
Step 2: Apologise, but not with too much Western confidence.
You must avoid the American mistake of saying “I’m sorry you feel that way.” That invites a digital slap in the form of a badly cropped meme that says:
“IN OUR CULTURE, WE DO NOT ARGUE WITH ELDERS. WE LEAVE THE ROOM OR WE DIE.”
Your apology must be 80% implied. Use words like:
- “If I came across as…”
- “In case I was misunderstood…”
- “Maybe I should have stayed silent, like my parents taught me.”
Bonus points for including: “I understand now.”
You do not, in fact, understand. But understanding is a performance in this group chat—like marriage, or diabetes.
Step 3: Mention someone dead.
If possible, mention Dadu. If not Dadu, then LateMamoni, who once hand-fed a crow and told you you’d be a lawyer.
“I just feel I’ve disappointed what Dadu would’ve expected of me…”
Nobody remembers what Dadu expected. But now they do.
You’ve weaponised your ancestry. This buys you three hours of silence.
Step 4: Acknowledge your faults. Gently. But universally.
- “I was emotional.”
- “I didn’t think before speaking.”
- “I forgot my roots.”
This is how you apologise for…
- Voting for the wrong party
- Posting a selfie in shorts
- Saying you don’t believe in horoscopes
- Not forwarding that one photo of Lakshmi with flashing lights and a warning: “If you don’t send this to 11 people your Wi-Fi will explode.”
Do not admit to “having boundaries.” That is the equivalent of farting at the dinner table. With eye contact.
Step 5: Let at least one emoji express pain.
Use Pleading Face or Pensive Face.
Never use Skull unless a cousin has died. Even then, use it sparingly. The elders think skulls attract snakes.
A good apology includes:
“I’m learning (Use Pensive Face, again)”
“I’m listening (Use Face with Open Eyes and Hand Over Mouth)”
“I’ve turned off notifications, but I’m with you in spirit (Use Dove of Peace)”
Avoid emoji Face with Steam From Nose or Clown Face unless you want to be disowned by a sticker pack.
Step 6: Don’t mention therapy.
Ever.
You say “therapist,” they hear “Satan.”
Say instead:
“I’ve been meditating.”
“I’ve been doing deep breathing.”
“I’ve started reading The Bhagavad Gita: Illustrated for Kids.”
All healing must be free, ancestral, or Ayurvedic. Anything else is “Western mind poison.”
Step 7: Bonus points for vague spiritual self-blame.
Quote a line that could be from a saint or a shampoo ad.
“Sometimes, to find yourself, you must first lose the respect of your uncle.”
“I was drowning in ego, now I float in remorse.”
“The lotus blooms in mud, and here I am, covered in WhatsApp.”
Then vanish for at least 12 hours.
Step 8: Do not respond to forwarded images.
After your apology, someone will post:
- a picture of a sunset with cursive words: “Let go and let God.”
- an unrelated graphic that says “SILENCE IS CLASS.”
- a photo of a crying tiger with “Our culture is not a costume” written across its face.
These are not for discussion. These are part of your punishment. You must absorb them like rainwater into regret.
Step 9: Make peace with Cousin #3.
Every family WhatsApp group has at least one Cousin #3—younger than you, older than consequences.
They will post something like:
“Look, it’s fine lol (Use emoji: Face with Tears of Joy) but you did come off aggressive.”
“All I’m saying is we don’t say that in this family.”
“You’ve changed since moving to [insert city with public transport].”
Respond with:
“You’re right. I could’ve been kinder.”
“Appreciate the feedback.”
“Let’s catch up sometime.”
Do not attempt to catch up. The cousin is bait.
Step 10: End your apology with a quote from a father figure who never spoke to you directly.
Example:
“As Baba always said, ‘Even a broken clock is right twice a day.’ I hope I’m right again someday.”
No one will fact-check this. Baba rarely spoke. When he did, it was often to his dog.
Step 11: Use language that sounds colonial but safe.
You want to sound like a 1930s boarding school student with deep regret. Words like:
- “transgressed”
- “remorseful”
- “unbecoming”
- “most unfortunate turn of tone”
Avoid Americanisms like “my bad” or “lol my trauma.”
Those lead to a direct phone call from your mother.
On speaker.
While she’s chopping onions with historical accuracy.
Step 12: Prepare for forgiveness that feels like parole.
The family will “move on” in the form of:
- a forwarded PDF about cholesterol
- blurry Diwali photos from 2009
- someone asking if anyone knows a “good boy” for their niece who is “open-minded but still knows how to make biryani”
No one will say you’re forgiven.
You will be… included.
Silently.
Cautiously.
Like a formerly wet phone now drying in rice.
Step 13: Relapse, eventually.
It will happen. You’ll post something about therapy again.
Or forget someone’s birthday.
Or write a humour piece online that your cousin finds and screenshots.
“Is this about us?” they’ll ask.
You’ll pretend it isn’t.
They’ll pretend to believe you.
The cycle continues.
Step 14: Re-forward the Lakshmi gif.
It’s your penance. It’s also the only thing that still works when Wi-Fi is low.
Conclusion
You cannot truly apologise for being born incorrectly. But you can get really, really good at acting like it’s your fault.
Which, according to the family WhatsApp group, it probably is.
(Use Pleading Face emoji) Jai Shri Ram (Use Folded Hands emoji, with light skin tone modifier). Logging off but not escaping. (Use emoji: Dove)
Sabyasachi Roy is an academic writer, poet, artist, and photographer. His poetry has appeared in Viridine Literary, The Broken Spine, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review, The Potomac, and more. He contributes craft essays to Authors Publish and has a cover image in Sanctuary Asia. His oil paintings have been published in The Hooghly Review. You can follow his writing on Matador here:
https://creators.matadornetwork.com/profile/e0x59k96/
Craft essays: https://sabyasachiroy.substack.com/
Featured photo by Mikhail Nilov (Pexels)
