Millenials

It was Abhya's first gathering.

She sipped the capped juice and fumbled around the menu before looking up at her hosts; they were studiously gazing at her, their old white eyebrows drawn in jagged lines.

"What?" she asked, a bewildered cough spluttering out when she saw a man peeing on a dog outside the jaded glass windows. 

"Say your piece, now. It's republic day, you're my granddaughter, this is your first gathering with us all, share your story with our country!" grammy said, barking out drops of saliva over her masked face.

Grand-Uncle brought his wrinkled hand up to rub his pointed, daggerlike nose and wiped it off with a silk handkerchief, the initials KJ glittering in italic font.

If he ever stopped blabbering and showing off his son's textile company, it either meant that he was dead, or that he was murdered by a gang of grannies.

Abhya stayed quiet, legs poised at the end of the carpet, ready to make a run for it.

Their alcove was tastefully(not) decorated with balloons of deep-flowing saffron, gleaming white-like pearls coated with milk and lush green.

That was the extent of boredom plaguing her stilted, drooping body, she was quoting the colours of balloons and banners.

Abhya cursed her mother, who had deemed her fit to attend Grammy's gatherings, while the latter had escaped by pulling some excuse about her cat party or kitty party or something.

She counted the heads, shaped like equally broken eggs, they were five.

Because Abhya had nothing better to do.