One time, I tried explaining Instagram Stories to my grandma.
“Dadi, it’s like a photo or video you post… but it disappears after 24 hours.”
She stared at me the way teachers stare before announcing a surprise test. “Disappears?” she repeated. “Phir faida kya hai? What’s the point?”
I tried again. “It’s just temporary. For fun.”
She shook her head slowly, deeply disappointed. “Memories are not for fun. They are for keeping.”
And just like that, my entire generation was humbled by a woman who still stores wedding photos in plastic-covered albums inside a metal trunk in the store room. To her, memories live in albums, not on apps. You don’t let them “expire.” You protect them from dust, humidity, and overly curious children who might bend the corners.
Honestly, I didn’t have a comeback.
That moment made me realize something. We aren’t just different in age we operate on completely different software versions. As Gen Z, we communicate in memes, reaction emojis, and “seen at 2:14 PM.” Our parents communicate in detailed lectures, life warnings, and the legendary line: “Beta, sit down. We need to talk.”
Sometimes it genuinely feels like we’re speaking two separate languages. You say, “I need space.” They hear, “I am abandoning this family.” You say, “I’m figuring things out.” They hear, “I have absolutely no direction in life.” You send a meme to express your feelings. They ask why you can’t “just talk normally.”
A few days ago, I attended another episode of my dad’s Weekly Life Improvement Seminar™. The topic? “Act fast. Be the early bird. Life waits for no one.” There was also a special guest appearance by that one distant cousin who recently got a government job and is now the unofficial benchmark for success in every desi household.
Then my dad shifted to regrets. He said if you ask any middle-aged person, they’ll tell you they feel stuck in the past. That they wish they had done things differently. That they have regrets.
I nodded respectfully. Classic desi daughter mode activated.
Then he asked for my opinion. Risky move.
I said that if I could go back, I wouldn’t change a single thing. Every mistake shaped me. Change one detail and maybe I wouldn’t be me anymore. Yes, I try to learn from my mistakes. No, I don’t always succeed. But I wouldn’t erase them.
Silence.
The heavy kind of silence where even the ceiling fan sounds dramatic.
He replied that it’s alarming not to have regrets. That looking back critically is necessary. That not regretting anything means you’re not serious about life.
At that moment, my brain froze. My last surviving brain cell whispered, “Did you really just say that out loud?”
And that’s the thing. The main crux is that what we say, how we act, or how we respond isn’t always understood by our parents. Not because they don’t care. But because we grew up in completely different worlds.
They grew up without smartphones. We grew up charging ours twice a day. They memorized landline numbers. We panic if WiFi disconnects for ten seconds. They were told stability is success. We were told passion is success. They think texting instead of calling is rude. We think calling without texting first is basically emotional terrorism.
They see trends as distractions. We see them as identity, culture, and connection. We grew up following global trends, new music, viral moments, and online communities. They grew up being told to focus, work hard, and not “waste time.” To them, life was about responsibility first. To us, it’s about balance or at least attempting balance while scrolling.
Maybe the generation gap isn’t about disrespect or rebellion. Maybe it’s just context. They built their lives in a world where opportunities were limited and security was everything. We’re building ours in a world overflowing with choices, opinions, and constant comparison.
So when my dadi questions disappearing stories, or my dad questions my lack of regrets, it’s not really about Instagram or philosophy. It’s about two generations trying to understand each other with completely different rulebooks.
And honestly? Sometimes all you can do is nod, smile, and save the debate for your private Instagram Story, the one that disappears in 24 hours.
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