Communication is the key. It indeed is, provided that there is an exchange of ideas or delivery of messages as intended. In my household, communication is more like a gigantic comedy production—especially when my parents try their best to incorporate “Gen Z slangs” into mundane and routine conversations. What follows is a hilarious sequence of events that unfold many emotions – laughter, repentance, admiration, and a sense of belonging.
One might feel that, as a Gen Z, I am out here to make fun of parents’ travesties with Gen Z slang. On the contrary, I genuinely admire their spirit. It is not every day that we come across a millennial parent dropping “no cap” while bargaining with the sabziwala. But my parents? Well, they are one of a kind. Why? Simply because, between their chaotic WhatsApp forwards, endless YouTube rabbit holes, and muddled Google searches, they are convinced that they have mastered the Gen Z slang. The truth: they have not.
It all began on an uneventful Sunday morning. I was relishing my paratha for brunch when my mother sashayed into the living room wearing her newest saree purchase and chimed – “Beta, how is my vibe? I am slaying, no?”
First, I nearly aspirated my tea. Second, she pronounced “slaying” with the same energy and seriousness one might reserve for announcing a major crime. To top it all, she paired it with an energy of someone trying mightily hard to impress the audience with newly learned vocabulary words. .
“Uh, yeah, Mom. You’re… definitely slaying,” I said, trying my best to suppress my laughter. She did look lovely, but her animated delivery made it seem like she was all set to annihilate enemies at some battlefield rather than attend a wedding function. As if this was not enough, she leaned in and whispered almost like a fellow conspirator – I am lowkey serving looks, na?”
LOWKEY. SERVING LOOKS. NA. These words were uttered with the intensity of a prime-time Indian soap opera.
At that moment, all I wanted to do was to dive under the dining table and vow to let others know that I was just a casual acquaintance and not a family member. But instead, I smiled. Because honestly, not every millennial parent can have such a brave attitude.
If you think that was peak behaviour, buckle up because my father’s linguistic adventures make Mom’s attempts seem like Shakespeare took a wrong turn somewhere along the way.
My wonderful, nerdy, and eternally earnest father recently discovered the term “rizz,” which refers to one’s charisma.
One night at the dinner table, he casually proclaimed: “You know, back in my college days, I had so much rizz. All called me Mr. Rizzler.”
This sentence was followed by the dropping of the spoon by my mother and water spitting out from my mouth with the same force as water gushes out from a dam when the gates are opened. This was further followed by me dropping to the ground from my chair in silent hysterics. But my father, oblivious to the emotional carnage he had just unleashed, leaned back smugly and added: Those were my sigma days, beta.”
SIGMA DAYS. I seriously contemplated for a second moving to another planet. As if the happenings of dinner time were not enough, he shared a message to the family WhatsApp group: “Feeling major FOMO. Why no one telling me I’m lit? This sentence was completed with a barrage of emojis that included a dolphin, Statue of Liberty, firecrackers, and smileys, making all members scratch their heads through the night, trying to figure out the purpose of their usage.
These two incidents gave me an inkling of the things to come. I geared up for many such smaller, yet equally hilarious, linguistic misfires. Like when my mother reviewed my report card and said, “Your math marks are mid, but your essay was bussin’!”
(Translation: Math—mediocre. Essay—excellent.)
Or the time my dad admired the new neighbor’s car and, meaning to compliment it, said it looked “drippy.” He failed to notice the concerned glances from the neighbours.
And let’s not even discuss the day they threw me a “GOAT party”. Yes, to celebrate my exam results—complete with goat-shaped balloons, goat cupcakes, and a horrifyingly realistic goat headband. (They thought GOAT meant, well, an actual goat. Bless them.)
Yet with all the goof ups, hilarious to at times down right embarrassing situations and beyond the comedy of errors, there’s something genuinely touching about all this chaos.
My parents are trying.
They acknowledge that a generational chasm exists—one where they still think of waving hands to hire an auto while I can Uber a rickshaw driver without blinking. And unlike most of their millennial friends, rather than dismissing “youth culture” as frivolous, they’re making a sincere, and mostly disastrous but in an unharming way , attempt to bridge the gap, to fit into my world, to attempt to learn the way our generation communicates.
Every misguided “rizz” reference and every mistaken “slay” attempt is, at its heart, an act of love. They’re not just attempting to use Gen Z slang; they are trying to communicate like me, not bothering about the consequences. And honestly? That effort transcends vocabulary.
Sure, I still get quintessential secondhand embarrassment. Sure, I might never recover from hearing my dad refer to himself as “the original certified snack.” Sure, I may have developed a defeatist attitude every time someone misuses “mid.” But at the end of the day, when my parents say, “You’re so valid, beta,” or “Your fit is straight-up fire,” even if they mispronounce half of it, what they are really trying to convey is, “We see you. We’re trying to understand you. We love you. We are willing to learn your communicative jargon as we want to be a part of your world. And that’s a truly unbeatable vibe.
No cap.