Kamal Ghorui
The other day, at a neighbourhood chemist, the young man behind the counter looked up and said, “Uncle, just two minutes,” before turning back to his computer. A little later, at another shop, someone called out, “Aunty, your change,” to a woman standing beside me.
These exchanges are so common that they barely register. Step out of the house, and it is only a matter of time before someone assigns you a place in an informal family tree.
In most parts of the world, “Uncle” and “Aunty” are reserved for relatives. In India, they are used for almost anyone who appears older, often without hesitation.
As senior citizens, my wife and I have long since grown used to these titles. They are offered readily and, almost always, with good intent. And yet, familiarity does not always lead to comfort. If anything, it sometimes makes me wonder how quickly we place one another into ready-made relationships.
This happens across most settings. At a neighbourhood nursery, over the crowded counter of a supermarket, or at a bank, the form of address arrives instantly. Even in places like a crowded hospital waiting room, the same form of address softens what might otherwise be a brief and impersonal exchange.
Perhaps this is our way of dealing with the uncertainty of interacting with strangers. Instead of deciding how to address someone as an individual, we remove the ambiguity by placing them within a familiar structure. The unknown becomes a “relative,” even if only for the duration of a transaction.
This tendency, however, has its oddities. It is not unusual for people to address others only a few years older as “Uncle” or “Aunty,” as though even a small gap in age creates a generational leap.
There is, no doubt, a certain social ease in all this. Conversations begin without hesitation. Instructions can be given without sounding abrupt. A basic level of regard is built into the very first word. For many, these forms of address are simply part of growing up and living in India, and carry a sense of ease that more formal modes of address might lack.
What is interesting is that even within India, one senses a subtle shift. In some urban settings, there is a slight hesitation before using such terms. Younger people often choose first names, or avoid direct address altogether. The change is gradual, but noticeable.
And yet, I find myself occasionally wishing for a different kind of interaction—one that allows for politeness without pre-assigned roles, and for distance without discomfort.
In a country of over a billion people, we seem reluctant to let strangers remain strangers.
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