The Neighbourhood Aunties’ Intelligence Bureau

In our neighbourhood, there are two kinds of people: those who mind their own business and those who have made it their full-time profession to mind everybody else’s. Unfortunately, the second category is larger, better organised, and apparently doesn’t believe in holidays.
Our neighbourhood aunties have a special talent. They can identify a new car, detect a missing family member, and discover an engagement before the couple themselves have discussed marriage.Last Tuesday, I made the innocent mistake of stepping outside to collect a parcel wearing sunglasses.
By evening, three aunties had concluded that I was secretly dating someone.Apparently, sunglasses are not accessories in our neighbourhood. They are evidence.The first aunty stopped my mother near the vegetable stall.
“Your daughter looked very happy today,” she announced.My mother looked confused. “She received a parcel.”“Exactly!” The aunty lowered her voice. “Who sends parcels that make girls smile?”
Amazon, aunty. Amazon sends parcels.Unfortunately, that answer would have ended the investigation, so nobody considered it.The next morning, another aunty arrived at our 
house with a bowl of homemade kheer. In our neighbourhood, food is rarely just food. Sometimes it is a peace offering, sometimes a bribe, and occasionally a cleverly disguised 
interrogation technique.“So, beta,” she began sweetly, “which college are you planning to attend?”I answered.“And will you be staying at home?”“Yes.”
“Very good. And your mother knows everything about you, doesn’t she?”I paused.Somewhere in the distance, I could practically hear imaginary police sirens.
“Of course,” I replied.She smiled, took another spoonful of kheer, and left.That evening, my mother informed me that the aunties had established a new theory. 
Apparently, I was hiding a relationship, planning to move abroad, and preparing for marriage simultaneously.I was impressed. I couldn’t even plan what to eat for dinner.
The situation became worse when our neighbour’s son visited to return a book. He stayed for exactly forty seconds.By lunchtime, the aunties had apparently arranged our wedding, selected the venue, and decided that my future mother-in-law looked respectable.
I hadn’t even remembered the boy’s surname.Finally, I decided to confront the chief investigator, Mrs Sharma.“Aunty, why does everyone discuss my life?”She looked offended.
“We are concerned about you, beta.”“That’s sweet. Could you also be concerned about my exam results?”Her smile disappeared.“Results? You should focus on your studies instead of wearing sunglasses everywhere.”
And there it was. The final verdict.I returned home, removed my sunglasses, and opened my textbook.Outside, Mrs Sharma was already telling another aunty that I had become unusually quiet after our conversation.
Tomorrow, apparently, I shall be investigated for suspicious silence.Honestly, if these aunties ever joined the police, crime would disappear overnight.
Nobody would dare commit an offence knowing Mrs Sharma was watching from her balcony.