Millennial and Proud

POV

Millennial and Proud

Illustration: Akshita Monga

T

he first time I was called a millennial, was also the first time I empathised with Bengalis who have nicknames that are better suited to frogs than people. It was a good taste of the pain they, I presume, go through when they know that they are stuck for life with their embarrassing excuse for parental endearment. My generation has been branded like cows, and its first casualty are my ears.

The second casualty is my social media feeds. My (least) favourite thing about living in the age of the internet is that there’s an article on everything. Every major publication and listicle-churning website is making the M-word the flavour of the season. Most didn’t hire a millennial to do so, but instead paid a tombstone – as I now fondly refer to anyone over 35.

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