So, let me tell you about my life. Imagine waking up one day with superpowers. You know, like flying, teleporting, or making your cousin disappear—useful stuff. But here’s the catch: every time I use them, I lose a few years of my life. Honestly, five minutes into my family drama, and I’m like, “Take my entire lifespan; I’m done.”

First, there’s my dad. A genius businessman, a motivational speaker, and a man of many broken promises. When I was nine, he said, “Finish grade 10 PCBM, and I’ll take you to Singapore!” I crushed it. Guess what? Singapore crushed me. The promise vanished faster than my samosas when my cousin visits. But my dad? Oh, he’s travelling everywhere—Punjab, Chennai, Dubai, Mars (probably). And who books his tickets? Me. It’s like being the assistant manager of a travel agency I can’t afford. “Why don’t you take me, Dad?” His reply: “You’re not ready.” Yeah, right. Meanwhile, I’m solving college-level physics problems while his golden child cousin is solving, uh... puzzles in Candy Crush.

Speaking of him, my cousin is like a mosquito at a picnic—everywhere, annoying, and impossible to ignore. If I play chess, suddenly he’s Magnus Carlsen. If I play badminton, he’s PV Sindhu. If I breathe, he’s inventing oxygen. And the best part? Everyone believes him! His mom—my dear bua—shows up at our house and starts a full TED Talk about how “his handwriting is like art.” Okay, cool. And mine? Apparently, it’s a ransom note. She even said, “People with bad handwriting should just beg.” Thanks, bua. I’ll be sure to add begging to my resume.

And then there’s food. My life’s greatest tragedy. I love samosas, gulab jamuns, and basically anything fried and dipped in syrup. But guess who eats all of it? My cousin. And guess who gets scolded for eating “junk”? Me. It’s like, “Focus on your studies!” But for him, it’s “He’s a growing boy!” Yeah, growing into a professional eater.

But wait, there’s more. My dad once brought me an iPad and a MacBook because I wanted to learn computational physics and code math problems. Cool, right? Wrong. My bua waltzes in and says, “You’re just screaming and not studying. Give it to him!” Oh sure, bua, let me just hand over my hard work so your angel can play PUBG on it. And don’t even get me started on my dad’s dadi—she’s convinced my cousin is the next Einstein. She’ll walk in and say stuff like, “Why can’t you be more like him?” Uh, maybe because I don’t spend 16 hours pretending to study while secretly gaming?

Now, let’s talk about my mom. She’s my superhero—always encouraging me, cooking my favorite food (when my cousin isn’t around), and saying things like, “You can do anything you set your mind to.” Honestly, without her, I’d have probably given up and joined my cousin in Candy Crush Academy.

And then there’s Aditya Sir, my teacher. He’s basically the human version of a life hack. He’s taught me math, resilience, and how to survive family chaos. He’s the kind of person who makes you believe that even if your cousin gets all the praise, you’ll still shine brighter in the end.

So, here’s my final takeaway: Life is like a plate of samosas—messy, spicy, and sometimes stolen by your cousin. But it’s also delicious and worth savoring. My dad teaches me patience (because, let’s be real, his promises take forever). My mom shows me unconditional love. My cousin? Well, he teaches me how not to live.

In the end, I’m grateful for my crazy, chaotic family. They’re annoying, hilarious, and the reason I have endless material for this essay. So, to anyone out there dealing with their own family circus, just remember: laugh through it. Or, at the very least, hide your samosas.

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