Sarci-Sense: Midlife In A Filtered Frame

There was a time when we didn’t need to announce our thoughts to the world. We had opinions, of course. We just shared them with actual people, usually over tea or while shouting across balconies. There were no hashtags. No curated captions. Just some friendly judgment, the occasional disagreement, and a lot of unsolicited advice delivered straight to the face.

But here we are now, deep into our forties and fifties, and suddenly everyone we know has become a content creator. Somewhere between our third pair of reading glasses and that overdue orthopaedic check-up, we have all found ourselves on social media—not just as users, but as participants in the grand theatre of relevance.

At first, we entered quietly. A birthday wish on Facebook. A forwarded post about turmeric benefits. A smiling photo with the caption “Grateful beyond words” even though we were just relieved to find parking. We told ourselves we were just keeping up. Then one of us discovered Canva. Another figured out how to add music to an Instagram reel. And just like that, the middle-aged makeover began.

It started with sunrise selfies paired with spiritual quotes we half-understood. Then came the dancing reels. Oh yes, the dancing reels. We watched one tutorial, felt inspired, and suddenly found ourselves lip-syncing to 90s Bollywood dialogues in our drawing room, wearing reading glasses and a kurta. Some of us roped in our spouses who looked like they’d rather be at the dentist. One brave uncle even filmed a slow-mo hair toss to a trending Punjabi song, not realising that the song was meant for gym videos and he was wearing a banyan with a tear in it.

Our children looked on in horror. Not the amused kind. The kind that makes them reconsider their last name.

We were accused of trying too hard. They said we were “cringe.” And maybe we are. But we are also trying to understand the new rules of relevance. Today, being visible means being active online. And being active online means you must pick a lane—funny, wise, relatable, aesthetic, or occasionally all of the above. So we post throwback photos captioned “Missing this” even if the photo is from a badly lit wedding. We repost quotes like “Age is just a number” while rubbing Moov on our knees. We even try reels with transitions, only to fumble with the timing and upload a clip of us squinting at the screen.

The generational gap is now measured not by values or habits, but by platform preferences. Our kids live on Instagram and Discord. We’re still figuring out how to mute a family WhatsApp group without causing a scandal. They speak in abbreviations—FOMO, POV, IRL—and we, in a moment of misguided enthusiasm, tried using those too. One father once commented “LOL, same vibes bro” on his daughter’s story and is yet to be forgiven.

We grew up waiting weeks for a letter. Now we’re told we’re “slow to respond” if we don’t reply to a message within 20 minutes. We were taught not to boast. Today, if you don’t post about your morning walk, it apparently didn’t happen. They want aesthetics. We want practicality. They want minimalism. We want to know why a plate costs two thousand rupees when we can get six for that in Dadar.

But it isn’t all disconnect. Somewhere between our awkward hashtags and their exasperated glances, there are moments of mutual curiosity. They teach us how to crop a reel or sync music. We share with them a blurry black-and-white photo of their grandparents. We ask what “mood” means in Gen Z slang. They ask why there’s a sticker on the landline that says “don’t touch.”

Social media, for us, has become part scrapbook and part stage. It helps us revisit old friendships, explore forgotten hobbies, and yes, even laugh at ourselves. It is a strange place where we can be both visible and invisible. Sometimes, we post to connect. Sometimes, we post to remember who we used to be before life became an endless to-do list. And once in a while, we post just to remind ourselves that we still have a voice, even if it’s a little shaky on camera.

Sure, we may never go viral. We may never master transitions or filters that add sparkles to our coffee cups. And our kids may always think we’re embarrassing. But there is something brave and beautiful in trying anyway.

Because in this filtered world, where everyone is curating their best life, we are learning to show up—grey hair, double chins, creaky knees and all. Sometimes dancing. Sometimes quoting Rumi. Sometimes just posting a sunset with the words “felt cute, might delete later.”

And if that’s not the most middle-aged thing ever, I don’t know what is.

Click to read other stories from the Sarci-Sense series