Chapter 3: Stripped of Dignity

When I reached my cabin, I was stunned by the sight.

My cubicle—usually my haven with lucky bamboo and cricket trophies—was stripped bare. Instead, all my files, photos, even my half-finished chai mug, were piled near the office door, like luggage at a railway station.

Even my favourite blue pen, my sister’s gift, sat forlorn on top. The office peon hovered nearby, fanning himself with a folded newspaper, glancing nervously at me. The hum of the local train drifted in during a quiet moment, a faint reminder of the city outside.

Colleagues pretended to be busy, but snuck glances at me.

Some ducked behind monitors, others exchanged hurried whispers, eyes flicking between me and the door. The tension in the air was thick as monsoon clouds.

"What’s going on? Did my cabin spring a leak or something?"

My attempt at humour fell flat. The silence that followed was sharp, like a knife scraping a plate.

Several colleagues exchanged glances but said nothing.

I saw Meena aunty biting her lip, Suresh adjusting his glasses again and again. No one met my eyes.

"Arrey, Rohan bhaiya, why did you come back today?"

A voice I once thought friendly grated on my nerves. I turned, startled.

It was Priyansh Sharma, decked out in a suit straight from the showroom, hair gelled, shoes shining. His chin tilted up, arms folded, a smirk on his lips. The gold watch on his wrist flashed as he gestured to my things.

His attitude was a shock. My mind flashed back to all the times he’d fetched chai for me, eager to learn. This arrogance was new—and unsettling.

Priyansh had always been friendly before, calling me ‘Rohan bhaiya’ every day. We’d shared vada pav, joked about office politics. Now, his coldness stung.

Today, he addressed me as 'Mr. Rohan,' the formality cutting deeper than any insult.

Though it wasn’t office etiquette to call a supervisor by a nickname, I let it slide.

"I had a work matter. I see my things are all moved out. What’s wrong with my cabin?"

My voice was calm, but my composure was slipping, like a glass of lassi sweating in summer heat.

Priyansh’s pride became even more obvious. He laughed, a short, dismissive sound, straightening his tie like a boss.

"Isn’t it natural for a supervisor to have a cabin? Don’t you know I’m the supervisor now, and you’re just a regular employee?"

He pulled out his phone, swiping at the screen. I glimpsed a WhatsApp chat with ‘Maa’ at the top.

"Oh, the announcement isn’t out yet. You’ll know tomorrow."

He shrugged, almost bored. The arrogance in his stance made my blood boil.

But I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I had to know now.

I clenched my jaw and strode past him, chappals slapping the corridor floor. Even the office peon stepped aside as I headed for HR.

I barely knocked before pushing open Ms. Sharma’s door. She glanced up, unfazed.

"What’s going on with the company’s personnel changes? The intern, Priyansh Sharma, says he’s the new sales supervisor."

My words tumbled out, faster than intended. My throat was dry.

Ms. Sharma seemed completely unsurprised. She stacked her files, took a deliberate sip of chai, and looked at me as if I was a child demanding sweets before dinner.

"That’s right. From now on, he’s your leader. You’re a senior employee, so you should support your leader’s work."

Her tone was syrupy, the kind adults use to pacify cranky toddlers. My temper was slipping.

"Why?!" I could barely control my voice. The injustice of it all made my hands shake.