Chapter 4: Bandra Escape

Even I, slow as I am, could guess who wanted me gone.

In India, you don’t need RTI—just listen to the chai shop gossip. The office aunty probably knew before I did.

The layoff list came from the top.

Here, hierarchy is everything. One word from the CEO, and you’re out—nikal diya jaise purana furniture.

Fuming, I called my college roommate:

‘Gussa’ was too small a word for what I felt. My hand shook as I dialed.

“Yusuf, is your project still hiring?”

I could hear Yusuf’s grin. “Kabir bhai, you finally have time for me!”

“Just say the word. Whatever project you want, I’ll invest.”

His confidence was infectious, reminding me of hostel nights over bun maska and chai.

I smiled. “Great. You free? Let’s meet.”

A pause, then a shout, “I’m free! I’ll drive over, pick you up at your office.”

There’s nothing like an old friend when your world’s upside down. ‘Woh kehte hain na—dost ho toh Yusuf jaisa.’

I stood outside the company, cardboard box in hand—old mug, Ganesha idol, pens, and the tiffin I never got to eat. The Mumbai sun baked my back, shirt stuck with sweat.

Three years of work, reduced to a box of leftovers.

Not even a goodbye email from HR. Just a couple of texts: ‘Take care, bhai. Things will get better.’

Amit had just finished a meeting, strutting out, beaming as he saw off business partners.

He handed out business cards like prasad, shaking hands, his laughter echoing across the lot.

He spotted me and clicked his tongue:

"Kaam toh nahi hota, par packing mein toh champion ho, haan?"

He drew out the words, making everyone listen. I felt the sting but stayed cool.

I was no longer a Raahi employee, and he wasn’t my boss anymore.

In that moment, there was a strange lightness—a hollow ache, but also a weight lifted, even if it left a bruise. The traffic blared, life moved on.

But Amit still strutted like he owned the place.

He introduced me to the two bosses, gesturing like I was part of the scenery.

“A few years ago, we lowered our hiring standards. After our upgrade, we optimised out the slackers.”

It was a direct jab. The two bosses exchanged amused glances.

“You two are interested in the new system, right? Let’s talk partnership.”

He motioned them away, but they lingered, enjoying the show. Power games—our national sport.

The three of them looked like oil barrels lined up. I’d have laughed if I wasn’t so angry.

Amit leaned in, sneering:

“Hey, Kabir, I heard you bought a flat in Bandra—those EMI payments must be tough.”

His words dripped fake sympathy. Even my EMI was public knowledge. ‘Logon ko sab pata hai,’ Maa always said.

“I’m soft-hearted. How about this: you carry these bags and do 500 push-ups right here. If you finish, I’ll talk to HR about keeping you on. Kaisa laga?”

He grinned, expecting me to shrink. The bosses chuckled, looking me up and down.

My hand trembled, the air thick. For a second, everything went silent—then Yusuf’s car horn blared in the background. Onlookers held their breath. I reached out and slapped Amit’s belly—a loud, satisfying thwack.

The sound echoed. ‘Kya bajaya!’ I thought, just for a second. It was pure instinct.

“I think you’re the one who needs push-ups.”

I said it loud enough for the guards to hear. For a moment, disbelief—then laughter.

The two bosses burst out laughing, slapping each other’s backs. Even the gatekeeper grinned.

Amit’s face flushed, about to explode—when a white Audi SUV screeched up.

You don’t see many white Audis here—heads turned, even the paanwala looked up.

The chrome logo gleamed. The door opened, and there was Yusuf, behind the wheel in a spotless white kurta, calling out to the paanwala, “Arrey bhai, ek Meetha paan bana dena!”

He looked like a Kingfisher ad come to life, but with Bandra swag. The car stereo played old Kishore Kumar songs, and the air inside smelled faintly of attar.

Yusuf slid his sunglasses up, grinning, and flung the back door open:

“Kabir bhai, your chariot awaits!”

His accent was pure Bandra—English, Urdu, and Mumbaiya in one. I grinned, lifting my box in.

Yusuf must have seen everything. He gave a cool nod:

“Gentlemen, please get back to work. Hum log toh aaj already free hain.”

His voice was easy, confident. The bosses looked stunned. Amit was speechless.

With that, Yusuf shut the door and sped away. I looked back at Amit, his mouth working silently. The city faded. I could hear my father’s voice: ‘Chal beta, naya safar shuru ho gaya.’