Chapter 3: The Confrontation

Confidentiality, confidentiality.

Always the excuse. Salary slips guarded like Maggi masala recipe. Sab bakwaas.

Is it just to keep old employees like me clueless?

Otherwise, people would be shouting in the canteen. “Arrey, dekh! Kaun kitna kama raha hai?” Better to keep us in the dark, na?

Fuming, I pressed on: “I joined at the beginning. Six years of hard work, and my salary isn’t even as high as a fresh graduate’s?”

I tried to keep my voice steady, but it shook. Six years, and still begging for respect. Kya ho gaya mujhe?

“And even if we forget seniority or title, my output and achievements are way ahead, right?”

I listed my wins, my scripts, my viral ideas. Sweat prickled on my forehead, AC suddenly felt too cold.

Last month, I wrote five viral scripts.

The numbers were there—views, likes, shares. But what did it matter?

Neha Sharma produced nothing.

She’d barely finished onboarding. Couldn’t even remember the WiFi password.

What makes her worth more?

Was it her MBA? Her ‘fluent’ English? Or just the market loving new faces over old?

The boss’s tone softened. “Amit, main jaanta hoon tumne kitna diya hai company ko, lekin ab market mein naye log mehange ho gaye hain. Top university graduate ko laana hai toh yahi daam hai. Tum toh apne ho, company ke family jaise ho.”

He started with emotional blackmail—‘You’re like family, we know your value, but…’ That ‘but’ stung more than anything.

Inside, I wanted to shout: If the company’s struggling, why is her salary higher? Why is loyalty rewarded with crumbs?

If costs have gone up, why not raise the loyal ones?

What’s the logic? Loyalty discount?

Am I not worth it?

Even the dudhwala raises his rates every year. Here, I can’t even ask for basic izzat?

“But this is simply unreasonable.”

I saw his face harden. He hated the word ‘unreasonable’.

“There’s nothing unreasonable. Company needs fresh blood, that’s just how the market is. Not just Prism—sab jagah aisa hai.”

He shrugged, as if this was a law of nature. “Beta, samajh lo, zindagi mein sab kuch milta nahi. Thoda shukr karo jo mil raha hai.” He even gave a little hand wave, like brushing off a fly.

I pressed my lips together, adjusted my ID card, and said, “Boss, I’m requesting a raise.”

For once, it wasn’t a request. It was a demand. My hands shook, but I didn’t step back.

Not just a raise—I wanted to earn more than the newcomer.

This time, I wanted my izzat back. If not more, at least equal.

He didn’t even blink. “Socho. Har saal toh badha hai salary. Thoda santosh bhi seekho.”

Content, haan? As if five hundred rupees extra in April is enough for Mumbai’s rent, let alone dreams.

Six years, and my increment barely buys a Domino’s pizza. Wah boss, kya baat hai.

Six years of raises, still outdone by a newcomer. Old employees really aren’t worth as much as street dogs.

Sab kuch hai, bas izzat nahi. Not even as much as a stray dog under the office AC.

Start of the year, boss said company was struggling, but only I’d get a raise.

I felt chosen. Ma called it blessings, papa said, “See, honesty pays.” Now I feel like a fool.

I believed him, even felt grateful.

I’d even touched his feet at Diwali. Idiot me.

But then he gave the fresh graduate a fat salary…

That Diwali sweet tastes bitter now.

The hurt is huge; the insult is bigger.

It’s not just about money. It’s about dignity. Like being told you don’t matter.

I took a deep breath. “If that’s the case, I’m afraid I can’t keep working here.”

For once, my voice was calm. No more shouting, no more pleading. Just quiet resolve.

If I have to take eight thousand and train a newcomer at eighteen, better I leave than die of frustration. At least my mother will see me alive.

Boss’s face twisted: “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Go back. I hope you calm down. If you only care about money, it’s hard to get far.”

He gave that classic boss look: ‘Don’t threaten me.’ As if I was greedy for asking what I deserve. Typical.

There was a long pause. I could hear the faint tick of the wall clock and my own heart thumping. Even the chaiwalla’s bell outside seemed to go quiet. I adjusted my ring, stood up, and left without another word.