Chapter 7: Aftermath and Karma

Thinking of Rajeev Malhotra’s cold attitude, I felt a chill in my chest.

His words echoed—cold, transactional. Like I was a used battery, not a human.

“It just wasn’t worth it anymore.”

I could finally say it without guilt. I was free.

I told Aunty Radha the whole story.

She listened quietly, sometimes gasping, sometimes muttering curses. For a moment, she reminded me of my mother.

She was as angry and shocked as I’d been.

I could hear the hurt in her voice. “Beta, yeh toh hadd ho gayi!”

“Unbelievable. So many years, and our treatment isn’t even as good as a new kid?”

She started counting on her fingers—years of loyalty, extra hours, and still, nothing. It wasn’t just about me—it was about all of us.

I repeated what the boss said.

She listened, then banged the table so hard her tea nearly spilled.

She was furious. “Why should we suffer just because labour costs are high? Did we do wrong by staying loyal? Cunning capitalists.”

Her voice rose, echoing down the phone. “Yeh log kabhi nahi sudhrenge. Only profits matter. Staff toh bas chappal hai—purani ho gayi toh nayi le aao.”

After venting, I felt lighter.

Sometimes, you just need someone to say, ‘You’re right, beta. You did nothing wrong.’

I didn’t rush to find a new job—just rested at home for a week.

Mummy was so happy. She made aloo parathas, forced me to nap. I finished a novel I’d left six months ago.

In those few days, Prism had an incident.

Aunty Radha sent me voice notes—excited, shocked, a little gleeful.

Neha Sharma confidently submitted her copy.

She strutted around, eyes shining. “Boss, this one will break records!”

After the video went live, traffic surged. Looked like it’d go viral across India.

For an hour, the office was in party mode. Balloons, emojis, even the peon joined in.

Rajeev popped open sparkling juice, showing off on WhatsApp Status: “Strength and results won’t let me keep a low profile. Prism’s new hire was the right choice—new blood brings new heights.”

He took a selfie with Neha, glass raised. Status: ‘Vision. Innovation. Growth.’ Couldn’t help but laugh at the screenshot.

Neha’s smile was about to split her face.

She was the hero, the chosen one. Everyone queued to congratulate her.

But their happiness lasted less than two hours.

Office gossip spreads fast. By lunch, the mood changed. By tea, silence.

The video was flagged for violations, the account penalised—a seven-day ban.

Even the peon whispered, “Bhaiya, kya ho gaya? Account bandh kyun ho gaya?”

Reason: the copy had sensitive content and crossed a red line.

One rookie mistake, and the whole company paid. I almost felt sorry. Almost.

Account suspension was serious.

No livestreams, no ad revenue, a pile of client complaints. Everyone scrambling.

Traffic dropped, followers lost, clients demanded refunds, angry DMs poured in, even admin aunty was asked to call backup.

This time, Neha only put her name on the copy.

No ‘mentor’, no ‘team effort’. Just her name in bold. Duniya dekh rahi thi.

After I left, she wanted to prove she could go viral alone.

But without basics, the whole thing collapsed.

Jugaad works—till it doesn’t. After that, only experience matters.

Final verdict: the newcomer lacked experience and made a mess.

Now, everyone in the industry had a new joke: Prism’s viral video—viral for the wrong reasons.

Prism became a joke overnight.

Ex-colleagues sent me memes. ‘Amit, you left at the right time!’

Rajeev was furious, publicly scolding Neha till she broke down.

He didn’t hold back—insults flying in front of everyone. Neha’s makeup ran, voice cracking. No one dared to speak up.

He even docked her three months’ pay.

So much for ‘new blood’. All that remained was bitterness and regret.

Right after Aunty Radha told me, Neha Sharma called me.

My phone vibrated, her name flashing. I couldn’t help it—I sneered and pressed answer.

Let’s see what she has to say now.

The ceiling fan creaked overhead, mixing the smell of Mummy’s aloo parathas with the faint scent of coconut oil from the neighbour’s balcony. I sipped my chai, watching a stray dog stretch outside the gate. At least he gets to sleep wherever he wants. Freedom, haan?