Chapter 1: No Raise, No Respect

The SMS alert blinked on my phone just as I finished paying my daughter’s school fees online. My account balance dropped lower than the Mumbai humidity in May. I stared at the screen, feeling the pinch—another month of stretching every rupee. From the corridor, laughter floated in—someone was cracking jokes about their latest salary hike. The sting was sharper than any spreadsheet error.

My boss hasn’t given me a raise for seven straight years.

I used to convince myself it didn’t matter, that maybe one day he’d notice my loyalty. But this year, when the company announced annual increments, the office buzzed like the CST platform at rush hour. Near the pantry, Rohan waved his new payslip, boasting, “Bhai, boss ne finally khush kar diya!” Someone else joked, “Aaj toh samosa party banti hai!” The aroma of masala chai mixed with the tangy chutney from the samosas, and everyone compared their payslips over laughter. Except me. My increment letter never came. I was the only one left out, like the last student not called for assembly prizes.

Fuming, I barged towards the boss’s cabin—no knocking, just pushed the door like a man possessed. My hand hesitated on the doorknob, heart pounding in my chest. My wife’s voice echoed in my mind: 'Don’t make a scene, Amit.' But the humiliation burned too deep. “Sir, after all these years, why haven’t you ever increased my salary? Am I invisible, or what?” My heart thudded like the local train at rush hour.

He didn’t even look up from his phone, fingers scrolling through WhatsApp forwards. “Purchasing Manager ho ya peon, Amit, is kursi ke liye line lagi rahegi. Paisa de ya na de, koi na koi aa hi jayega.” His tone was as dismissive as leftover Diwali mithai being distributed to strangers.

With that, I walked out. My ears burned, palms itched with anger, but what could I do? Seven years, and not even a thank you. Maybe I really am invisible here. Or maybe loyalty is just another word for being taken for granted. Sometimes it feels like the whole office is a stage for humiliation, and I’m just a ludo token the boss flicked off the board.

I hadn’t even reached my cubicle when I saw Rohan from Admin, all decked up as if he’d just returned from a job interview, strutting straight into the boss’s cabin. There was a knowing glint in his eye that made my gut churn.

An hour later, a company-wide WhatsApp ping hit every group. These days, nothing is private—by the time you finish your chai, your news has already reached ten groups.

To mitigate potential risks, the company announced the tenure for the high-risk role of Purchasing Manager would not exceed five years. Effective immediately, Amit (me), Purchasing Manager, and Rohan, Admin Manager, would swap positions.

It was like a TV serial twist—before I could even process, I was being shunted like a ludo token the boss flicked off the board.

Soon after, Rohan swaggered over, flashing a smile brighter than the new fluorescent lights. He tapped his phone impatiently, eyes darting over my desk, and smirked.

“Manager Amit, boss wants us to do a handover. When do you think is good?”

His voice was syrupy sweet, but the smugness underneath was impossible to miss—like the hero’s friend who betrays him in every masala movie.

Honestly, I’d known for a while Rohan had been pestering the boss, thumping his chest and promising he’d do a better job for less money. I’d overheard him in the canteen, telling vendors, “Just wait, next year I’ll be the one making all the calls.” Everyone knows, in Purchasing, the real money isn’t the salary, it’s in ‘setting’ the deals.

Not that the boss cares. Whoever’s in this job will take something anyway, in his eyes. Rohan doesn’t want a salary, so at least that saves a little. It’s an open secret—everyone acts like saints, but under the table, some palms are always greased.

When I got the news, I was at a loss for words. Felt like someone pulled the chair from under me in a crowded wedding tent—shock and embarrassment rolled into one.

Before, Rohan was always polite. I thought he just wanted to push shady vendors my way—which I always turned down. He’d sit quietly and suggest, “Amit bhai, just see this one, na.” Now that he’s succeeded, he can’t wait to show it.

“Manager Rohan, there’s a lot to cover in Purchasing. I still need to get things organised. Next week, let’s set aside some time for the handover, just to avoid any mistakes—”

Before I could finish, Rohan cut me off, waving his hand like a local politician at a colony meeting, tapping his phone again.

“Manager Amit, you don’t want to move to Admin, do you? These days, what business does a department that only spends money have? What mistakes could there possibly be?”

He looked at me, a smirk plastered on his face—the kind of look a kid gives when he gets the last laddoo.

“Since Manager Rohan says so, I can do it anytime.”

“Great, let’s get it done right now.”

I never expected him to be so eager. He was almost itching to plant his flag on my desk.

So I took him to my desk and began the rundown of the purchasing process and key vendors. I showed him the files, the list of vendors, the protocols—all written out in my own neat handwriting, the result of years of painstaking effort. My fingers lingered on the edge of the file, as if letting go would erase seven years of my life. He barely glanced at the paperwork, looking everywhere else.

He listened half-heartedly, kept checking his phone, and made those humming sounds. I knew his type—he just wanted my chair, not my advice.

Worried he’d turn around and blame me if anything went wrong, I drew up a detailed handover checklist, printed it, and told Rohan,

“Manager Rohan, if you’re satisfied with the handover, just sign here and I’ll move to Admin.”

He didn’t even glance, just scribbled his signature like signing a courier slip, handed it back, and went off to pack up his cubicle.

I packed up, held a quick meeting with the buyers, and moved my things to the Admin office. As I rolled my chair down the corridor, the peon offered to help, balancing my tiffin and the Ganesh idol, while the cleaning aunty gave a sympathetic nod. “Amit bhai, new department, new luck!” the peon winked. I could only force a smile.