Chapter 2: Promotion or Punishment?

Just as I finished debugging the bug, an email popped up: “Notice of Arjun Sharma’s Promotion.”

I was about to sip from my chipped steel tumbler of chai when the mail notification pinged. The whole floor was silent, except for the distant whirr of the pedestal fan. For a fleeting moment, hope flickered—funny how it clings to the smallest things.

“Effective immediately, Arjun Sharma is promoted to Strategic Partnerships Ambassador, responsible for core business expansion at Suryatech Group. The position of autonomous driving R&D supervisor will be concurrently held by Director Kunal Mehra.”

The subject line sounded like something to impress any parent, but as I read further, the bitter truth unraveled. In our world, a new designation can be a garland or a noose—depends on who’s handing it out and why.

My vision went dark.

It felt as if the power had gone off in the office, but it was just my own mind spinning. I stared at the screen, knuckles white on the desk, the only sound my breath and, from outside, the horns of an impatient rickshaw.

Strategic Partnerships Ambassador—sounds fancy, but honestly, not even a stray dog would want this job.

In my head, I could already hear Amma telling the neighbours, “Beta toh ambassador ban gaya,” but even she wouldn’t be fooled for long. In corporate India, a title that sounds too grand is usually an empty shell.

No say in any project decisions. At least 25 days a month on business trips, running around entertaining clients at endless drinking parties—if you can’t drink yourself to death, you just keep drinking till you do.

Images flashed: endless airport waits, forced smiles at five-star buffets, pretending to enjoy whisky with people who’d forget your name by morning. Anyone who’s forced down a third round of Old Monk with a South Delhi client knows—this isn’t a promotion, it’s a punishment.

Even the office is stuck in the farthest corner from R&D, sharing space with the logistics team.

That office—what a joke. Right next to the godown, where the only view was the back gate and the rumbling of delivery trucks. Even the WiFi signal came reluctantly.

The worst part? The salary is a full 30% less than what I get now.

I stared at the numbers in the email, my mind running through rent, Amma’s medicines, the kid’s school fees. This wasn’t just a cut—it was an insult.

Promotion? This is a demotion in disguise.

My inner voice said it in Hindi: “Yeh toh nikalne ka naya tareeka hai.” Even the newest recruit could see what was happening.

The email was sent by Kunal Mehra, and CC’d to the entire project team.

My whole team got a front-row seat to my downfall in their inbox. Some would feel sorry, but others… there’s always someone who enjoys the tamasha.

He was the top executive the chairman brought in to lead the smart car business.

The kind who wore branded suits, carried the newest iPhone, and had the ear of the higher-ups. For people like him, life was a chessboard; the rest of us, just pawns.

My direct supervisor.

Until today, he hadn’t even bothered to learn my full name. Just ‘Arjun’ in his clipped tone, as if it was a favour.

I know that when a new boss takes over, they like to make a show of authority.

It’s a ritual. New boss arrives, someone gets sacrificed. But usually, it’s done with a little subtlety—not public humiliation on day one.

But using me—a loyal employee of ten years—as a sacrificial offering on his first day? Are you mad or what?

If this was a Bollywood movie, I’d have banged the table and delivered a fiery monologue. In real life, I just clenched my jaw and decided not to go down without a fight.

Fury surged inside me. I headed straight for the director’s office.

I grabbed my ID card, set my jaw, and marched across the floor. My colleagues watched, pretending to be busy, but their eyes followed me. For once, I didn’t care.