Chapter 3: The Trap Tightens

After a morning of HR mind games, my irritation was reaching boiling point.

The half-eaten samosa on my desk was stone cold. From the canteen, uncle’s voice boomed, calling someone for their chai. The usual office chaos seemed far away; all my energy was focused on surviving this HR circus.

"Priya, let’s not waste time. Just tell me what you want."

"It’s nothing, Arjun. I just think you’re not capable enough for this job."

She twirled her pen, not meeting my eyes. A faint smirk played on her lips—the kind my cousin wore when he’d hidden the TV remote and wouldn’t say where.

"No point analysing imaginary incompetence. Just tell me—what exactly do you want?"

I was done with this game. In my mind, I saw my son’s homework lying incomplete, abandoned for yet another late client call.

"You need to start submitting weekly reports, with an action plan for improving your work ability. And you’ll be handing over part of your work."

I nearly choked. Weekly reports—classic! When they can’t find a fault, they’ll drown you in paperwork. Another Indian corporate tradition.

Sales jobs have tiny base salaries; most of the money is in commissions. HR’s plan was clear—cut my income until I quit on my own.

I remembered an old colleague who’d finally left after they kept reducing his targets, cutting him off bit by bit.

"If the company’s planning layoffs and will pay as per labour law, I’ll accept."

I said it like a lawyer, thinking of my uncle’s advice: "Beta, always know your rights."

"There’s no layoff plan, but if you want to resign, I have no objection."

She pushed her glasses up, eyes blank and unreadable. Like I was a stubborn stain she wanted gone.

Now it was clear. HR wanted to force me out without paying a rupee in severance.

Dream on, Priya.

The distant echo of cricket commentary came from someone’s phone—a reminder the world kept moving while mine was stuck.

"Priya, I’m not resigning. If you want me gone, prepare my severance, or I’ll go to labour court."

I made sure my words carried down the corridor. The receptionist looked up, eyebrows raised. I didn’t care.

I left the meeting room, unable to listen to another minute of her nonsense.

Back at my desk, I found my manager, Kunal.

He was hunched over, tie askew, tapping away with the resignation of a man who’d given up on the office Wi-Fi.

"Did you know HR wants me out?"

Kunal nodded, looking tired. Maybe guilty, maybe just defeated by the system.

"I just found out—only told this morning. I tried to fight for you, brought up your numbers, but they’ve decided. You have to go."

I could see he meant it, but sympathy was useless now. The lingering smell of his last cigarette break hung in the air.

"Tell me the real reason."

"Arjun, the new clients you brought in make up half our business now. HR thinks those contracts just need routine maintenance, so they don’t want to pay you commission anymore. But since your contract guarantees it, their only option is to force you out."

Now it made sense. We’re talking about a million rupees in commission a year.

Kunal rubbed his forehead, looking like he had too many secrets and not enough hair left.

After I built up these clients, now they want me out.

Nothing more to say. I’ll fight to the end. As long as the orders keep coming, I’ll claim what’s mine.

But I underestimated how dirty HR could play. The real tricks were just starting.