Chapter 7: Out and Onward

I was so angry, I became calm.

There’s a kind of rage that burns so hot, it turns to ice. I looked around one last time at the place I had given a decade of my life to, and felt nothing but emptiness.

Fine, I won’t touch it.

I pushed the mouse aside, picked up my bag, and stood. No drama, no tears. That was my victory.

Anyway, the one who’ll regret this won’t be me.

I told myself, “Arjun, tu haar nahi raha hai, tu azaad ho raha hai.” I left, head held high.

Without looking back, I left the company.

The security guard at the gate looked at me with surprise, but didn’t stop me. As I stepped into the sticky Mumbai evening, the sounds of the street—auto rickshaw horns, the clanging of utensils from a nearby dhaba, the aroma of frying vadas—reminded me that life goes on, with or without Suryatech.

The very next day, news of Suryatech and Rajhans Motors forming a strategic partnership was all over the headlines.

The morning paper screamed the news in bold. Uncle in the chai shop pointed at the headline and said, “Dekho, apne Suryatech ki badi khabar!” My school friends’ WhatsApp group was already flooded—one meme showed Amit Choudhary riding a jugaad scooter, chasing Kunal’s imported sedan. My phone buzzed with forwards—everyone had an opinion.

Kunal Mehra was at the signing ceremony, grinning from ear to ear, bragging in front of the cameras: “We’ll quickly assemble a team of highly educated talent, build the strongest team, and create a phenomenal product at a speed that will shock the industry. Stay tuned.”

On TV, his face filled the screen, all teeth and ambition. He shook hands with the Rajhans CEO, flashed a politician’s smile, and basked in his own glory. I wondered if he’d ever give credit to the people who built the foundation.

Funny thing—

My phone pinged again—this time with memes, comparing Kunal to a ‘guest appearance’ in the movie of someone else’s success. Even my little nephew sent me a sticker saying, “Arjun bhaiya, you’ll show them!”

That same day, another major tech company, BharatNext Technology, also announced its entry into the smart car business.

The timing was perfect—almost as if the universe was telling me that new beginnings are always around the corner.

And they’re building cars independently.

No big alliances, no borrowed glory. Just pure, old-fashioned Indian jugaad and determination.

BharatNext’s founder, Amit Choudhary, made the announcement at a press conference, instantly stirring up heated debate.

His speech was all over YouTube by evening. The comments section exploded with pride, skepticism, and endless banter.

Independent car manufacturing means massive, long-term investment.

People on TV kept repeating the same line—“Itna paisa kaun lagayega?” But Amit Choudhary’s confidence was infectious. For a moment, even I started to believe.

Even though the new energy sector is a blue ocean and all the tech giants want a piece, no one has dared to go all in—until now.

BharatNext’s move sent shockwaves through every WhatsApp group—from housing society uncles to techie kids in Bengaluru PGs. Suddenly, everyone had an opinion on EVs.

Just as Suryatech announced their car project, BharatNext jumped in too.

It was like watching two cricket teams walk onto the field. The entire country tuned in, waiting for the first ball to be bowled.

Public opinion immediately started comparing the two.

The memes, hot takes, and passionate debates spilled over onto Twitter, LinkedIn, and even family groups. Everyone picked a side.

“If you want to do independent R&D, be ready to burn money. BharatNext started too late, doesn’t have enough technical know-how—how can they compete with Suryatech?”

A neighbour’s son, who worked in finance, posted a long thread about the risks, but I could see his excitement peeking through the skepticism.

“Still betting on the Suryatech-Rajhans alliance. I’m buying Suryatech stock.”

Someone forwarded a screenshot of their Zerodha account, crowing about their ‘smart’ investment.

“Support BharatNext. Support Amit Choudhary. I’ve thrown all my money into BharatNext stock.”

The ‘BharatNext Army’ was born overnight. There were even memes of Amit Choudhary as Bahubali, ready to take on the world.

“You above are just a brainless fan—just wait, you’ll be crying soon.”

The banter was relentless, and I couldn’t help but laugh. This was India—everyone had a say, and no one ever backed down from an argument.

Kunal Mehra posted a snide comment on his WhatsApp Status: “Mr. Amit is truly bold. Have you figured out how to sell phones before daring to touch four wheels? Are you OK?”

Typical Kunal—couldn’t resist a chance to show off. His words dripped with sarcasm, but to me, they just sounded desperate.

I don’t know why, but even though everyone in the industry was skeptical, I had a gut feeling BharatNext would pull it off.

Something about the way Amit Choudhary spoke, the confidence in his eyes—it reminded me of why I started this journey. For the first time in months, hope stirred inside me.

I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep all night.

I tossed and turned, thoughts racing, imagining a future where my work would finally be valued. The city outside was quiet, but my heart beat with new energy.

I sent my resume over right away.

I spent an hour perfecting every line, adding every achievement, every forgotten certificate. This was my shot, and I wasn’t letting it slip.

With my years of development experience at Suryatech, the interviews went smoothly, and HR told me to wait for their notice.

The interviews were tough but fair. For the first time, no one cared where I went to college—only what I could do. I left each call smiling, hope slowly returning.

While I was waiting, I got a call from an unknown number.

My phone buzzed late at night. I hesitated, then picked up, heart thumping. A familiar, gruff voice barked on the other end.

The person on the other end was blunt: “What the hell is wrong with you? You leave, but you leave a backdoor behind?”

For a split second, I thought it was another HR formality. But the accusation—laced with panic and desperation—made me sit up straight. I stifled a laugh. The story was far from over, and this time, I let him sweat. After all, karma has its own debugging process.