STIFLED
CHAPTER FIVE
The image that stared back from the mirror was familiar yet strange.
And no wonder. Ever since all this started, there had been no sleep. Only fitful dozing. Besides, so much pain, hurt, anger, and hatred bottled up inside would definitely change the person on the inside as well as the outside. No one would take away the pain, of course. But hatred. Yeah. That would go away. That would definitely go away once justice was served. Soon. Real soon.
The morning routine had become a ritual. Wake up. Stare at the ceiling for exactly seventeen minutes -- it was always seventeen, always the same crack in the plaster that looked like a river delta, always the same thought: today could be the day. Then the bathroom. The mirror. The careful examination of what was left of the person who had once believed the world was fair.
The toothbrush moved mechanically. Left side, right side, front, back. Rinse. Spit. The water swirled pink -- the gums had been bleeding for weeks now, the body manifesting what the mind refused to acknowledge. Stress. Or rage. Or both. The HR wellness newsletter that arrived every Monday morning with its cheerful pastel colours and its advice to take deep breaths and practice gratitude had become a source of dark amusement. Practice gratitude. For what? For the daily humiliation? For the whispers that stopped when certain people entered the room? For the loneliness that had calcified into something hard and sharp and permanent?
To think those bitches worked at Prisma! The mere thought was blasphemous. The fact that they were colleagues! It brought the stomach contents into the mouth. They thought they were so smart, sitting there with their cocktails and their righteous fury, airing men's failures like dirty laundry for the whole world to see. Never again silent? They should never have spoken in the first place. And now the names were out. The women at Prisma were calling them Terrific Trio while the men thought they were Terrible Trio. Neither was correct. They were Trash Trio who mocked and taunted. Never again silent indeed! What did they know about real men? Nothing. They had absolutely no clue. Had they ever tried to measure up and fail every single day? Did they know what it was to try and try, knowing you would fail, yet unable to give up? Did they? No. They didn't know. And they didn't deserve to live. They want to air men's failures? They would learn what silence really meant. A silence that would never end.
The phone numbers had been easy. Laughably easy. Employee records were right there in the system, accessible to anyone in the department with the right login credentials. Home addresses too. Emergency contacts. Blood groups. Allergies. The company stored everything digitally now -- all those smart workplace initiatives that the CEO loved to boast about in quarterly meetings. We're a transparent organisation, he liked to say. Information flows freely at Prisma. He had no idea how freely.
The reflection in the mirror smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. The smile widened, stretching the lips over teeth that had been ground flat from years of nocturnal clenching. The dentist had recommended a mouth guard. The dentist didn't know the half of it.
A plan was forming. Not the vague, shapeless fantasies that had sustained the dark hours until now, but something with edges. Something with a timeline. The calling had already started -- two calls from two different PCO booths, the kind of places with no CCTV cameras, the kind of places where the owner barely looked up from his newspaper when someone walked in. The reactions had been gratifying. Fear was a beautiful thing when it was in someone else's eyes. When it was in their voice. When you could hear it trembling through the phone line like a current through a wire.
You won't get the man but you will die.
The words had felt good to say. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.
Thursday morning at Prisma brought a fresh round of skirmishes.
The video had crossed 1.5 lakh views and over fifty thousand shares on X. Sanika had stopped counting. The notifications had been silenced, the apps muted, and she had resolved to ignore the entire phenomenon the way one ignores a persistent headache -- by pretending it didn't exist and taking paracetamol at regular intervals. The paracetamol, in this case, was work, and she threw herself into it with the ferocity of a woman who needed to think about quarterly projections instead of her rapidly disintegrating reputation.
Shruti had a harder time of it.
The meeting started normally enough. The usual review of targets, client updates, pipeline status. Then Arnab -- the senior VP who had appointed himself the moral guardian of Prisma's corporate culture -- decided to bring it up.
"I think we need to address the elephant in the room," he said, leaning back in his chair with the self-satisfaction of a man about to say something he considered profound. "This video that's been going around. It's affecting team morale."
"It's not affecting team morale," Shruti said quietly. "What's affecting team morale is people who won't stop talking about it."
"It was filthy and mean-spirited," he said.
"I don't agree. People see what they expect to see. Dirty minds see grub everywhere."
"You're saying I have a dirty mind? How dare you!"
"Enough!" Their CEO walked in, took in the scene at one glance, and barked the command. "Arnab, stop dragging out the same old shit. We have better things to do at Prisma than discuss some video on Instagram. Now get your head out of your ass and sit down. We're going to have new clients and new targets for the next quarter."
Shruti let her tense muscles relax slowly as the situation diffused. How long would this go on? The meeting began and concluded quickly and peacefully after that.
Mira had slept a little better on Thursday night and woke up fresh on Friday morning. Maybe she was recovering from a broken heart, or maybe she was moving on despite it. Since it was Friday, she could discuss and evaluate during dinner with her friends, she thought with wry humour.
Reaching her bike, she was about to pull on her helmet when her phone rang. Frowning at the unfamiliar number, she nevertheless answered. "Hello?"
"You won't get the man but you will die!" And the line went dead.
What the fuck!
Frown deepening, she pressed the call-back button, but the line was engaged. Nutcase, she muttered to herself, strapped the helmet on, and started the bike.
At work, she ran into Ruhi almost immediately.
"It wouldn't have happened if she had her mind on her job instead of that disgusting video," Ruhi growled in a low tone as Mira nearly collided with her outside her manager's cabin.
"Excuse me?" Mira said, taken aback. She shouldn't be surprised. Ruhi needed an excuse to get her dander up. In fact, it was a surprise that she had waited as long as she did. Maybe the number of things that pissed her off had been pretty long.
"The overlaps in the previous signups," she clarified. "They wouldn't have happened if not for that cheap, dirty video that you put on the internet," she said, her face flushed. Then she shook her head firmly. "I don't even want to discuss it with you."
"Fine by me," Mira said, trying not to look amused.
"I'm going to see if I can change my group," she said with a fierce glower.
"You are welcome to try, but don't get your hopes up. You know how it is until the initial round of recruitments are over," she said sweetly.
"Fine," she glared. "But you better not--"
Mira's patience ran out at that point. "Ruhi, do you realise you're behaving like a petulant school kid?" Ruhi opened her mouth to protest but wasn't given a chance. "Get back to work and leave me to do mine."
Mira waited until Ruhi strode away before muttering to herself, "Who the hell hired her?"
"Not me," came the immediate reply from her manager's cabin. Mira giggled.
Sanika was called into her boss's office just as she was about to go in search of some tea. Vijay Khandekar was a perpetually grumpy, ill-tempered boor who had peaked in 1998 and had spent the subsequent decades resenting the world for moving on without him.
She sighed and dragged herself into his cabin. He wasn't pleased with her -- that much was glaringly obvious. And absolutely nothing new. He was never pleased with any of the female members of his team. In the four years Sanika had worked under him, she had watched him promote three mediocre men over two exceptional women, deny maternity leave requests with the enthusiasm of a man who considered reproduction a personal inconvenience, and once -- memorably -- suggest during a team meeting that the reason women earned less was because they "chose to prioritise family over performance," a statement so spectacularly tone-deaf that even the men on the team had winced. She suspected the reason for this conference and prepared herself to be chewed out.
"Ms Joshi, the environment at Prisma is getting ruined."
"Ruined how, sir?" she asked innocently.
"Don't be facetious, Ms Joshi. There have never been gender fights at Prisma. Nor has the language of the company ever deteriorated to this level. You and that ridiculous video of yours are the reason for this. It is vulgar and dirty, to say the least."
"How is it my doing?" she asked with a bewildered frown.
"That dirty video of yours--"
"It was not exclusively mine," she couldn't help pointing out. "You could say it was a collaborative effort." And damn if she apologised for it. Why the hell was he holding her solely responsible for the whole mess? Fine, it got posted on Instagram and took off after that, but how was she to be blamed if people liked and loved and shared it? She wasn't the one who put them to work on social media! But logic, women, and Rao never went hand in hand.
"Ms Sanika, please. You might not be the only one, but I have no doubt you're the one who started all that nonsense. And now it's up to you to control it."
Her eyes bugged out. She really couldn't help it. "Control it how?"
"That's not my problem," he waved it away.
"How can you say that, sir? The reputation of this department is on your very capable shoulders, and you need to help me out if people out there are besmirching it." She sat back with a smile and started outlining her plan. "You could start by sending an email within Prisma. Your word would undoubtedly hold more weight than mine would." Boosted by the look of discomfort spreading across his round face, she continued. "I'll add you as my friend on Instagram. You can start backtracking and encouraging people not to like it and talk to them into--"
"Uh, I don't think that would be the best way to handle things."
"Then what do you suggest?" she asked with innocent eagerness. She never could fool her brothers with it, but Rao was another matter. His expression went completely blank as he stretched his neck like a turkey. She hid her smile.
"Uh, on second thought, I don't think that would be necessary. I'm sure with time such nonsense will die its own death," he said, nodding repeatedly.
That meant he knew there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do once stuff reached the internet.
"I think we can declare the situation officially out of control," Sanika said glumly as they fortified themselves with Virgin Marys and Piña Coladas to go with their dinner at the Thai restaurant that was situated smack in the middle of their respective homes.
"1.5 lakh views and over fifty thousand shares," Mira supplied the latest numbers. "Seriously, was it really that good? I mean, haven't we seen more ribald and interesting ones before?"
"Yeah, but we've never kept track of the likes or shares of such stuff, right?" Shruti shrugged. "People have lives to lead and this one will get its fifteen minutes of fame and die away just like the ones before and the ones after." They clinked their glasses on that note. "Anyway, this whole thing has finally got Runal and me talking. Her name is Zara."
"Oh, Good God!" Mira and Sanika stared at their friend aghast. "I'm so sorry, Shratz. What are you going to do now?" Mira asked. "He's a damn stupid dumbass if he chooses some other female over you." Sanika looked totally pissed off.
Shruti shrugged and tried to smile. Sanika always had the ability to make her smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy, and I'm not going to do anything for now. He says he hasn't been unfaithful to me."
"And you believe it?" Sanika asked doubtfully.
Shruti ran a finger over the rim of her glass. "I have been doing some thinking since last night. I realise I'm not completely blameless, you know." At her friends' twin stares of disbelief, she asserted. "I said all that on camera about his cheating. Maybe I should have said it to his face first, not to the whole internet."
"We don't see you having an EMA," Mira scowled. "Or even tempted to have one," she added.
"I didn't say we're equally at fault. Just that I'm not completely blameless. I haven't been neglecting myself, but I haven't made any efforts to be attractive to him either. Before, I used to dress up for him, but now I dress up for others while he gets the tracks and nighties."
"Yeah, well, if that's his complaint, I can only say that he is watching way too many Ekta Kapoor shows," Sanika said dryly. "Home is where you can chill out for God's sake, not deck up in designer wear and perch yourself on the couch!"
Mira didn't comment. She felt she had no right to, since she herself had been one of those women who decked up to please their men until recently. "And if you are talking about appearances," Sanika continued, "does he make that effort? Does he dress up in anything other than his PJs or shorts when he's at home?"
Shruti conceded the point but couldn't help verbalising the rest of her thoughts out loud. "We were best friends before we became lovers. But now I hardly talk to him. I bounce off my thoughts and ideas with you guys instead of with him. I give him the cook and the housekeeper instead of lover and partner. That's not the way it's supposed to be, right? Maybe that's why he got bored."
"When is he ever there for you to talk to him? He expects you home before him, but does he make an effort to spend time with you? Come early once in a while, plan an outing, something?" Sanika asked gently.
"I don't understand why for every single thing that goes wrong in a relationship, a woman ends up taking the blame for it. You're not sharing things with him, correct. Has he been sharing?"
Mira stabbed her fork for emphasis. "You know, sometimes I think for all the lack of modernity, the previous generations had been better off. The roles had been clearly defined. Man, the breadwinner, and woman, the homemaker. Now we're brought up with ideas of equality drilled into us from the cradle. But our parents don't tell us that the fate of that equality lies in the hands of our partners. We're their equal only if they think we're equal."
Sanika started cutting her starter to pieces with more force than required. "Especially since most of those men's mothers are housewives. They see their mom and expect their wife to be like their mom. But at the same time this equality thing pops into their messed-up heads. So at the end of the day they want their wives to work and be the perfect homemakers." She opened her mouth to add more but snapped it shut at the last second.
Shruti saw that and giggled. "Out with it, Su. I promise I won't mind."
"I don't want to be accused of equating your husband to a dog." When Mira looked confused, Sanika had no choice. "I was about to say dhobi ka kutta, na ghar ka na ghaat ka." Roughly and politely translated: neither here nor there.
"Now don't you dare take out your phone, Si," Shruti warned. "I can't take another video going viral."
"What, you think I'm crazy? This one has traumatised me enough. I don't even login to Instagram or X anymore." Mira shuddered.
"Any peep from Karan the toad?" Shruti shifted the topic to Mira.
"Yeah, he thinks I recorded that video to take revenge against him." The other two rolled their eyes. Men and their egos! "I said yes, what I said was aimed at him. Most importantly the parts about faithfulness and gaslighting."
"Way to go, girl!" Sanika clapped, and Shruti blew an air kiss.
Sanika's phone rang before the conversation could continue. "Hello?"
A slightly familiar ghostly whisper spoke. "You won't get the man but you will die!"
The line went dead. Fury rolled through her. What the hell! That was the second time that day. She quickly pressed the callback button, and just then Mira's phone rang. She watched her friend's face turn red and then white. And before she could ask her, Shruti's phone rang, and the next moment even she wore a similar expression.
"I got this call this morning too," all three chorused at the same time.
"What's happening here?" Sanika asked, frowning. Worry slowly replacing dismay.
"With the kind of creeps that are popping up these days, who knows whose chain we've yanked with that video," Shruti looked equally perturbed.
"Oh, come on!" Mira shook her head. "That's just crazy. I mean, things like that happen in the movies. Or maybe for some famous chicks. We're three normal women."
"Who posted a rather bold video airing all the things men have done to us," Shruti added. "It could be a crank call, but I don't think any of us can afford to brush it off," Sanika insisted. "Someone got our numbers and has called us twice. Said the same thing twice. It was the same thing, right? You won't get the man but you'll die, or something like that?" The other two nodded.
"So it is related to that video. The words are too similar to be a mere coincidence." She scrolled back to check her caller list. "And he called from two different numbers."
"If he got our numbers, he could get our addresses too."
"But how did he get our numbers in the first place?"
"I don't think we should think about the how. The fact is he got it and maybe he knows where we live too," Sanika's heart thudded with the first trace of fear.
"Runal comes in late and Mira lives alone," Shruti voiced her fears. "The security in our apartments is not great, but at least it's there. But Su, you live alone in that house."
"Aren't you two overreacting? Getting scared like kids telling ghost stories?" Mira asked.
"Question is -- can we afford to brush it off?"
"What do we do now?"
All three looked at each other, their minds drawing a blank.
End of Chapter Five.
© 2025 Atharva Inamdar. Licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0. Free to read and share with attribution.