Flickering Smile
It’s a pleasant, breezy day in Mumbai, and I’m sitting in an office in the densely populated area of Malad. Against my desk is a large glass window offering a cinematic view of the sprawling sea and uniquely shaped buildings. I joined this company in 2015 as a cartoon artist.
When people say, “Bombay is the city of dreams,” I can never deny it. This city has given me something my birthplace never did—independence. Not just financial independence, but the freedom to pursue my passions. This place never judged me for choosing to be an artist over an engineer. The girl who arrived with a shivering body and a flickering smile is now confident, happy, and fulfilled.
I was sipping my afternoon coffee, as usual, when someone knocked on my cabin door. “Who’s this?” I called out.
“It’s me, Lalu. Madamji is calling you,” came the reply. Lalu, the office peon, is slightly stout and always wears a blue shirt and pants. He affectionately calls me “Meme” and refers to the company’s CA as “Madamji.”
“Coming, coming!” I replied, placing my cup on the desk.
As I stepped out of my cabin, I noticed everyone staring at me with a mix of astonishment and sympathy—an expression I truly despise.
On my way to the CA’s cabin, Ms. Durga, a colleague stopped me and said, “You’ve always done the best work.”
I already knew in my heart that my cartoon artistry was exceptional. Once, at an award ceremony, I won for best illustration. After receiving the award, a child ran up to me, eyes sparkling with excitement, and said, “You make my favorite character! You’re like a god who creates us. Thank you so much!” Then he hugged me and ran off. Those words from that little kid will stay in my heart forever.
Ignoring the curious glances, I entered Ms. Durga’s cabin. She was seated at her desk, engrossed in her computer. Ms. Durga is the most confident and eloquent woman I’ve ever met. When I first met her, I was timid, but her influence has shaped me into someone more like her.
I knocked on the door. She looked up, smiled, and said, “Oh, Manan, it’s you! Come, come, sit.”
I sat down across from her.
“So, how’s everything going?” she asked. Her interest in my well-being wasn’t surprising—she’s asked about me several times before, and it’s one of the reasons I admire her.
“Everything’s good, ma’am,” I replied. “You know I’m a workaholic. I love creating cartoons, but lately, I’ve been spending more time filling out datasheets than drawing.”
Lalu entered the cabin, placing two glasses of water and a pack of napkins on the desk.
“Manan,” Ms. Durga began, “you know you’ve always been our top employee and an incredible artist. Your work has helped us stand out.” She gently held my hands, pressed them, and continued, “But…”
“What, ma’am?” I asked, my voice tinged with nervousness.
“You know it’s the age of artificial intelligence . The company can now produce the same graphics at a much lower cost than employing artists. The owners have decided to lay off the artists. I’m so sorry. If it were in my hands, I would do everything to keep you.”
Her words felt unreal, like a sudden storm crashing into my life. The place where I’ve poured my best work was replacing me with technology. Clearing my throat, I took a sip of water, my eyes half-watery, and said, “I have to go, ma’am.”
And I left.
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