Tuesday, 28 February 2017

Short Story: Life of a Factory Worker

It’s a place tucked in the corner, behind the cityscape, with nine floors stacked upon each other. Every day thousands of people enter the factory, work and go back to their homes. They earn their living from it. It is a good place, comfortable place, clean and it seems the factory loves its people. But, I feel it is not what it seems.

pic courtesy: huffingtonpost
The labor working in the factory is mere a means of money to the factory. They are not allowed to think, they are not allowed to speak. They are just expected to work. However, something is really attractive about the place. It is tidy and clean.

Everything there is organized.

People who work there are expected to wear blues and blacks and whites and greys. Any color would just break the decorum of the place. Every group of labor has a head labor. They look after their group. But, sometimes are not true in their intentions. Everyone wants to become the head of the factory and in a race to do so, forget that it is ok to fail. It is ok if you aren’t the chief because, at the end of the day, you are a labor for the factory owner!

Entering that place makes one realize that one is not allowed to dream and if he/she wants money, they have no other choice. This factory is the best among other factories.  

Everyone has the same expression on their faces, look alike, talk alike and everything is the same. No unique character. They are conditioned to think in only one way, the way that helps the factory to grow.

Over time, it has led to the commercial orientation of society with emphasis on producing goods and services. Everyone is scared to think beyond the factory as they have responsibilities to look after.

They grow old working for the factory and die with one thought in heart, Why did not I ever try to come out of it? But, even if I did, how possibly could I have taken care of the responsibilities I had?

Some regret after few years their decision to stay and work in the factory as they could have chosen to earn life the better way.

Written by Ashna Garg
Ashna grew up in a jazzy town (where she felt she can never fit in), did graduation in economics (where she didn’t fit either) and she writes (where she finally started to feel like she fits in)

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