Will It Be Ever Enough

Ravi Mehta started his Monday like any other tragic hero of the middle-class mythos: with a strong cup of instant coffee and the faint hope that this would be the week his boss would acknowledge his existence without asking, “Did you get that email?”

He didn’t get the email. He never got the email. He just nodded and opened a spreadsheet.

By 10:17 AM, Ravi had already gulped down two cups of coffee, responded to five emails with “Noted, will revert shortly,” and updated his to-do list with tasks he had no intention of completing. Somewhere between column D and E on the Excel of Doom, he paused.

Is this... life?

The moment passed. The coffee machine blinked at him. He filled another cup.

One day turned into a week, a week into a blur. Ravi didn’t so much live anymore as he was drip-fed caffeine and meeting invites. His eyes twitched like they were trying to signal Morse code: Save me. His colleagues thought he had a quirky personality.

His WhatsApp status read, “Living on coffee and dreams.” No one laughed. It was too close to home.

One evening, Ravi walked into the kitchen to make his fifth cup of coffee and realised the water bottle was empty. So, he made do—with cold brew concentrate. Straight. No water. Just vibes.

His roommate Ankit watched in horror.

“Bro… that’s not coffee. That’s battery acid.”

Ravi’s eyes glowed.

“Efficiency juice,” he whispered.

Things escalated. He started timing how long it took the caffeine to hit. He rated beans like wine critics: “Hmm, this one has hints of existential despair with a finish of burnout.” His mug got larger. Then comically oversized. One day, he brought a bucket to the office.

“New water bottle?” his manager asked.

“It’s for hydration,” Ravi replied, pouring black sludge into it.

By Friday, Ravi was vibrating at frequencies only dogs could hear. His manager called him into a meeting.

“Ravi, you’ve been working really hard. But are you okay? You look like you haven't slept since the Modi administration began.”

Ravi blinked twice. “I feel alive,” he lied.

His boss nodded solemnly. “Promotion.”

And just like that, Ravi was doomed.

Weekends disappeared. Friends vanished. Ravi was always “just wrapping something up.” His parents started every call with, “Do you even know what day it is?” He didn’t.

In a rare lucid moment, Ravi looked around. His apartment was a shrine to hustle: sticky notes, tech gadgets, motivational posters that read Grind Now, Cry Later. And of course—coffee stains on every surface.

He sat down, held his head in his hands, and whispered, “Will it ever be enough?”

Alexa, unhelpfully, answered, “I’m not sure.”

Ravi sighed. And brewed another cup.

Moral (ish):

We chase deadlines, caffeine highs, and the illusion of enough. But maybe the only thing that ever fills up is the coffee mug.

And even that spills.