5.The Second Day at the Iron Factory – My Body vs. My Will

Hey everyone… I know it’s been almost 3 months since I posted Part 2. I’m truly sorry for the delay. Life got hectic, my own journey took wild turns, and honestly—I was afraid to return to this part of the story. But I’m back, and I’m finishing it now.

Part 2

 

The Second Day at the Iron Factory – My Body vs. My Will

I woke up the next morning at 6 AM, not because I wanted to—but because futtor shook me like an alarm clock with anger issues.

“Get up, breakfast won’t cook itself!” he barked.

My body? Broken. Every bone felt like it had filed a complaint against me. My arms, my legs, even my eyelids hurt. But I dragged myself up, washed my face with cold water from a rusted steel bucket, and started kneading the dough with whatever strength I had left.

The chapatis came out oddly shaped, some too thick, some barely edible. But futtor didn’t care—as long as food hit the plate, he was satisfied. I cooked, served, and ate last. Typical.

No Time to Heal

By 8 AM, I was back on the factory floor. The air was already heavy with smoke and heat, and the sun hadn’t even hit full power yet.

The first task?

Shifting sharp iron scraps with bare hands.

No gloves. No safety gear. Just me, a wheelbarrow, and pieces of metal that looked like they’d been ripped from the jaws of hell. Every time I picked up a piece, it either cut my fingers or scraped my skin. But the worst part? The wheelbarrow had a wobbly tire. So half the time I was dragging it like a broken leg, trying not to spill razor-sharp iron all over the floor.

A few workers nearby just watched. Some laughed quietly. I wasn’t offended—I looked ridiculous. But I kept going.

The Soundtrack of Survival

Imagine trying to work while your body is screaming and the background music is:

Welding sparks flying like fireworks

Iron pounding like gunshots

Generators growling like beasts

Your own breath, short and sharp

This was no factory—it was a furnace of willpower.

At one point, my vision blurred from dehydration. I asked for water.

“Go to the tap behind the diesel tank,” someone said.

Risky. The tank smelled like death. But when you're that thirsty, you drink whatever doesn’t kill you on the spot.

The evening after that brutal day, futtor made me another offer to stay and work—but this time, I had something important to say.

“My birthday’s coming,” I told him. “Just one week left. I want to take leave. Not for celebration with cake and friends like others. Mine’s different. It’s called Chhitni.”

You see, Chhitni isn’t a normal birthday. It’s a ritual, a gathering, a tradition my family has always performed—for me alone. It’s the one day when every relative comes together, for me, no one else. Why it’s only done for me…? That’s a deep story I’ll share someday.

But back to the factory.

I politely asked, “Can I get a week off? Please pay me for the work I’ve done till now—I’ll come back after that.”

Guess what?

He agreed.

“Fine, take ₹600 now. Rest later when you return.”

I was confused. ₹600 wasn’t even enough for my phone recharge. My plan was dead, and I couldn’t call home. I kept asking him, explaining my situation. But he snapped—started abusing me.

“You failed 12th… You’re useless at studies AND work… You don’t know how to do anything!”

I warned him, “Don’t cross the line. Don’t talk about my life and goals like that.”

But he kept going.

The Breaking Point

I was trembling—not from fear, but rage. I immediately called my friend, futtor’s cousin, and told him everything. He was shocked and said, “Leave the company tomorrow. He’s not even paying you? Don’t stay there.”

I started crying—not because I was weak, but because I gave my sweat and strength, and all I got was insulted and underpaid.

I called my uncle in Delhi, the one who works as a tailor.

The first thing he asked?

“Are you okay?”

That hit me hard.

I told him everything. I said I was in Jharkhand, and I had just enough money to travel.

He said, “Leave. Come home.”

Leaving That Place Behind

That night, I barely slept. The blanket smelled awful, torn and disgusting. I woke up early, didn’t even brush my teeth, and started packing my things silently.

Futtor saw me.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

He didn’t stop me.

At the gate, the guard asked, “Do you have permission?”

Futtor came and casually said, “Let him go.”

And that was it.

I walked out, angry, broken, but proud I didn’t lose myself.

I didn’t abuse him back, even though my brain was flooded with curses. That’s not who I am. I’m not perfect—but I’m not like him.

Coming Back to Chhitni

I reached Prayagraj—my nanihal, my grandfather’s house—6 days left for Chhitni.

My grandpa smiled and joked,

 “How much money did you earn, hero?”

Everyone laughed. And for once, so did I.

Because money or not—I came back stronger.

The End of This Chapter. The Start of Me.

This is how my time at the iron factory ended.

But not my journey.

I didn’t just walk out of that factory—I walked into a new chapter. One where I started believing in my real strength.

Not muscles.

Not grades.

But my voice. My story. My art.

Have you ever been stuck in a job or life situation that crushed your spirit? How did you come out of it?

Tell me in the comments.

I’ll read every single one.😁

#JossStory #IronFactoryDiaries #HardJobs #LifeLessons #Chhitni #RealTalk #NeverGiveUp #JossCollen

👉 Next Blog Coming Soon: Who is Joss Collen – the boy who survived fire, failure, and found his voice

📢 Stay tuned.

And if you’ve ever been underpaid, overworked, or insulted for dreaming too big—

Just know: you’re not alone.🤗