THE PRESTIGE OF DRUDGERY: WHY PEOPLE ARE PROUD OF THEIR MISERY
- Madhukar Dama
- May 9
- 8 min read
INTRODUCTION: WORK THAT KILLS, YET WE PRAISE IT
Drudgery is the new religion. Everyone worships it, everyone suffers from it, and yet — everyone is proud of it. The 9–5 job, the business, the shop, the freelance hustle, the government posting — all are wrapped in stress, repetition, and meaninglessness. But instead of admitting this, people polish their pain into a virtue. They’re tired, yes. But they’re also proud — as if suffering proves they matter.
This is not life. This is an organized, self-glorified, soul-level decay.
---
PART 1: WHAT IS DRUDGERY, REALLY?
Drudgery is not just hard work. It’s meaningless work. It’s not just tiring. It’s soul-erasing.
It’s when:
You do what you hate.
You suppress what you love.
You call it duty.
It’s a contract of quiet death. You may survive physically, but everything else in you dies daily.
---
PART 2: DAILY SYMPTOMS OF DRUDGERY
Ask no one. Just observe:
Alarm rings. You groan.
Commute begins. You frown.
Meetings happen. You nod, lie, pretend.
Lunch is fast, forgettable, or skipped.
Evening is drained. TV, junk food, doomscrolling.
Night is sleepless, drugged, or anxious.
Still, you say, “I’m fine.” Because you’re supposed to be. This is the new prestige.
You become:
Chronically tired.
Spiritually numb.
Dependent on stimulants.
Distrustful of silence.
Addicted to approval.
---
PART 3: THE SCHOOLS OF SLAVERY
We don’t enter drudgery as adults. We are trained for it since childhood.
School teaches:
Sit still, shut up.
Obey, don’t question.
Perform for marks, not for curiosity.
Wait for breaks. Wait for weekends. Wait for retirement.
Drudgery is the reward for obedience. And rebellion is punished with shame.
---
PART 4: THE PRIDE IN SUFFERING
Work becomes identity. So if the work is rotten, we decorate the rot.
"I’m so busy!"
"Didn’t sleep last night — project deadline."
"No time to eat, had back-to-back meetings."
These are complaints spoken with pride. As if exhaustion is a medal. As if fatigue means importance.
This is trauma made respectable. This is slavery rebranded as passion.
---
PART 5: EVERY PROFESSION HAS A PRISON
Job-holders chase appraisals, dread Mondays, live for Sundays.
Business owners are trapped in customer demands, market trends, unpaid invoices.
Shopkeepers are chained to their counters, never free, not even on festivals.
Freelancers chase clients, deadlines, instability, constant self-promotion.
Government employees move files, file reports, and wait for retirement to feel alive.
Everyone thinks the other side is free. But everyone is stuck.
---
PART 6: THE DIGITAL EXTENSION OF DRUDGERY
Earlier, drudgery ended with office hours. Now it lives in your phone.
WhatsApp workgroups.
Late night emails.
Zoom meetings at dinner.
“Quick calls” during vacation.
The office lives in your pocket. The boss is in your bed. And your family waits for your attention like beggars.
---
PART 7: THE EMOTIONAL COST
Drudgery kills slowly.
Your body rebels: fatigue, back pain, headaches.
Your mind collapses: anxiety, rage, numbness.
Your soul dries up: you lose curiosity, wonder, courage.
You become resentful, but you don’t know why. You snap at your children. You ghost your friends. You stop laughing for real.
And still — you feel guilty when you rest.
---
PART 8: THE SOCIAL REINFORCEMENT
Society respects pain.
The more you sacrifice, the more people admire you.
The more you bend, the more they call you loyal.
The more you burn out, the more they call you dedicated.
Resting is called laziness. Slowing down is judged. Wanting joy is called childish.
So you hide your longing. And stay proud of your decay.
---
PART 9: THE FAMILY INHERITANCE
Parents teach children:
“Work hard, suffer now, enjoy later.”
“Life is not for fun.”
“Respect comes from sacrifice.”
So children inherit:
Burnout as normal.
Joy as guilt.
Purpose as pressure.
The chain continues. Generation after generation.
---
PART 10: THE COLLAPSE OF INTIMACY
Drudgery invades relationships. Couples don’t talk — they coordinate. Friends don’t meet — they forward memes. Parents don’t play — they buy gadgets.
Nobody has time. And nobody remembers what time was meant for.
---
PART 11: THE MYTH OF “NO CHOICE”
People say:
“I can’t quit.”
“I need the money.”
“This is how the world works.”
But is it? Or have you bought a life that requires you to stay enslaved? Are your EMI-fueled dreams the real jailor?
Freedom is not denied. It is feared.
---
PART 12: PATHS TO ESCAPE
You don’t have to destroy your life. You have to unburden it.
Start with:
Reducing needs.
Cutting wasteful expenses.
Renting instead of owning.
Growing some food.
Sleeping when tired.
Reconnecting with forgotten skills.
Working only enough. Living more.
Do it slowly. Privately. Boldly. Let people laugh. You’ll be free when they’re still explaining their job titles.
---
PART 13: EXAMPLES OF ESCAPE
A software engineer moved to a village, does part-time translation, lives debt-free.
A couple sold their big house, rented a tiny home, leased a farm — now grow their food.
A teacher left her job, started homeschooling kids in her community — and healed herself.
A designer stopped freelancing for clients and began teaching local kids.
They earn less. But they are rich. They have time. Sleep. Dignity. Joy.
---
PART 14: HARD QUESTIONS TO ASK
Why am I so tired?
When did I last feel alive?
Do I really enjoy this work — or just the respect it brings?
Who benefits from my exhaustion?
What would I do if I didn’t have to prove anything?
---
CONCLUSION: STOP PROVING. START LIVING.
Drudgery is not a badge. It is a wound with a smiley sticker on it.
You don’t need to be lazy. You need to stop being dead inside.
Throw away your pride in pain. And begin the quiet, trembling, sacred act of living.
Stop polishing your chains.
Start walking away.
---
“WE WORKED HARD, BUT FOR WHAT?”
SETTING:
A simple, quiet stone courtyard in a natural healing hermitage near Warangal.
The air smells of neem, tulsi, and wet earth.
The family sits before Madhukar, a former scientist turned hermit.
There’s no fan. No AC. Just a raw honesty hanging in the air.
---
CHARACTERS:
Jameel (71): Retired government officer. Once proud. Now questioning everything.
Nazima (68): Homemaker. Spent entire life supporting family silently.
Shahid (45): Private bank manager. Blood pressure, acidity, chronic stress.
Rubina (43): Ran a boutique. PCOD, hormonal issues, insomnia.
Ayaan (19): Engineering student. Depressed. Confused. Feels dead inside.
Madhukar (62): The Hermit Healer, gentle but piercing. Calm like a tree.
---
ACT 1: THE UNBEARABLE PRIDE OF PAIN
Jameel:
We did everything right, Madhukar saab.
I served the nation.
She raised the kids.
He got a good job.
But now… I look around and…
I see tired faces. I see regret.
Nazima:
I never asked for much.
But I can’t remember when I last laughed without pain.
Cooking, serving, worrying…
I thought that was my duty.
Madhukar:
And who told you suffering is a duty?
Who said pride must come from pain?
Who said a drained man is a great man?
Shahid:
But isn’t that life?
We were taught to work, no matter what.
We thought struggle equals success.
Madhukar (calmly):
Then why do you all look like survivors of a war
where no one knows the enemy?
---
ACT 2: THE INHERITED DRUDGERY
Rubina:
I left my career after marriage.
Then started a boutique.
Then shut it down when it drained me.
But the house needs money, Shahid needs rest, kids need support.
I didn’t know when I disappeared.
Madhukar:
You were told women must be everything —
but feel nothing.
Ayaan:
I see them, Nana.
I see you all.
But I don’t want to end up like this.
Why should I study just to sit at a desk 10 hours a day?
Why should I call tiredness my personality?
Jameel (teary):
I told him to follow my path.
Now I wonder…
Did I pass down a prison?
Madhukar:
Yes.
But now that you’ve seen the bars,
you can choose to walk out.
---
ACT 3: TRUTH WITHOUT GLORY
Shahid:
Madhukarji…
I earned a lakh a month for years.
We bought a flat. Car. ACs. Fridge.
But we haven’t sat together peacefully for 10 years.
My son doesn't talk.
My wife doesn’t smile.
My body screams.
And still — I go to work every morning.
Why?
Madhukar:
Because you're more afraid of freedom than fatigue.
If you don’t suffer, you feel useless.
If you rest, you feel guilty.
That’s what drudgery does —
It makes you mistake self-neglect for duty.
Rubina:
So what now?
Do we just stop everything?
Madhukar:
No.
You pause.
You simplify.
You begin again — not from ambition, but from honesty.
---
ACT 4: THE PATH TO LIFE
Nazima:
But what can we do now?
We are old. We are tired.
Madhukar:
You are wise now. That’s all that matters.
Plant tulsi.
Cook slowly.
Sing.
Hold your grandson’s hand.
And for once, feel the soil under your feet.
Jameel:
I never knew simplicity could feel like wealth.
Shahid:
And what about me?
The EMIs, the job, the targets?
Madhukar:
Drop your performance.
Keep the work.
But make it smaller.
Make your life bigger.
Cut the fat. Cancel what exhausts.
Rent instead of owning.
Eat what you grow.
Let your peace be your new CV.
---
ACT 5: THE GRANDSON’S REVELATION
Ayaan:
Then what do I study?
What do I become?
Madhukar:
Become someone who doesn’t forget how to smile.
Learn carpentry.
Grow food.
Build shelters.
Fix your thoughts before you fix machines.
Don’t become like them.
Become what they could not imagine.
Jameel (softly, to Ayaan):
Don’t inherit our medals, beta.
Inherit our realisation.
---
ACT 6: THE FIRST EVENING OF REST
The family sits quietly.
No phones.
Just wind. Neem leaves rustling.
Ayaan lies with his head on Jameel’s lap.
Rubina laughs softly for the first time in months.
Shahid breathes — fully.
Nazima begins to hum an old song.
Madhukar (smiling):
Finally.
You are not tired workers anymore.
You are a family.
And for the first time —
You are alive.
---
---
“THE PRESTIGE OF DRUDGERY”
they wake up with alarms
not dreams.
their back aches before their eyes open.
they piss like old men
and eat breakfast like punishment.
they ride cars like coffins
parked in traffic like caged animals
scrolling screens filled with
success stories and dead eyes.
they show up to offices
like loyal dogs
sitting, fetching, barking when told.
they laugh at the boss’s jokes
and cry in toilet stalls.
they eat lunch in five minutes
next to glowing screens,
talking numbers, deadlines,
while their souls starve to death.
they say they’re “busy as hell.”
but hell is their calendar.
the banker hates the builder
the builder envies the consultant
the consultant mocks the clerk
and the clerk prays for Friday.
they pop pills
for sleep, energy, erection, digestion.
their lives are entirely medicated
and gloriously insured.
they have calendars full
and hearts empty.
they take their kids to school
so they too can learn
how to sit still and obey.
they talk about purpose
during appraisal season.
they go to Goa
to remember what laughing felt like.
then return to their grey lives
calling it “being responsible.”
they’re proud of their sacrifices.
they brag about how they’re always tired.
they say “I’m burnt out”
with the same pride
a soldier says “I was shot.”
they decorate their chains.
they shine their exhaustion.
they call slavery “growth.”
they fantasize about quitting
but fear not being important.
they’re not afraid of poverty.
they’re afraid of not being seen.
they buy things to feel alive.
they post them to be loved.
they sleep near their phones.
they die near their goals.
they retire like ghosts
and no one knows who they really were.
and somewhere far away,
a man wakes up with the sun,
eats what he grew,
plays with his children,
makes things with his hands,
and sleeps when he’s tired.
no title.
no awards.
no followers.
just life.
while the rest
stand on burning floors
and call it
achievement.
