WORK HARD, PARTY HARDER — A HANGOVER IN THE SOUL

Rahul wakes to alarms, gulps coffee, scrolls news he can't change, and chases freedom while trapped in EMIs and screens. His life is fast, digital, and noisy—organic food in plastic, meditation through apps, and weekends that never arrive. Madhukar rises with the sun, sips tulsi water, listens to birds, and moves with the rhythm of nature. His life is slow, rooted, and quiet—growing food, mending things, speaking little. While Rahul seeks more and feels exhausted, Madhukar seeks less and feels whole. One survives by control, the other thrives in surrender.

SETTING: MUD COURTYARD, YELMADAGI VILLAGE, EARLY MORNING

MADHUKAR IS SWEEPING THE YARD. THE SUN RISES BEHIND TAMARIND TREES. A MOTORBIKE APPROACHES. RAHUL, WEARING A HOODIE, EXPENSIVE SHOES, AND DARK GLASSES, GETS OFF.

RAHUL: Hey, are you Madhukar?

MADHUKAR: Yes. You must be Rahul.

RAHUL: Yeah. Abhi told me about you. Said you talk sense. But... no offence, this place looks like a pre-internet relic. You even have signal here?

MADHUKAR: The signal is strong. Inside.

RAHUL: Haha, spiritual joke, right? Look man, I didn’t come for a satsang. I just... I don’t know. Life’s kinda fucked. Burnout. Anxiety. Doctor gave me pills. Didn’t help. Figured I’d try this old-school route.

MADHUKAR: Welcome. Take off your shoes. And your habits.

RAHUL: What?

MADHUKAR: Just take a seat. Or lie on the mud. The earth doesn’t mind. She holds all kinds. Even tired engineers.

RAHUL: (chuckles) Okay, fine. You want the truth? I work like a maniac. 10-12 hours a day. Tight deadlines. Toxic clients. But I party just as hard. Weekends are escape routes. Alcohol. Hookah. Sometimes more.

MADHUKAR: And you’re proud of that?

RAHUL: Isn’t that how it works? You earn. You burn. Then you celebrate burning.

MADHUKAR: And then you complain you’re ashes.

RAHUL: (silence)

MADHUKAR: Tell me. When was the last time you woke up without dread? Without the taste of regret in your mouth?

RAHUL: I don’t remember. It’s all blurry. Even vacations feel like work. Photos. Poses. Posting. Then back to deadlines.

MADHUKAR: You’re not tired of working. You’re tired of pretending. Pretending to enjoy. Pretending to matter. Pretending to be in control.

RAHUL: Damn. That hit hard. Yeah. Maybe I am pretending. I mean... Every Monday I feel like quitting. Every Friday I feel like disappearing. But then I buy something online. Or plan a trip. It keeps me going.

MADHUKAR: That’s not going. That’s distracting. The wheel spins, but it doesn’t move. Tell me. Do you enjoy what you do?

RAHUL: Sometimes. When I solve a bug. When we launch a new product. But mostly... It feels hollow. Like feeding a machine that never says thank you.

MADHUKAR: And partying? Does that bring you peace?

RAHUL: Nah. It’s loud. It’s fake. But for a few hours, I don’t have to think. I just... vanish.

MADHUKAR: Into a louder prison.

RAHUL: (looks down) You’re not pulling punches, huh?

MADHUKAR: Truth doesn’t whisper. It slaps. But it also waits. You’re not alone, Rahul. Your generation was told to hustle. To optimize. To monetize. Even joy. Even time. Even sleep. Now you're left with nothing real. Just dopamine hits. And silent nights filled with noise.

RAHUL: So what’s the solution? Quit? Meditate? Go vegan?

MADHUKAR: No. Just pause. Pause long enough to hear yourself. Not the voice on Instagram. Not the guy you pretend to be. But the boy who once watched clouds. Who danced barefoot in puddles. He’s not dead. Just buried.

RAHUL: Damn... I forgot him. I became this... Achieving robot.

MADHUKAR: You wore burnout as a badge. And called chaos your personality.

RAHUL: So what do I do?

MADHUKAR: Walk. Barefoot. In silence. Sit under a tree. Breathe. Write without posting. Eat without watching. Sleep without guilt. Live like you don’t owe anyone a performance.

RAHUL: (sits down) Can I stay here for a while?

MADHUKAR: Stay as long as your soul needs to return. We have no plans. Only peace.

RAHUL: Thank you.

MADHUKAR: You’re welcome. Now... take off those shoes. Let your feet touch the truth.