🧔‍♂️💭 Once upon a time, in a bustling city full of glittering showrooms and one-click checkouts, lived a perfectly happy man named Lalit. Lalit had a job, a small but cozy room, and a bank balance that wasn’t exactly fat, but wasn’t anorexic either. He was, as they say, content.

But contentment, my friend, is the mortal enemy of the consumer industry. And one fine Tuesday, as Lalit scrolled through an e-commerce app while sitting on his perfectly functional plastic chair, he saw IT.

🪑❌➡️🛋️✨ A majestic, cloud-soft, Swedish-named recliner. It had built-in massagers. It had cup holders. It could recline to a near-horizontal position, perfect for achieving the maximum potential of a nap. And there, right below the price, was the most beautiful, shimmering, dangerous set of words Lalit had ever read:

Lalit squinted. The total price was ₹35,000. But his brain didn’t see ₹35,000. His brain saw “only 999 rupees”. It felt like spare change! He’d spend more on chai in a month. His thumb, possessed by a spirit of pure rationalization, clicked ‘Buy Now’.

And thus, Lalit met the first villain of our story: the EMI Goblin.

The chair arrived. It was glorious. Lalit reclined like a pharaoh. For two weeks, life was perfect. Then, his phone pinged. A notification. “Your OnePlus Nord 20 is now available at just ₹2,499/month! Upgrade now!”

Lalit looked at his current phone. It was six months old. Practically an antique. He thought, “I’m already paying ₹999 for the chair. What’s another ₹2,499? It’s just… chai money for the office gang! I’ll cut down on samosas.”

📱💸 And so, Lalit met Goblin #2: The “It’s-Only-EMI-Mental-Accounting” Goblin. This goblin makes you believe that EMIs are paid from some magical parallel dimension of money, not your actual salary. Your brain starts treating your bank account like a giant, fluffy pillow: you can always stuff one more tiny monthly feather into it.

By the end of the third month, Lalit’s room looked like a Dubai showroom. There was the recliner (₹999), the phone (₹2,499), a 55-inch smart TV for the wall facing the recliner (₹4,999/month, but 0% interest! Goblin #3: The Zero-Interest Fallacy Goblin – who hides the processing fees and the fact that you wouldn’t have bought the TV for cash anyway).

He also got a fancy DSLR camera (because the phone camera wasn’t “professional” enough for his recliner selfies), a premium induction cooktop (though he still ate takeout), and a gym membership with a personal trainer (EMI, of course). The gym was visited exactly twice.

Lalit’s monthly take-home salary was ₹60,000. His total EMIs? A cool ₹32,000. His ‘available for rent & food’ fund? Vanishing.

🧠⚡ But the psychology wasn’t done with him yet. Enter Goblin #4: The Sunk Cost Shaman. One evening, Lalit’s chair made a funny krzzzzzt sound and refused to recline past 45 degrees. The repair would cost ₹5,000. His friend said, “Dude, just throw it out and get a normal chair.”

But the Shaman hissed in Lalit’s ear: “You can’t abandon it! You’ve already paid 9 EMIs on it! You’ve invested in this relationship! You MUST repair it!” So Lalit paid ₹5,000 to fix a chair he’d eventually replace in six months anyway.

The final boss arrived on a rainy Thursday: Goblin #5: The Debt Spiral Hydra. Lalit had maxed out his credit card buying groceries (because all salary went to EMIs). He couldn’t pay the full bill. So what did he do? He converted the grocery bill into an EMI. Yes. He was now paying an EMI for last month’s dal and rice.

To pay that EMI, he took a small personal loan from a fintech app (instant approval! Goblin #6: The Payday Loan Pixie). The interest rate was so high it could pilot a rocket. One missed payment led to another. The phone buzzed constantly with collection calls. The recliner, once a throne of joy, now felt like an electric chair of anxiety. The big TV showed only his worried, tired reflection.

One night, sitting on his broken (again) recliner, eating instant noodles from the fancy induction cooktop, Lalit had an epiphany. He remembered the original plastic chair. It was sturdy. It had no cup holders. It also had no EMI. He wasn’t paying for a chair he bought a year ago. He wasn’t paying for a camera he used twice. He was just… sitting.

The next morning, with the clarity of a man who hasn’t slept due to financial anxiety, he made a spreadsheet. A real one. He saw the monster he had created: a tower of small, ‘harmless’ monthly payments that had grown into a skyscraper of obligation.

🗡️📉 Lalit declared war. He sold the DSLR (at a massive loss), downgraded his phone, and put the huge TV on OLX. He used the money to close two high-interest loans. It hurt. It felt like admitting defeat. But it also felt like taking a deep breath after being underwater.

It took him 18 painful months of budgeting, saying “no” to every ‘just-₹499-EMI’ offer, and eating a LOT of home-cooked dal-rice. But slowly, the trap loosened its jaws.

Lalit now has a small ‘want to buy’ fund. He saves first, buys later. He recently bought a simple, beautiful wooden chair. Cash. It felt amazing. He still gets those EMI notifications. He just laughs, turns to his goblin-free room, and enjoys the silence of a zero-EMI month.

📖 The End. (Please share with anyone who thinks “₹99/month” is cheaper than “₹3000 one-time”. It’s not. It’s a trap. You’ve been warned by the ghost of Lalit’s past.)