I recently watched Mirzapur — a show that had been widely talked about since 2018, but I only got around to watching it in 2026.
What stayed with me wasn’t just the violence or the power.
It was the mindset of a don.
Akhanda Tripathi, one of the most powerful characters in the series, is not just a criminal leader — he is someone who understands people. In one particular scene, he explains something to his son that reveals how power actually works.
He says that the people who work for them are often made to feel like “family.” Not because they truly are, but because it helps maintain control. When people feel emotionally connected, they become loyal. They tolerate more. They question less.
And then he makes it clear — your real family is not them.
For him, “family” is not an emotion.
It is a strategy.
When I heard that, it didn’t feel like fiction.
It felt familiar.
Because I had experienced something very similar in my own life.
In my previous workplace, my boss used the word “family” very deliberately. He didn’t just say it — he built situations around it. Late evenings in the office, sitting together, sometimes with his wife and children present. The environment would feel personal.
And in those moments, he would say, “We are family. There’s no one else here but us.”
At that time, it didn’t feel manipulative.
It felt comforting.
And that’s exactly why it worked.
I stayed longer than I should have. I adjusted more than I should have. I accepted delayed salaries, increasing pressure, and situations that didn’t sit right with me — all because I believed this was more than just a job.
I believed the word “family.”
But in the end, when I had to leave, everything changed.
My salary was withheld. Suddenly there were “issues” in the accounts — issues that had supposedly existed for years but were only noticed when it was time to pay me.
In that moment, there was no warmth.
No closeness.
No “family.”
Just distance. Just excuses.
And a realization that came too late.
The word “family” had never meant what I thought it did.
Just like in the world of a don, it was never about belonging.
It was about control.
What unsettles me even now is not just what happened — but how easily I trusted it. How naturally I believed someone just because they spoke softly, created emotional closeness, and made me feel included.
That’s the part that stays with me.
Because now I understand something I didn’t before:
Not everyone who calls you “family” sees you that way.
Sometimes, it’s just a way to make sure you stay.
And sometimes, the most dangerous people are not the ones who threaten you openly —
but the ones who make you feel special while quietly using that feeling to their advantage.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: iS
