It was a regular Tuesday morning, or so I thought. Our branch was gearing up for the Foundation Day celebrations. The staff wore traditional attire; kids from a nearby school were invited for sweets and songs. I was busy arranging the sweets when I saw a curious sight—a small child holding a chequebook. Not playfully, but purposefully.
“Uncle, can I get money?” he asked, as if deposits and withdrawals were a child’s game. I smiled, nodded, and told him, “Come back in ten years with ID proof.” His innocence made everyone laugh. We took a group photo near the cash counter, some kids saluted the ATM, one tried to scan the QR code on the flex board, and another gave a serious look at the manager's chair like he wanted to take over right away.
Just as I was about to return to my desk, a toddler (yes, toddler!) pressed all the buttons on our printer, and the machine went into a state even IT support wouldn’t understand. Amidst this sweet chaos, my phone buzzed with a video call. I ignored it at first—Foundation Day work, you know—but it persisted. When I finally answered, I blinked twice.
It was Ramesh Shetty, former cricketer and Kannada commentator I admire deeply.
For a moment, I wondered if it was AI-generated. You know how deepfakes and scam calls go these days. “Good morning, saar!” I managed, trying to keep my voice calm. My heart was beating faster than a UPI server on Diwali night. What if someone had edited his video and made a scam call? I had barely ₹200 in my account—not enough to scam, but still.
Sensing my hesitation, the person on the other end confirmed a date and location for a meeting. “In Bangalore,” he said. I thanked God it was a Sunday. I planned the journey, checked for KSRTC delays, and made sure I’d be back by Monday for work.
Saturday came. I reached my friend’s place in Bangalore, got dressed in formals, and went to the studio address. There, to my surprise, was a conference room, projector, laptop—all real. They asked me to pitch my story, explain my characters, and talk about where the idea came from. We discussed royalty, credits, and agreements. It was surreal.
I came back and returned to my usual job. A month later, the surprise got bigger: Mr. Ramesh Shetty was appointed as our bank’s brand ambassador! I had no clue; as counter staff, we don’t get included in such decisions. But now, his secretary would call and ask me for updates on my story. I'd send pages—dialogues, scenes, and edits—via email or WhatsApp.
One fine day, Mr. Shetty came for a location recce—some filmy term I learned that day—and dropped by our branch. The villagers were in awe. Their beloved commentator in the local bank, chatting with me like we were old college friends. They asked, “How do you know him, saar?” I smiled and said, “From a different context, haha.”
Later, over tea, he asked if the story was purely fictional. I told him it was a mix—some parts from real events, like the government school nearby. That caught his attention. He took his car and visited the school, spoke to the Head Madam, and promised something unexpected: If she would take the kids to a multiplex in Bangalore to watch the movie (once it’s made), he would sanction grants for all 51 students—education, trip, food, all covered.
She discussed with staff, and a trust account was opened in Bangalore. Once the film is released, the kids will go on the trip of a lifetime—all because a little spark lit during a Foundation Day celebration reached the right ears.
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