Saathi Screens

The Mumbai monsoon was a relentless beast, mirroring the tempest within Rohan. The rejection emails, “We regret to inform you…” Another one. The tenth this month each a digital slap in the face, had piled up like the overflowing garbage bins outside his window. At 42, his once-promising marketing career lay in ruins, with a CV boasting a decade of experience in marketing for a now-defunct textile company, Rohan was facing a harsh reality, the recession had hit India hard, and his skills were suddenly deemed redundant.

Rohan wasn’t a man of grand ambitions. He’d always been content with a stable job, a quiet life, and the occasional Bollywood blockbuster at the local cinema. But now, stability was a distant memory. His savings were dwindling, his two room flat felt increasingly cramped, and the weight of supporting his ageing mother pressed heavily on his shoulders.

He’d tried everything online job portals, recruitment agencies, even reaching out to old contacts. Nothing. The marketing world had moved on, embracing digital strategies and social media gurus, leaving Rohan, with his expertise in print ads and traditional campaigns, feeling like a relic of a bygone era.

The thought of driving a rickshaw, a stark contrast to his tailored suits and corporate presentations, gnawed at his pride, a bitter pill he might soon have to swallow. He imagined the pitying glances of former colleagues, the hushed whispers. The shame burned in his gut, a constant reminder of his dwindling savings and his mother’s worried eyes. He’d spend sleepless nights staring at the ceiling fan, the whirring blades a mocking reminder of his spinning thoughts, his desperate search for a solution.

One particularly dreary evening, while watching a news report about the rising concerns of women’s safety in public spaces, particularly at night, something clicked. Rohan had always been fiercely protective of his younger sister, Priya.

He remembered a particularly distressing incident a few years back when she’d been followed home from the local market one evening. The fear in her eyes, the tremor in her voice as she recounted the experience, had stayed with him. He’d always worried about her safety and the safety of other women in his life.

One evening, the idea for “Saathi Screens” finally took shape. It wasn’t a sudden epiphany, but rather a gradual culmination of events. Rohan was at home when his phone rang. It was Anjali, a close female friend. “I really wanted to see this film,” Anjali sighed, “but I just don’t feel comfortable going by myself.”

Rohan, feeling a pang of sympathy, offered to go with her. He hadn’t been particularly keen on the film, a typical masala entertainer, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Anjali missing out. Her voice was laced with disappointment. She’d had two tickets to a much-anticipated Bollywood premiere, but her friend had cancelled at the last minute. She was hesitant to go alone, not wanting to deal with the potential stares and unwanted attention that often accompanied women going to the cinema solo, especially at night.

As they sat in the crowded theatre, Rohan observed the dynamics around them. He noticed several other women sitting alone, some looking visibly uncomfortable, constantly glancing around. He saw groups of men making loud comments, some of which were clearly directed at women in the audience. He even witnessed a brief but unsettling exchange between a man and a woman sitting a few rows ahead, the woman shrinking back in her seat, clearly distressed.

Rohan, a lifelong film buff himself, had always found solace in the darkened theatre. He’d often gone alone, losing himself in the story on the screen. But he realised this wasn’t a universal experience, especially for women in India, where societal norms and safety concerns often restricted their freedom.

As they sat in the crowded theatre, Rohan observed the dynamics around them. He noticed several other women sitting alone, some looking visibly uncomfortable, constantly glancing around. He saw groups of men making loud comments, some of which were clearly directed at women in the audience. He even witnessed a brief but unsettling exchange between a man and a woman sitting a few rows ahead, the woman shrinking back in her seat, clearly distressed. A strange, almost absurd idea started to form in his mind.

The idea crystallised in his mind, a paid companionship service for women who wanted to enjoy the cinema without fear. It wasn’t about dates or romance, it was about providing a safe and comfortable experience, allowing women to fully immerse themselves in the magic of the movies. He thought back to his sister, Priya, and the countless other women who had experienced similar anxieties. This wasn’t just about making a living, it was about making a difference.

Rohan was a man of integrity. This would be a strictly professional, platonic service. He’d provide a safe and comfortable accompaniment, ensuring his clients could enjoy their movie without any worries. He’d even factor in the cost of tickets and snacks, a proper cinema experience, without the hassle or fear. He thought of calling it “Saathi Screens” “Saathi” meaning companion in Hindi, giving it a local touch.

The initial days were a struggle. Rohan poured his remaining savings into a basic website and some local advertising. He faced skepticism, even ridicule. Some dismissed it as a bizarre gimmick, others questioned his motives.

He even received a few unsettling calls, men assuming it was a gay dating service. He had to firmly reiterate his strictly platonic intentions, his commitment to safety and professionalism. There were moments of deep doubt when he questioned his own sanity. Was this truly a viable business, or just a desperate attempt to cling to some semblance of purpose?

His first client, Siya, a young software engineer with a quiet determination, booked a late-night showing of a Hollywood action flick. She’d mentioned in her booking that her friends had cancelled at the last minute, and she didn’t want to miss the film. Rohan, dressed in his most presentable kurta, arrived promptly at the cinema hall.

He could sense her initial hesitation, the guardedness in her eyes. He made sure to maintain a respectful distance, offering only polite conversation. After the film, as they waited for her taxi, Priya’s demeanour shifted. She confided in him about a disturbing incident of harassment she’d experienced a few months prior, an experience that had shattered her confidence and made her fear going out alone. “Saathi Screens,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “it’s… it’s given me back something I thought I’d lost.”

That conversation was a turning point. Rohan realised this wasn’t just about providing a service, it was about empowering women, giving them back their freedom. Word of mouth began to spread, slowly at first, then with increasing momentum.

Mrs. Iyer, a retired schoolteacher with a contagious laugh and a treasure trove of Bollywood anecdotes, became a regular client. She’d often reminisce about the golden age of Hindi cinema, her eyes twinkling with nostalgia. She always insisted on sharing chai and samosas after the show, her warm presence a comforting reminder of his own mother.

One evening, as they sat in a cozy corner of the café adjacent to the cinema hall, Mrs. Iyer’s usual vivaciousness softened into a quiet, reflective mood. She stirred her chai slowly, the steam rising like a veil between the past and the present. “You know, Rohan,” she began, her voice tinged with both fondness and sorrow, “my husband and I used to go for the midnight shows every Friday. It was our little tradition, our escape from the mundanity of life. He loved the movies as much as I did, perhaps even more. We’d sit in the back row, sharing popcorn, laughing at the hero’s antics, and arguing over the plot twists. Those nights were magical.”

She paused, her gaze drifting to the window where the city lights flickered like distant stars. “When he passed away, I stopped going to the cinema altogether. It wasn’t just because I missed him terribly, though that was a big part of it. It was also because… well, it didn’t feel safe anymore. A widow, alone at midnight? Society doesn’t always look kindly on that. And so, I stayed away, as if the magic of the movies had died with him.”

Rohan listened intently, his heart aching for her. He could see the weight of her loss in the lines of her face, the way her hands trembled slightly as she held her cup. But then, she smiled a small, tender smile that seemed to light up the room. “But now, thanks to you, I feel like I’ve found a piece of that magic again. When I sit in that darkened theatre, I can almost feel him beside me, laughing at the same jokes, gasping at the same twists. It’s as if he’s still here, in spirit, watching me smile just like he always did. And that… that makes me so happy.”

Her words hung in the air, a poignant blend of joy and sorrow that left Rohan momentarily speechless. He reached across the table, placing his hand gently over hers. “Mrs. Iyer,” he said softly, “I’m so glad I could be a part of bringing that back to you. You deserve to feel that magic again.”

Anjali, a film studies student, challenged Rohan’s cinematic perspectives, introducing him to world cinema and independent films, and expanding his own appreciation for the art form.

When she first booked his service, she mentioned she wanted to watch a foreign language film, something Rohan had little interest in. “Subtitles? Slow pacing? That’s not really my thing,” he thought to himself, but as her companion, it was his job to accompany her, so he went along without complaint.

The first film she chose was a critically acclaimed French drama, one Rohan would have never picked on his own. As the opening scenes unfolded, he found himself struggling to connect. The pacing felt slow, the cultural references unfamiliar, and he couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would choose this over a good Bollywood masala film. But Anjali was completely engrossed, her eyes glued to the screen, her reactions subtle but deeply felt. Rohan, ever the professional, stayed by her side, though he couldn’t wait for the movie to end.

After the film, as they sat in a nearby café, Anjali launched into an enthusiastic analysis of the movie. She talked about the director’s use of symbolism, the nuanced performances, and the universal themes of love and loss. Rohan listened politely, nodding along, but her passion was hard to ignore. “You didn’t like it, did you?” she asked, catching the faint skepticism in his expression.

Rohan hesitated, then admitted, “It’s just… not what I’m used to. I guess I didn’t really get it.”

Anjali smiled, undeterred. “That’s okay. It’s not about getting it right away. It’s about letting the film speak to you. Give it another chance. Trust me, there’s so much beauty in these kinds of movies.”

Reluctantly, Rohan agreed to accompany her to another foreign film the following week. This time, it was a Japanese drama about family and forgiveness. Again, he found himself initially disengaged, but as the story unfolded, something shifted. He began to notice the subtle details the way the camera lingered on a character’s face, the quiet moments that spoke volumes, the emotional depth that transcended language. By the end, he was surprised to find himself moved in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Okay,” he said to Anjali as they left the theater, “I’ll admit it. That was… really good. I think I’m starting to see what you mean.”

Anjali’s face lit up. “See? I knew you’d come around! There’s a whole world of cinema out there, Rohan. You just needed to give it a chance.”

From then on, Rohan found himself looking forward to their movie outings, not just as a job but as an opportunity to explore something new. Anjali’s recommendations opened his eyes to the artistry of world cinema, and he began to appreciate films he would have once dismissed as “boring” or “not for him.” He even started recommending some of these movies to his other clients, sharing his newfound enthusiasm. “You’ve got to watch this Italian film,” he’d tell Mrs. Iyer, or “There’s this Korean thriller that’ll keep you on the edge of your seat,” he’d suggest to Simran.

Simran a young successful marketing executive, was initially reserved, her eyes holding a deep sadness. As they watched a light-hearted romantic comedy, Rohan made sure to maintain a respectful distance, offering only polite conversation when prompted. After the film, as they waited for her taxi, Simran confided in him. She confessed that she’d stopped going to the cinema alone after a bad breakup from a toxic relationship she’d experienced, an encounter that had left her deeply scarred.

Through “Saathi Screens,” Simran slowly began to reclaim her life, finding solace and a sense of safety in Rohan’s company. He witnessed her transformation, from a withdrawn, fearful woman to someone who could laugh freely and enjoy the simple pleasure of an evening at the cinema. This wasn't just about earning a living, it was about providing a service that truly made a difference in people's lives.

As word of mouth spread, "Saathi Screens" became a local phenomenon. Rohan started receiving calls from women across Mumbai, each with their own stories and reasons for seeking his company. He had to learn to manage his time effectively, juggling bookings and film schedules. He even had to create a basic online booking system, a task that initially baffled him but eventually became a point of pride. He started writing more detailed film reviews on his website, attracting a wider audience and establishing himself as a local film aficionado.

One evening, after accompanying a client to a premiere, Rohan was approached by a journalist from a local newspaper. Intrigued by his unique service, the journalist wanted to write a human-interest piece. Rohan, initially hesitant, agreed, realising the positive publicity could benefit his business and raise awareness about women’s safety.

The article, titled “From Pink Slip to Picture Palace Partner,” became a local sensation. It highlighted Rohan’s story of resilience, his unconventional approach to finding work in a tough economy, and the positive impact he was having on the community. The article went viral on social media, bringing even more attention to “Saathi Screens.” The increased demand forced Rohan to make a big decision he needed help.

After carefully considering a few candidates, he hired a bright, enthusiastic young woman named Kavita. A recent business graduate with a keen eye for detail and a passion for social impact, brought fresh energy and innovative ideas to “Saathi Screens.”

She suggested streamlining the booking process, developing loyalty programmes for regular clients, and even exploring partnerships with local cafes for pre or post film discussions, creating a more holistic cinema experience. With Kavita’s help, Rohan was able to expand his team. She became an invaluable asset, not just to the business but to Rohan himself, offering support and encouragement during moments of doubt.

Rohan hired more companions, young men and women from diverse backgrounds, all carefully vetted and trained. He fostered a strong team culture, emphasizing respect, empathy, and professionalism. He even started offering workshops on self defence and awareness for his companions, further enhancing their ability to provide a safe and secure environment.

But something unexpected began to happen. While the primary purpose of “Saathi Screens” was professional companionship, the shared experience of watching a film, followed by casual conversations over chai or coffee, often led to deeper connections. In a society where traditional dating was often frowned upon, where young men and women couldn’t easily meet in public spaces without attracting unwanted attention from radical groups, “Saathi Screens” unintentionally provided a safe and neutral ground for genuine connections to form.

Vikram, one of the young companions Rohan had carefully vetted, was a shy engineering student who often accompanied clients to the cinema. When he was paired with Isha, an aspiring writer who loved classic romances, their initial conversations were polite but reserved. However, as they discussed the film’s themes and shared their thoughts, they discovered a mutual love for poetry.

What began as a casual post movie chat over chai soon turned into long walks by the sea, where they recited their favourite verses and whispered conversations under the moonlight. Their connection grew organically, a beautiful byproduct of the safe space Rohan’s service had created.

Then there was Sameer, a quiet, thoughtful young man pursuing his MBA, who accompanied a vibrant, outgoing marketing professional named Mariam. Their initial conversations revolved around marketing strategies and business ideas, but they soon discovered a deeper connection, a shared passion for social impact and a similar sense of humour. Their professional discussions evolved into personal conversations, and they found themselves drawn to each other’s intelligence and warmth.

These weren’t isolated incidents. Several other “Saathi Screens” companions and clients found themselves drawn to each other, forming genuine friendships and even romantic relationships. It was an unintended but beautiful byproduct of Rohan’s service. He hadn’t set out to be a matchmaker, but he’d inadvertently created a space where people could connect authentically, free from the pressures and anxieties of traditional dating.

Rohan’s “Saathi Screens” became more than just a business; it became a cultural phenomenon, a symbol of safety, empowerment, and unexpected connections. Local media continued to celebrate his story, highlighting not only the service’s positive impact on women’s safety but also its unexpected role in fostering genuine human connections. Other cities began adopting similar models, recognising the need for such services and the positive social impact they could have.

Years later, Rohan sat in the back of a packed auditorium, watching a premiere with his now expanded team. He saw Vikram and Isha holding hands, their eyes glued to the screen, their faces lit up with joy. He saw Sameer and Mariam engaged in a lively discussion, their laughter echoing through the theatre.

He smiled, a deep sense of satisfaction warming his heart. He hadn’t just weathered the storm of the recession, he’d created something truly special, something that had not only changed his own life but had also touched the lives of countless others, bringing people together through the magic of cinema and the power of human connection.