The Day I Worked with Shahrukh Khan

The Day I Worked with Shahrukh Khan

I was never supposed to be there.
That morning, I woke up in a tiny apartment in Andheri, counting the coins in a metal box to see if I could afford tea and a vada pav. Mumbai had a strange way of humbling people. I came here two years ago with dreams of becoming an actor. But dreams don’t pay rent — auditions don’t feed hunger — and I was already close to giving up.

That day, my friend Rohan called me out of nowhere.
“Bro, they need background actors for a film shoot at Film City. 500 rupees for the day. You in?”
I didn’t even ask what film it was. I just said yes. Five hundred rupees meant food for two days and maybe a recharge for my phone. That was enough reason.

By 10 a.m., I was standing under the blinding sun at a film set, surrounded by dozens of other extras wearing different costumes. An assistant director was shouting through a megaphone, and makeup artists were rushing from one corner to another. The air smelled of sweat, dust, and dreams.

Then, I saw him.

Shahrukh Khan walked in quietly, wearing a plain white shirt and blue jeans. No background music, no bodyguards pushing people aside — just him, smiling that same crooked smile that had carried millions of hearts for decades. The set fell silent for a second, as if someone had pressed pause on reality.

He greeted everyone — everyone — from the light man to the director, from the spot boy to the extras. When he reached our group, he looked at me, smiled, and said, “You good, bhai?”

I froze. My tongue refused to move. I nodded like an idiot while my brain screamed, That’s Shahrukh Khan. He just spoke to you.

The scene we were shooting was a crowd shot — he was supposed to walk through a market while people surrounded him, cheering and waving. I was placed right in front, pretending to sell flowers. The assistant director gave us quick instructions, then the camera rolled.

“Action!”

SRK started walking toward us. His presence was magnetic — not because of fame, but because he made you believe that you mattered, even if you were just an extra in the background. When the camera cut, he turned around, looked at me again, and said, “You’re holding those flowers like they’re weapons, yaar. Relax!”

The crew laughed, and I laughed too, embarrassed but overjoyed. He wasn’t mocking me — he was teaching me how to live a scene, not just stand in it. Between takes, he talked to us casually. He told us about his early days when he did crowd scenes himself, earning barely enough for food.
“I started right where you’re standing,” he said, smiling. “Never forget that every frame counts, even the ones where nobody notices you.”

That line hit me harder than anything anyone had ever said. Because that’s exactly how my life felt — unnoticed. I had spent months auditioning, failing, disappearing into the background of a city that didn’t care. But hearing that from him gave me something I’d lost — belief.

During lunch break, I sat alone, eating my tiffin quietly. Suddenly, someone tapped my shoulder. It was him again. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.
I almost choked on my food. “Sir, please—of course!”

He sat cross-legged on the ground beside me, sharing part of his meal. We talked for ten minutes about everything — acting, Delhi winters, even cricket. But what I remember most is when he said, “The camera doesn’t see money, or fame, or power. It sees truth. If you’re honest in front of it, one day it will find you.”

That sentence became my mantra.

By the end of the day, the shoot wrapped. I didn’t want it to end. Before leaving, he shook my hand firmly and said, “Good work today, bhai. Keep going. Don’t stop until the camera remembers your face.”

That night, I walked home instead of taking a bus. I didn’t need the money for fare — I wanted to feel every step, every heartbeat of that day. The streets of Mumbai looked different. The same traffic, the same noise, but my world had shifted. I realized that success wasn’t about being seen — it was about showing up, even when no one notices.

A few months later, I got a small role in a web series. Nothing major — just a few lines. But when I faced the camera for the first time, I wasn’t nervous. I remembered his words. I spoke the truth, and the camera listened.

I still haven’t “made it” by the world’s standards. I still take odd jobs, still audition, still hustle. But now, whenever I feel like quitting, I remind myself of that day. The day when the man who defined Bollywood for an entire generation sat beside me, shared his lunch, and reminded me that dreams don’t die — they just wait for us to catch up.

And that’s how I can proudly say, with a full heart —
I worked with Shahrukh Khan.