Shirt tucked in, pen behind his ear. He's the son of forty people, and every contact in his phone has a bracket after the name.
"Card ma nathi, Kaka."
Plays a Gujarati garba tune. Turn it off any time from the top right.
Forty old parents in a Gujarat village have children in Toronto, New Jersey and Melbourne. They all have the same son: Jigo, 26, paid by the visit. Hospital, ₹200. Smiling behind you on a video call, ₹50. Family photos, not available.
Navapura, a small village in Gujarat. Its young people have moved to Canada and America. Their old parents live on alone.
The sons abroad pay Jigo, 26, to stand in for them: hospital visits, smiling behind Papa on video calls, touching feet in front of guests. Every service has a price on his laminated rate card.
Kantibhai's son hired Jigo, and Kantibhai calls him "staff". His friend Natubhai laughs at him, and tells the whole village his own son phones every night at nine.
Over a meal, Kantibhai asks Jigo something nobody has ever asked him: What do you like to eat?
A job that was never meant to become a family starts to become one.
You'll laugh for most of it. The ending is the part people will remember.
In village after village in Gujarat, the son lives in Toronto and the father eats alone.
Someone has to take him to the doctor. In our film, that someone charges ₹200.
For eleven minutes you'll laugh at the rate card. The twelfth minute is why we're making it.
of the 250 elderly people surveyed in a 2024 Gujarat study were lonely.
Damor et al., Journal of Family Medicine and Primary Care, 2024Three main actors and a bench of village elders, shot in five days in real homes. Nothing has to be built and nothing has to go abroad.
Made for the Oscar-qualifying short-film festivals: Palm Springs ShortFest, SXSW, Bengaluru International Short Film Festival, Indy Shorts and Aspen Shortsfest.
That's what we're aiming for, not something we can promise.Real lines from the script. Scroll down slowly, and the scene plays.
A bench of the village's old people, waiting for the doctor. Every one of them over seventy. Every one of them alone. Except for one young man, who seems to be with all of them.
Shardaben Patel! Saathe kon?
[Who's with her?]
Dikro.
[Her son.]
Ramanbhai Patel. Jigo swaps folders and stands up with him. "Dikro." Kantibhai Patel. Jigo swaps folders again.
Tamare ketla baap chhe?
[How many fathers have you got?]
Aaje traan. Ravivaare paanch.
[Three today. Five on Sundays.]
E maro staff chhe. Suresh e Toronto thi raakhyo chhe.
[He's my staff. My Suresh hired him. From Toronto.]
Staff! Bhaade no dikro, ane naam paadyu staff!
[Staff! A rented son, and he calls him staff!]
Maro Kamlesh roj nav vaage phone kare. America thi.
[My Kamlesh phones every night at nine. From America.]
Phone ma BP na mapaay.
[A phone can't take your BP.]
Kaka, tamari saathe kon?
[Kaka, who's with you?]
Nav vaage aavse.
[He comes at nine.]
laminated · hand-lettered · non-negotiable
Tap any line to book Jigo. In the film, Natubhai asks the price "only to know", then pockets the card. Payment goes to Jigo's phone, which says what he did and what it cost.
Davakhana nu ketlu? Aa to khaali puchhu chhu.
[How much for the hospital? I'm only asking.]
Try the last line.
An old house with a new laptop. Jigo works like a film crew. He turns the laptop so the damp patch is out of frame, puts a bowl of fruit beside Kantibhai and does up his top button.
Then he takes his position in the background, and smiles.
Papa, tame dubla dekhaao chho. Jamo chho ne?
[Papa, you look thin. You are eating, aren't you?]
Jamu chhu ne.
[Of course I'm eating.]
Out of frame, Jigo slides a banana into his hand. Kantibhai peels it on camera, as evidence.
Jigo barabar kaam kare chhe? Samaj na group ma review lakhvo chhe.
[Is Jigo doing his job properly? I have to post a review on the group.]
Saaru kare chhe. Thodu vadhaare hase chhe.
[He's all right. Smiles a bit too much.]
In the background, Jigo's smile switches off.
Jigo's phone pings.
Then a second ping.
Every half-hour of his day is booked under someone's name. He eats at every house, and at every house he's eating for another son.
TAPED TO THE DASHBOARD
A laminated timetable.
Every half-hour of the day is filled with a name. He keeps three folders of reports, one under each arm and the third between his teeth.
LALITABEN
Paresh limbu nichovto.
[Paresh always squeezed lemon on it.]
Jigo eats fast, his left forearm curled around the plate. She's on the phone to Paresh. Nobody sees the arm.
SARLABEN
Ketan sev naakhto. Ane be vaar leto.
[Ketan always put sev on it. And he always had seconds.]
Jigo is already full. He loosens his belt a notch and holds out his plate.
A rented room above the paan shop. He eats from a dented steel plate, forearm curled around it, though there's no one in the room to take it.
Forty names. Not one without a bracket.
A wall clock that ticks too loud. A garlanded photo of Kusum. Two steel plates, each with a name engraved on its rim, the way every Gujarati home marks its steel.
Tu pan jami le.
[Eat something yourself.]
Card ma nathi, Kaka.
[It's not on the card, Kaka.]
Mafat.
[Free.]
Jigo sits at the plate marked SURESH. He eats fast, his left forearm curled around the plate. Kantibhai looks at the arm.
Tane shu bhaave?
[What do you like to eat?]
Patra... na, e Paresh nu. Undhiyu... Ketan nu.
[Patra... no, that's Paresh's. Undhiyu... that's Ketan's.]
...Khabar nathi.
[...I don't know.]
Aatlo moto thayo ne khabar nathi?
[All grown up and you don't know?]
Koi e puchhyu j nathi.
[Nobody's ever asked.]
Kaale kehje.
[Tell me tomorrow.]
Seven steel katoris, each under its own lid. His fingers are yellow with turmeric and one has a fresh burn. He cooked all of it alone. Lift the lids.
Kantibhai watches Jigo's face like an exam invigilator.
The third plate is new enough to shine, and it has a name engraved on it too. We're not telling you whose. You'll read it in a cinema, and that moment is why we're making this film.
Scene sealed until the premiereShirt tucked in, pen behind his ear. He's the son of forty people, and every contact in his phone has a bracket after the name.
"Card ma nathi, Kaka."
Ironed shirt and a walking stick he doesn't need. His son hired Jigo from Toronto, and Kantibhai calls him "staff".
"Phone ma BP na mapaay."
His Kamlesh calls every night at nine, from America. Every night. He tells everyone on the otlo.
"Nav vaage aavse."
Haveli lanes that are half locked, an otlo under the neem, peanut fields, and a bench outside the clinic. We shoot the whole film in one village in North Gujarat.
Location references from Wikimedia Commons: Emmanuel Dyan (Ditala, CC BY 2.0) · Raman Patel (Dudhala, CC BY 3.0) · Nizil Shah (Ambasan and Siddhpur, CC BY-SA 4.0). These aren't our final locations.
We've divided the film into 81 frames of ₹10,000 each. Eleven are already paid for. Hover over or tap any frame to see what it pays for.
Ten drafts. The 12-minute bilingual shooting script is ready.
Serious supporters can read the full script (Gujarati with English) on request.
Location recce, casting and auditions for Jigo, Kantibhai and Natubhai, and casting the village elders on the clinic bench.
Recce photos, audition tapes of the shortlist and the final cast, all shared with supporters before we lock.
Rehearsals with the cast, costume, and the props that carry the film: the laminated rate card, engraved steel plates and seven katoris. Also location fees and permissions.
A budget sheet showing planned and actual spend, with every bill attached. Photos of the props and rehearsal clips.
Cast and crew fees, camera, lenses and lights, sound, travel, stay and food for the unit, and insurance.
The daily call sheets, behind-the-scenes photos from set each day, and the shoot-week spend report with bills.
Edit, sound design and mix, colour grade, music, and English subtitles.
A private link to the rough cut for supporters at ₹25,001 and above, plus the final post bills.
DCP and festival masters, submission fees, and a press kit for the Oscar-qualifying festival route.
Every submission and every selection, posted to you on the day it happens.
Every supporter is thanked personally by Rahul and named in the film's credits.
Money is spent only on the milestone that's live. You'll get a report before the next one opens.
Bills, photos, call sheets and clips at every step, sent to all supporters at once.
Rahul answers the phone himself. His number is on this page, not hidden behind a form.
Each level includes everything in the levels below it. Every supporter is named in the film's credits and gets every milestone update.
Investors, co-producers and festival programmers: ask for the pitch deck and the full script.
All payments go straight to Rahul's own account, in the name RAHUL MISHRA. Check that name in your UPI app before you confirm.
On your phone this opens GPay, PhonePe, Paytm or any UPI app. Works with any amount.
Rahul Mishra, a Mumbai-based filmmaker with more than ten years on Hindi and Kannada films, including Manjhi: The Mountain Man, Article 370 and Fateh. He wrote the script and is directing it, and he and his team are in pre-production now.
Because we didn't want a studio deciding what this story should be. Studios bring their own formulas: a manufactured plot, a star the story doesn't need, a village that looks like a set. We wanted to make an honest, beautiful film exactly the way it's written, and the only way to do that is to make it with people who love stories as much as we do. That's you. When it's made, this film will be as much yours as ours.
The budget is split into six milestones, shown above. Money is spent only on the milestone that's live. At every milestone, all supporters get the bills, photos and a budget sheet showing planned and actual spend.
Of course, and please don't ever feel it's too small. A film like this gets made one person at a time, and every single rupee you send carries your faith in a story that hasn't been shot yet. That's a big thing to hand someone, and we don't take it lightly. Whatever you give, ₹100 or ₹1,00,000, you're trusting us before you've seen a single frame. So we'll treat it with more care than our own money, show you exactly where it went, and thank you by name. You get the perks of the highest level your amount reaches, and our gratitude either way.
Call Rahul on +91 98929 20023. Co-producers, brands and investors can ask for the pitch deck and the full script.
Rahul is a Mumbai-based filmmaker. He has spent more than ten years as an assistant director and assistant producer on Hindi and Kannada films, and he writes Hindi audio drama series. He wrote Bhaade No Dikro over ten drafts and will direct it. Rahul and his team are actively working to bring this film alive.