Chota Pack Bara Dhamaka
In the narrow lanes of Shantipur, where scooters squeezed past vegetable carts and children played cricket with plastic bats, stood a tiny shop painted bright yellow. The board above it read: "Chota Pack Bara Dhamaka – Since 1998." Most people smiled when they saw it, but few understood the story behind the name.
The shop belonged to fourteen-year-old Rohan and his grandmother, whom everyone called Dadi. It was no bigger than a single bedroom. Shelves were packed tightly with biscuits, chips, toffees, soap bars, and tiny sachets of shampoo hanging like colourful ribbons from strings. While big supermarkets had air-conditioning and shiny floors, Rohan's shop had something else—heart.
One summer, a giant supermarket opened just two streets away. It had loud music, bright lights, and "Buy One Get One Free" offers. Within weeks, customers stopped coming to the little yellow shop. Rohan watched silently as Dadi counted fewer and fewer notes at the end of each day.
"Dadi," he said one evening, "how will we compete with such a big store?"
Dadi adjusted her glasses and smiled. "Beta, remember our name. Chota pack, bara dhamaka. Small pack, big blast. We don't need to be big. We just need to think big."
That night, Rohan couldn't sleep. He kept thinking about what Dadi had said. The next morning, he had an idea. He noticed that many daily wage workers and school children could not afford large family packs sold at the supermarket. So he began creating tiny, affordable bundles—two biscuits in a small paper wrap, a handful of namkeen in little pouches, mini stationery kits for students before exams.
He also added a blackboard outside the shop. Every day, he wrote a positive quote or a funny joke. Soon, children started stopping by just to read it. Some bought a two-rupee toffee; others bought nothing but left smiling.
One Sunday, when the power went out in the whole area, the big supermarket had to close its automatic doors. But Rohan's shop remained open. He lit two candles and continued serving customers. Neighbours gathered, chatting and laughing in the soft glow. It felt warm and familiar.
Word spread. "Go to Rohan's shop," people began saying. "He gives exactly what you need. No waste, no extra cost."
Within months, business picked up again. Rohan even started a "Student Saver Corner" with low-priced pens and notebooks. He offered free water to delivery workers in the summer. The shop was still small, but it was alive with energy.
One evening, as they closed the shutters, Rohan looked at Dadi and grinned. "You were right. Chota pack, bara dhamaka."
Dadi chuckled. "It's not about the size of the shop, Rohan. It's about the size of the heart."
The yellow shop still stands in Shantipur today. It never became the biggest store in town. But it became something better—a place where every small purchase carried a big impact, and every small idea created a big difference.
Because sometimes, the smallest pack truly brings the biggest dhamaka.