💔 “I Was Just the Security Woman at the Bank — Until the Day I Saved the Manager’s Son With the CPR I Learned After Losing Mine”

PART ONE — THE WOMAN WHO OPENED GATES AND SILENCED PAIN

My name is Mrs. Anjali Balan.

I’ve worn this uniform for 11 years.

I’m the first face people see at Udaya Bank in Andheri East, Mumbai.

They wave, smile, pass by.

But nobody knows I’ve buried a son.

Nobody asks why I read medical textbooks on my lunch break.

Or why I chant Hanuman Chalisa silently during the day.

You see… pain taught me to stand still, even when shaking.

PART TWO — THE BOY I COULDN’T BRING BACK

In 2014, my only child, Samar, choked on a piece of dried mutton during dinner.

He was only 9.

I didn’t know what to do.

I screamed. I ran to the neighbors. I begged for help.

By the time we reached the hospital in Dadar, it was too late.

They told me:

“If someone had known CPR… he could have survived.”

I wept until my voice disappeared.

And then I swore to myself:

“I will never stand helpless again.”

PART THREE — A GUARD WHO STUDIED AFTER SHIFT

So while working night shifts at the bank, I quietly joined a Red Cross CPR course near Vile Parle.

I learned everything I could:

CPR.

Rescue breaths.

Heimlich maneuver.

Recovery position.

Some laughed.

“You think you’re a doctor now, Anjali?”

But I kept going.

Not for glory.

Just to make peace with my past.

PART FOUR — THE DAY A BANK FLOOR TURNED INTO A BATTLEFIELD

One humid Tuesday morning, the bank lobby was packed.

Staff. Clients. Senior managers.

Suddenly, a shrill scream tore through the air.

The branch manager’s 6-year-old son had accompanied his mother for a routine errand.

He collapsed in front of the teller counters.

Foaming at the mouth. Convulsing. His small body shaking uncontrollably.

Đã tạo hình ảnh

People froze.

Some fumbled with their phones.

No one moved.

Except me.

PART FIVE — THE CPR THAT BROUGHT TWO MOTHERS TOGETHER

I ran.

Dropped to my knees beside the boy.

Checked his pulse.

There was none.

He wasn’t breathing.

I tilted his chin up.

Started rescue breaths.

Began compressions.

Over and over.

My tears dropped on his face as I worked.

I didn’t see the manager’s son.

I saw my Samar.

“No, little one. Not today. You are not leaving today.”

After nearly two minutes…

He gasped.

Then coughed.

Then cried.

Silence blanketed the bank.

Then applause. Shouts. Cheers.

But I didn’t rise.

I stayed there, sobbing quietly.

Because this time, CPR wasn’t too late.

PART SIX — A PROMOTION, A PURPOSE, AND A NEW NAME

That afternoon, the manager and his wife came to me.

They didn’t shake my hand.

They didn’t thank me with flowers.

They knelt.

On the bank floor.

The same marble where their son had nearly died.

“You didn’t just save Arnav,” Mr. Deshpande whispered. “You saved us. You gave us back our world.”

The next morning, a circular was sent across all Udaya Bank branches:

“Mrs. Anjali Balan is hereby appointed as the Head of Emergency Response and Staff Welfare, Udaya Bank. All future medical preparedness and CPR training programs will be led by her.”

They gave me a new badge.

A new uniform.

A new office near the HR floor.

But more than that…

They gave me a voice.

They gave me a second chance to protect children — the chance I never had with my Samar.

And now, every time I teach a staff member CPR…

Every time I demonstrate rescue breaths…

Every time someone thanks me for a lesson they hope they’ll never need…

I feel Samar beside me.

Not as a memory.

But as a silent partner in saving lives