Amod, the Bottle Baba

In the middle of an office cubicle where the AC was always very cold, and motivation was always on lunch break, lived a legend – Amod.

It all began on a random Wednesday when Amod innocently filled his own bottle. A colleague spotted him.

“Bro, fill mine also na?”

Amod shrugged. “Sure.”

Big mistake.

The next day, three bottles appeared on his desk. The day after that, it was seven. By Friday, it looked like he ran a hydration drive for drought-affected cubicles.

Steel bottles. Plastic ones. Fancy imported ones that looked like missiles. Some that looked like dumbbells. A glittery pink one that seemed to blink.

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t judge. He just filled.

Every day at 11:05 AM, Amod rose from his throne like Simba, mumbling things like “So it begins…”

Soon, people stopped going to the cooler completely. They just dumped bottles on his desk like offerings to some kind of water deity.

Amod started receiving specific requests about the water temperature to be maintained while filling the bottle, and he would say, “Now serving cold, warm, and room temperature politics.”

HR caught on.
They awarded him a “Hydration Hero” certificate printed in Monotype Corsiva. Amod laminated it.

But the true test came on Thirsty Thursday—when the water dispenser gave up.

The water cooler…broke. The office…wept.

The office descended into chaos. People started singing and dancing to ‘Ghanan Ghanan Ghir Ghir Aaye…(song from ‘Lagaan’)’.

That’s when Amod, the legend, rose.

“I shall journey… to the third floor,” he whispered.

The third floor—legendary home of Accounts.

“Amod, there’s no lift!” a voice cried.

He nodded solemnly and flexed.
“I have legs… and now… a purpose.”

Thirty minutes later, Amod returned, glowing with sweat and glory.

He wasn’t just walking. He was wheeling a rusted tea trolley that had been reborn—tied with office lanyards, duct tape, and hope—now carrying 20 bottles, a stack of paper cups, and a single floating lemon slice (no one knows how it got there).

The trolley squeaked with each step like it was emotionally unprepared for this mission. Amod, on the other hand, looked like a thirst-terminator. His glasses fogged with determination.

The crowd erupted.
Bottles clinked like temple bells.
Someone recited an original poem:

O carrier of quenched dreams,
Bearer of bottle and burden,
Your legs have climbed what lift denied,
And brought back life in liquid form.

Amod went back to his desk, casually sipping from someone else’s glittery unicorn bottle like nothing had happened.

From that day onward, Amod wasn’t just a colleague. He was fondly called ‘The Bottle Baba.’

And every time someone said, “I’m thirsty,” they didn’t look for the cooler.

They looked for Amod.

Moral:

Sometimes, the smallest acts—like filling a water bottle—can leave the biggest impressions. Amod didn’t just quench thirst; he quenched complaints and awkward silences too. His humble bottle rounds turned into team rituals and stress relievers.

In a world obsessed with deadlines and deliverables, it’s people like Amod who remind us that being a good colleague doesn’t always require grand gestures. Sometimes, it just takes a firm arm, steady aim at the dispenser, and the willingness to carry 17 bottles without filing an HR complaint.

Be someone’s Amod. Or at least, don’t hide your bottle when he walks by.

Got an Amod in your office? Share this story with him—the bottle-filling saint you never thanked enough.

Liked the story? Subscribe to the website—and I promise to refill your bottle. Emotionally, not literally. I’m not Amod.