The promise of a brand

Every small act matters

When your job involves offering or ensuring service support to a customer, it isn’t always easy. No matter the product or service, a customer always needs support while using it.

Every email you receive, every phone call you answer, demands attention. Someone at the other end needs help — and the assurance that assistance is always just around the corner.

In a utopian world, problems wouldn’t exist. But in our reality, they inevitably do. The best we can do is fix them as soon as they arise. The best brands are built not just on great products, but on the ability to turn even the smallest problems into positive experiences — by being there to offer support and resolution.

When supporting a product in the field, most of the time and on most days, what you hear is an issue. Some are small, some are huge — but there are always issues. The way to approach them is to see each one as an opportunity to create a positive experience from what could otherwise be a negative one.

Occasionally, you hear a story that’s as pleasing to the ear as it gets. Stories like the one you’re about to hear offer perspective — reminding you of the purpose behind the daily grind. It’s a true story, and one of those experiences that lingers in the mind for a long time.

It was a pleasant winter evening, with that gentle, swirling chill only Bangalore’s winters can bring. There was a soothing nip in the air. I had just returned from the office after a tough day. My 10-year-old son sat on the couch looking utterly exhausted — his red eyes and disheveled hair giving him the appearance of a weary traveler. An eye infection had flared up, leaving him in discomfort. The rains had gone weeks ago, but it seemed they’d left a few bugs behind.

I dropped my laptop bag on the couch and asked him to get dressed so we could see a doctor. We walked across the road to an eye clinic I had heard about, run by a husband-and-wife duo of eye specialists. The reception was crowded with patients holding prior appointments, each waiting patiently. I had walked in without one, at the mercy of the lady at the front desk.

As I waited, I looked around. The clinic had two consulting rooms — one for each doctor. I noticed an elderly gentleman stepping out now and then to instruct the assistants. He was tall, with thin grey hair and bifocal glasses perched on a pointed nose. One glance revealed the wisdom of someone who had seen life in its many shades. A pleasant-looking doctor is always reassuring.

When our turn came, we walked into his room. He nodded at my greeting and motioned my son toward the chair. He listened to the issue, performed a routine examination — clearly something he had done countless times before — and focused a light on my son’s eyes. Then he returned to his seat. Scribbling on his prescription pad, he softly told me it was a mild infection and would clear up in a few days. He prescribed eye drops and handed me the paper.

Then he paused. His hand, still holding the prescription, lingered midair as his eyes settled on my shirt. I hadn’t changed out of the blue T-shirt I’d worn to work — the one branded with my company’s name on the left.

“Do you work for Perkins?” he asked.

It took me a moment to respond. Reactions like that were rare. In a world where shoe and sunglass brands are instantly recognized, industrial products like ours fly under the radar. Perkins manufactures diesel engines used in excavators, tractors, and generators — so street-level brand recognition is unusual. It’s an under-the-hood product that invites little attention in daily life.

When I confirmed that I worked for Perkins, he removed his glasses, placed them on the table, and leaned back. I sensed a story was coming. The next patient would have to live with itchy eyes a little longer.

What could a seasoned eye specialist possibly have to do with a diesel engine brand? We don’t power cars. We build engines for tractors and excavators. I couldn’t even begin to guess.

“Perkins,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “is the best engine in the world. I used it, and it never gave me any trouble — not even once.”

That got me curious. Guessing would be futile, so I promptly asked him to share his story.

And what a story it was.

Back in the mid-1970s, as a young doctor, he was part of a healthcare mission serving remote communities in northern India. It was a rugged region to operate in. The terrain was unforgiving, and the weather even more so. Roads were little more than muddy tracks, and access to medicine was scarce.

The only mode of transport available to them was a Jeep — specifically, a Willys Jeep equipped with a Perkins diesel engine. He described that engine as a steadfast companion. It never failed him — not in harsh weather, not on rough terrain. It started on the first attempt every single time, never faltered, and powered through every challenge. The Perkins engine was the last thing they worried about when navigating broken forest trails or the muddy lanes of makeshift villages. Not a moment of trouble, none whatsoever.

I tried to dig further. He didn’t remember the model, but I did some digging later. The Jeep, I learned, was equipped with the iconic Perkins P4.192 — manufactured in Britain, delivering around 62 horsepower, and used in vehicles like the Massey Ferguson tractor and the Jeep CJ5 series. He spoke of that engine as though recalling an old friend. Nostalgia had wrapped itself around the still-clear memory like ivy on an old wall.

Mindful of the others waiting outside with watery eyes, I thanked him and walked out — prescription in hand, wide-eyed son in tow. I knew I had just heard one hell of a story.

On that chilly evening, I heard something far more than a story. I heard a powerful lesson in what a great product can do for a brand’s legacy. Brand recall stories are plentiful and found almost everywhere, but this one felt different. It came from the most unexpected source, at the most unexpected time.

A doctor, nearly half a century removed from his experience, recalled an engine brand with genuine reverence. The impact of a product — built thousands of miles away and decades ago — was still being felt and praised at a modest eye clinic tucked away in a leafy lane in Bangalore.

It reminded me that when you help build a brand and not just a product, your efforts touch lives. There is a professional responsibility — to uphold the legacy of those who came before you and helped shape the product that defines your brand’s promise.

Every bolt you tighten, every design you create, every call you take, every problem you solve, and every commitment you keep has the power to make a difference. Everyone on this winding path plays a part in delivering, through your product, assurance to someone, somewhere. It’s all about keeping the trust that someone has placed in your brand as strong as ever.

All other wins and losses along the way are immaterial in the end.

The work of every individual — no matter how small or inconsequential it may seem in the moment — produces a lasting impact. It will manifest in some way, in some corner of the world, perhaps decades later. One may never know it, but be assured: it is out there.

How else can you explain that the hands which designed and built the P4.192 in the 1960s were still being remembered in the 2020s? You couldn’t ask for a more meaningful tribute to craftsmanship — or to the legacy of those who came before us.

It doesn’t matter what product you create or what it does. What matters is the joy — and more importantly, the assurance — it brings. Look around, and you’ll appreciate that the brands which have survived for generations are nurtured through the consistent, quiet efforts of many working in the shadows.

Trust, and only trust, is what makes a brand and keeps it alive. Nothing else matters.

As for me, I’ll always be grateful for doctors like my wizened eye specialist.

That night, a doctor reminded an engine man that the finest thing you can build — in medicine or in metal — is something someone trusts with their life.

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Sudhir Bhattathiripad