Our earliest values are shaped not by lectures, but by what we witness—the quiet strength of our parents, the choices they make, and the lives they touch.
In 1995, I witnessed such a moment of quiet courage that left a permanent mark on my soul.
Arrival in Guwahati
We had just endured an rickety overnight bus ride from Jorhat, finally arriving in Guwahati. The skies, once tinged with marmalade, turned heavy and grey. We checked into Room 802 of the 240 Transit Camp, a towering building next to the railway station. This was a resting spot for Armed Forces families moving across the Northeast.
The plan was simple—grab breakfast and head to Kamakhya Temple before our train to Chennai (it was called Madras then) the next day. But life had other plans.
A Rainy Morning Turns Alarming
The downpour confined us indoors. While Amma went to sterilize my baby brother Shreyas’ feeding bottle, she passed the common bathrooms—and something caught her attention. A bloodied man, with his head and body wrapped in fresh bandages, locked eyes with her before disappearing into a cubicle.
Moments later, Amma heard a woman crying in Tamil from a nearby room. She entered to find a young woman sobbing. “My husband is dying,” she said. It was the same man Amma had seen. His injuries were severe—fresh stab wounds covered in homemade bandages.
She rushed back to get my father.
The Air Force Spirit Kicks In
Dad returned from his trip to the nearby pharmacy, drenched, diaper packet in hand. When he heard the story, he went straight to the injured man.
“Have you seen a doctor?” Dad asked.
“No sir, I cleaned my wounds at a pharmacy. I can’t be admitted—they’ll ground me from flying. My sister’s wedding is in four days.”
The man was Flight Lieutenant Raj of the Indian Air Force.
Dad knew what grounding meant for a pilot. It was more than a job—it was an identity. But this wasn’t a time for sentiment. “Raj, this is an order from your senior officer. You’re going to the hospital.”
A Risk, A Lifeline
Dad arranged a Jonga (Army jeep), took Raj to the Army Hospital, and then pulled every string he could. Not only did he get Raj discharged to avoid official grounding, but also booked a last-minute Indian Airlines flight for Raj and his wife to Madras.
Back then, flights were expensive, and there were no ATMs. My father had less than ₹500 left for our family of four to survive for our 3 day train journey.
But he didn’t flinch.
The Ripple Effect of Kindness
Raj recovered. He made it to his sister’s wedding. Years later, now Squadron Leader Raj, he met Dad again—this time in Wellington. He fell at his feet, overcome with emotion.
“Sir, you didn’t just save my life—you saved my flying career.”
Years later, I asked my father why did he go out of the way to help a fellow stranger. Dad humbly said, “This could have happened to us. Wouldn’t you want someone to help you, Sid?”
What I Learned
I was just 11, but I learned something no textbook could teach. Kindness isn’t convenient. It’s risky, inconvenient, and sometimes thankless. But it’s what gives life its meaning.
My father lives by a quiet stoic code—do the right thing and expect nothing in return. This act of humanity continues to shape how I see the world today.
Final Thoughts
We live in a world that often feels cynical and transactional. But stories like this remind us: real heroism still exists. Not in capes—but in actions. In compassion. In doing what’s right, even when no one’s watching.
Kindness doesn’t cost much—but it’s worth everything.