My name is Mr. Rudal Yadav, and I am writing this letter as a father who is going through the worst pain of his life. I belong to a small village, Dhakjari, Madhubani, Bihar – 847223, where I live with my wife, Ritu Kumari, and my two-year-old daughter, Anjali Kumari.

Anjali is the light of our home, our only child, and the reason behind every smile in our family. But today, instead of playing in our laps and enjoying her innocent childhood, she is lying in a hospital bed, suffering from a disease that no child should ever face. She has been diagnosed with eye cancer.

Her eye has swollen so badly that it breaks our heart to even look at her. Every day she cries with unbearable pain, and we feel helpless because we cannot stop her suffering. As parents, there is nothing more painful than watching your child in such agony.

The doctors advised us to come to AIIMS Hospital, Delhi, for her treatment, as the condition was very serious. We left our home and came here, hoping to save our daughter’s life. But the treatment costs are far beyond what we can afford.

I work hard every day, and my wife also tries to support me. Together, our income is just ₹15,000 per month. With this, we manage our food, rent, and daily expenses. Even after cutting down everything, we cannot arrange the huge amount needed for Anjali’s treatment.

I am writing this letter with folded hands and tears in my eyes. I am a father who only wants to save his little daughter. I am not asking for anything for myself—only for a chance for my child to live, to smile again, and to see this beautiful world.

If you could see her tiny hands holding mine in fear at the hospital, if you could hear her weak voice crying in pain, your heart would break the way mine has broken. She is just 2 years old, and life has only begun for her.

Please, I request you to come forward and stand with us in this time of need. For you, it may be a small donation, but for us, it is everything—it is hope, it is life, it is our daughter’s future.

We will forever remain grateful to every person who comes forward to save Anjali. May God bless you and your family with health and happiness.

My name is Jamir, and I am a daily-wage laborer from Bengal. I am writing this letter as a father whose heart is breaking every single day while watching his little boy, Saheb Raza, fight a battle far too big for his tiny body.

Saheb is just a small child, full of innocence and dreams, but for the past few months, he has been suffering from eye cancer. What should have been a time of playing, learning, and smiling has instead become a journey filled with hospitals, tests, medicines, and tears.

As parents, nothing prepares you to see your child in pain. Every time he goes through another test or procedure, my heart shatters, yet I try to stay strong because he looks at me with eyes that still hold hope—even though those very eyes are now battling this cruel disease.

I work as a laborer, earning barely enough to meet our daily needs. Our life was always simple, but at least it was peaceful. Since Saheb’s diagnosis, everything has changed. We have had to travel for his treatment, stay near hospitals, and somehow manage food, medicines, and other expenses, all while having almost no stable income. My wife and I are doing everything we can, but the weight of this battle grows heavier each day.

We are not asking for money or donations. What we need most is guidance, information about support programs, or even emotional strength to continue this fight for our son’s life. Sometimes a kind word, a prayer, or a small direction can give families like ours the courage to keep going when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

All I wish for as a father is to see my son healthy, smiling, and living the childhood he deserves—a childhood without pain, hospitals, or fear.

Thank you for taking the time to read our story. Your kindness, prayers, or any guidance you can offer will always be remembered by our family.

My name is Umesh Dogra, and I am a small shopkeeper from Dhameta, Tehsil Fatehpur Khas, District Kangra, Himachal Pradesh – 176025. I earn about ₹15,000 per month, which is just enough to support a simple life for my family. Today, I write to you not as a shopkeeper, but as a helpless father whose six-year-old son is battling for his life.

My son, Devansh Dogra, is only 6 years old. For the past few months, he has been suffering from blood cancer. His treatment is being carried out at the Department of Clinical Haematology, Haemato-Oncology & Bone Marrow (Stem Cell) Transplantation, Christian Medical College & Hospital (CMC), Ludhiana. The doctors there are doing their best, and we are holding on to hope with every breath.

But for a small child, this journey is unimaginably painful. Instead of spending his childhood running, playing, and going to school, Devansh spends his days in hospital wards, undergoing painful procedures, tests, and treatments. There are nights when he cannot sleep because of the pain, and nights when I cannot sleep because I feel powerless as his father.

Since his diagnosis, our lives have turned upside down. We had to leave behind the comfort of our home and community in Kangra to stay closer to the hospital. Managing expenses for food, travel, accommodation, and medicines, along with the treatment, is far beyond what I can handle with my modest income. My wife and I are trying our best to keep life moving, but the burden is crushing.

Yet, my son is a fighter. Despite the pain, he looks at me with hopeful eyes, and I cannot let him down. As a father, my only dream is to see him healthy again—back in school, back to smiling, and free from this disease.

I am not writing this letter to ask for donations. Instead, I am humbly reaching out to seek guidance, information about possible support programs, or even emotional strength from kind-hearted people like you. Sometimes a little direction, a kind word, or even prayers can give us the courage to continue this difficult journey.

Thank you for taking the time to read my letter and for keeping my son, Devansh, in your thoughts and prayers. From one parent to another, I hope you can understand my pain and my hope.

My name is Banvari Bind, and I am a farmer from Village: Chakanwabad, Post: Barahata, Thana: Machhlishahr, Sub District: Machhlishahr, District: Jaunpur, Uttar Pradesh. I am writing to you today not just as a villager or a worker of the soil—but as a father whose heart is breaking every day while watching his daughter fight a life-threatening illness.

My daughter, Ambika Bind, is just 9 years old. She should be spending her days playing, laughing, and learning—but instead, she is lying weak and tired, struggling every moment with a serious medical condition. Ambika has been suffering from Acute Liver Failure with Hepatic Encephalopathy for the past several months.

This condition has deeply affected her liver and has started to impact her brain. Her health keeps worsening, and we are in and out of hospitals constantly. As a father, it is painful beyond words to see her childhood being stolen like this. There are days she forgets things, days she cries in pain, and nights when I just sit silently, holding her hand, praying for a miracle.

We are trying to get her treated at All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS), Delhi, where doctors are helping us in every possible way. But the road ahead is long and heavy.

I earn around ₹15,000 per month from farming—just enough to run a simple village life. But staying in Delhi, away from our home, and managing Ambika’s treatment expenses, medicines, tests, transport, and daily living costs is proving to be too much.

My wife and I have left our home in the village to stay near the hospital in Delhi in a small jhuggi. Back home in Chakanwabad, our lives were already simple and modest, but at least we had a roof of our own. Now we are trying to save our daughter with the little we have.

I am not writing this letter for donations or financial help. I am only reaching out with the hope that you may be able to guide us, connect us to any assistance programs, or even share emotional strength with us. Sometimes, a small direction or a word of support can give families like ours the strength to keep going.

My daughter is fighting every day, and as her father, I refuse to give up on her. I just want her to live a normal, healthy life again—to go to school, smile without pain, and be the bright child she was before this illness took over.

Thank you for taking the time to read my letter. From one human to another, I ask for your prayers and support in whatever way possible.

My name is Neeraj Kumar, a small farmer from Danpur Rasoolpur, Pihani, Hardoi, Uttar Pradesh (241406). I write to you today not just as a farmer, but as a helpless father whose son, Nitin Kumar, is bravely fighting for his life.

Nitin was born in September 2017. He is just a little boy—innocent, full of dreams, and far too young to understand the cruel disease that has taken over his body. In August 2024, our world turned upside down when he was diagnosed with Refractory Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a dangerous form of blood cancer.

Since then, our days have been filled with endless hospital visits, painful treatments, and sleepless nights. Watching your child suffer—feeling pain in his body, fear in his eyes—is something no parent should ever experience. But we are living it every day. His treatment is being done at All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS), Delhi, and the doctors have been doing their best to help him.

Due to the seriousness of his condition, we had to shift from our village to a small jhuggi (hut) near AIIMS. Leaving behind our home, land, and the little comfort we had was not easy, but we had no other choice. Nitin needs to be close to the hospital for regular care, tests, and treatment.

I earn only around ₹5,000 per month through farming, which barely covers basic needs in the village, let alone life in Delhi and the ongoing medical care of my child. We have no other stable source of income. My wife and I try to manage everything together—his care, medicines, travel, and food—but most days feel like a mountain too high to climb.

Still, I wake up every day with hope in my heart and faith in God. I believe that my son deserves a future—that he deserves to go to school, laugh with his friends, and live a life beyond hospitals and injections.

I am writing this email not to ask for donations, but with folded hands, requesting your guidance, emotional support, or any information about assistance programs for families like ours. Even a kind word, direction, or encouragement at this time would mean a lot to us.