To My Unknown Benefactor: RD Readers Share their Stories of Kindness from Strangers

I had just relocated to the suburb of Bhayandar in the early summer of 1996. On one rainy day, while at work, the news of the sad demise of the father of one of my colleagues trickled in. As I travelled to Dombivili (a distant suburb on the Central Railway) with my co-workers to offer our condolences, the day-long downpour had intensified. It was after 8pm when we left and it was 11.30 by the time I reached Bhayandar. When I stepped out of the station, I found that the rains had flooded the area and I had to wade outside in knee-deep water. No rickshaws, no electricity.

This was before the smartphone-era when a flashlight is just a quick click away, so there I was trying to navigate gaping potholes, open gutters, and fallen trees all while keeping balance, holding up my belongings and staying vigilant for creepy-crawlies, in the dark. I was tired and scared, when suddenly, a beam of bright light flashed from somewhere behind me, lighting the way. A man's voice rang out, “Chalte raho, road safe hain!” (Keep going, the road is safe!)

In the gleam, I could make out a few other people ahead, in the same predicament as I was, and my pace quickened with relief to know that I was not alone. Even as I turned into a bylane, the torchlight still followed. Finally I reached the gates of my building society, and turned to thank the person, but there was no one around—my Good Samaritan perhaps on his way to shepherd other commuters to safety. The rain continued all night, unabated. Torrential rains are a part of Mumbai’s folklore, just like the strangers who go the extra mile to help others.

—Rekha Menon, Mumbai

A Port in the Storm

Two summers ago, I was at a hill station in the Western Himalayas, where I planned to trek through the area’s scenic trails. I set out on a bright morning, the air gentle and inviting, and hiked through dense thickets of rhododendron and oak trees, eventually reaching the top of a ridge six hours later. The view was breathtaking—snow-capped mountain ranges on one side, rolling green valleys on the other.

There a few kiosks in the valley and I stopped at one for a meal. The vendor, a short, elderly man, served me tea and Maggi. As the evening deepened and air grew chilly, I rented a polyester pop-up tent and, exhausted from the day’s trek, drifted into a deep slumber. Sometime in the middle of the night a loud, tremulous voice jolted me awake.

“Wake up! Come out!” it cried, frenzied and urgent. “Come out fast!”

I opened my eyes to see my small tent shaking violently and heard the wind roaring outside. A massive thunderstorm had risen while I slept. Dazed and terrified, I stumbled out and a hand firmly gripped mine—it was the old vendor. As I scrambled, my tent ripped apart and flew off into the dark. The old man led me back to his small shop and had me rest on his bed, while he settled himself on the floor at the back. By morning, the sky had cleared, and the vendor offered me a steaming cup of tea. Deeply beholden, I asked him how could I return the favour. He just smiled, folded his hands gently, and said, “Just good wishes. That’s all.”

—Shalini Bhardwaj, Kolkata

A Timely Intervention

A few years ago, during a late-night check-in at a youth hostel in Flagstaff, Arizona, the receptionist informed me that the tour van I had booked for a trip through the Grand Canyon the next day had been cancelled. It was supposed to be the highlight of my trip, so I was really upset. While I argued, a tourist from Belgium, also staying there, turned things around. “Don’t worry, my friend, I’ve rented a car to the Grand Canyon tomorrow. You can join me. With us will be a teacher from the UK, also on vacation,” he said. The next morning, our group of random strangers from all over, travelled together to see one of the world's most spectacular natural wonders, and the whole day it felt like we had all been friends since childhood. The gentleman didn’t even take a single penny from us.

—Rameshinder Singh Sandhu, Amritsar

Follow Me

The excitement was undeniable as my closest friends, Jennie and Sofie, and I prepared for our long-awaited seven-day trip to Kashmir. Bags packed and spirits high, we arrived early in the morning. Everything felt perfect until the fifth day.

We were playing in the snow when the wind suddenly picked up. I had wandered away from the group, and before I knew it, the sound of laughter had faded. I was alone, surrounded by frost and eerie silence. The world had turned into a blur of white. I couldn’t see any landmarks. I tried calling my friends and our travel assistant but there was no signal. Trapped in a frozen maze, the fear began to close in.

Then, through the swirling snow, I saw a figure walking steadily toward me. I wanted to call out, but hesitated, unsure of whether to trust a stranger. But as he drew closer, his calm gaze and quiet presence sparked a flicker of hope. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice warm despite the cold.

“I’m lost,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “I can’t find my friends, and there’s no signal on my phone.” He nodded knowingly. “The storm makes it hard to see. You’re lucky I found you.”

“How do I get back?” I asked, my voice shaky.

“Follow me,” he said simply. “I know this area well.”

As we walked, minutes felt like hours as we navigated the snow-covered paths. Suddenly, I saw the faint outline of people in the distance. Relief washed over me like a tidal wave as I realised it was my group. They had been waiting in the hope that I would somehow find my way back to them.

I hugged them tightly and told them about my helper but when I looked back to thank him once more he was nowhere to be found. For a moment I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing. I never saw the man again but that brief, unforgettable experience taught me something precious: Sometimes, the kindness of a stranger can shine even brighter than the warmth of a friend. Because when you’re lost and scared, it’s not just who you know, but who shows up, that matters most.

—Sanvi Jain, Mumbai

Photo Credit: Shutterstock

Pay it Forward

It was one of those Tuesday evenings when everything felt like too much. I was rushing through the grocery store after work, my phone buzzing with unanswered texts and my cart piling up with dinner ingredients I wasn’t even sure I had the energy to cook. At the checkout, I realized I had forgotten my wallet. A slow flush of panic and embarrassment crept up my neck as I turned to the cashier, stammering about running back to the car, knowing full well it wasn’t there either. That’s when the man behind me, maybe in his mid-60s, wearing a baseball cap and a kind smile, stepped forward.

“I’ve got this,” he said, already pulling out his card. “No, no! I couldn’t possibly ...” I began, but he waved me off. “Pay it forward someday. That’s all I ask.” I was stunned—not just at the act itself, but at the ease and warmth with which he did it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I thanked him about a dozen times. He smiled again, picked up a pack of gum, and paid for his own items like nothing had happened. I never got his name.

That night, I made a point of telling my nephew about the man in the baseball cap. I told him kindness doesn’t always come from people we know but we can carry it forward, just the same.

Two weeks later, I covered the bus fare of stranger who came up short. It wasn’t much, but it felt right.

—Rajkumari Lanchenbi, Manipur

Words of Wisdom

One lovely sunny day while cycling to college from my hostel, I was approaching the main highway when the wind blew the hem of my dress back and it got caught in the spokes of the rear wheel of my bicycle, causing me to tumble. Sprawled on the open road and with speeding traffic all around, I started to panic while struggling in vain to get my frock free. That's when a lady passing by stopped her two-wheeler and rushed over. She helped me untangle my dress, and, to calm me down, started a conversation about my name, what it means, which college I attend and other small talk. Then she took a safety pin from her purse and showed me how to tuck the ends of flowing clothes so that I could cycle safely. As I sheepishly thanked her, she smiled and said: “Be brave, because crying won’t solve your problems. Face problems boldly and you’ll be able to get through it. But take precautions and try to help others, as I did for you today.” Thank you Auntie, for taking the time to school a naïve teenager, who still remembers and follows your advice today. Peace and love to you wherever you are!

—Sfurti R., Mumbai

Photo Credit: Shutterstock

Kindness in the Cold

I was always told to be sceptical of the world, so I trained myself to be hyper-independent, never relying on strangers. But life has a way of breaking our notions. Last January, I reluctantly joined a travel group for a tour in Kashmir. I prefer travelling solo, so I kept to myself, speaking little to the others. I realised on the way that I had left my debit card behind, but wasn’t too worried—I had a bit of cash, and my phone handled the rest. Among the group was one young man who tried befriending me, but I avoided engaging with him with curt, at times even rude, replies. On the last day of the trip, we were in Sonmarg, and I slipped in the snow. My phone landed in a puddle and wouldn’t restart. Panic set in. My return ticket, contacts, payments—everything was on it. My cash was nearly gone. People sympathized but offered no real help. I sat crying, wondering how I’d get home. That’s when the same man I had ignored earlier came forward. He hugged me, assured me it would be fine, offered his phone to call my family, contact the airline and withdrew cash for me at the ATM. I paid him back later, but what mattered wasn’t the money—it was that he saw my struggle and chose to erase it.

—Surabhi Pathak, Nagpur

Shrouded in Love

Last Christmas, I was travelling from Ernakulam to Thrissur with my brother and cousin. The train was packed with the holiday rush and the general compartment was chaotic, with passengers jostling for space and some even sitting on the floor. A young couple with a baby came aboard. The woman with her baby managed to get a seat while her husband stood by the entrance. As we rumbled along, the baby started crying uncontrollably. The young mother, clearly new to parenting, struggled to soothe her little one. Before long, some elderly women, visibly annoyed, started shouting at her to feed the child. The poor mother looked at her husband, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of nursing in front of so many strangers. As she fretted, a woman sitting on the floor leaned over, and without hesitation, removed her headscarf and gently helped the young mother wrap it around her to make a cover so she could feed her baby in privacy. Such a simple gesture but it reminded me that humanity still has a lot of good left in it.

—Nahala Nasrin EA, Thrissur

To read more true stories of kindness, click here.