“I Hold His Hand, I Try To Smile, But Inside, I Am Dying!”

I never thought life would bring me to this point, where I, a simple panipuri seller, would be begging strangers for my little boy’s life. 

My name doesn’t matter right now. What matters is my 3-year-old son, Ankush. He was born with the sweetest smile, the kind that could melt away all my tiredness after a long day of pushing my cart on the streets. 

I always thought, no matter how hard my life is, at least my children will live better, happier. But today, my son’s life is slipping away in front of my eyes, and I am helpless.

Seven months ago, our world collapsed. Ankush started falling sick, again and again. He grew weak, lost his energy, and we thought maybe it was just some seasonal illness. 

But then doctors told us the cruel truth: he has Thalassemia. I had never even heard this word before. Now, it has become a nightmare that haunts me every single day.

Since that day, our lives revolve around hospitals and blood transfusions. Every time they pierce his tiny veins to put blood inside his fragile body, my heart breaks a thousand times.

He doesn’t cry loudly anymore, he just stares at me with those big innocent eyes as if asking, “Papa, when will this end?” And I have no answer. I hold his hand, I try to smile, but inside, I am dying.

I earn ₹15,000 a month by selling panipuri on the streets. That small amount barely feeds my family of five. But when your child is fighting for his life, you don’t think about money. 

You run everywhere, you borrow, you beg. So far, I have somehow managed to spend around ₹3 lakhs, money I never had, but borrowed, pleaded, collected. The Prime Minister’s Fund and the Chief Minister’s Fund gave us some help too, for which I will be forever grateful. But the truth is, it is not enough.

There is one hope, one chance. The doctors at Max Healthcare in Delhi say Ankush can be saved with a Bone Marrow Transplant. By God’s grace, his elder brother is a perfect match.

 Imagine, his own brother can give him life. The only thing standing in between is the cost: ₹15 lakhs. For someone like me, this is impossible. Even if I sell panipuri for a hundred years, I cannot save this much money.

Every night, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, asking God why my little boy has to suffer like this. I feel hopeless. I feel broken.

I see Ankush looking at his siblings, wanting to play, to run, to live like them, and it kills me inside. What kind of father am I if I cannot even save my child’s life?

Today, I am folding my hands, crying with all the strength left in me, and asking you, please help us. 

Whatever you give, small or big, it will bring us closer to saving Ankush. My son is only three years old. He deserves a chance to live, to grow, to smile, to call me “Papa” for many more years.

 Please don’t let this innocent life fade away. Please, help us give him the gift of life. Please donate!