VANAM JWALA NARASIMHA RAO | Hyderabad 

In a world rushing forward with speed and self-interest, moments of pure human compassion feel increasingly rare. This is one such moment—a quiet, deeply moving story that unfolded just days ago in Hyderabad. It is not merely a tale of loss; it is a testament to goodness, unity, and the invisible strength of human values. At its centre is a humble young man, Rabi Singh, and the extraordinary kindness shown by the residents of Arihanth Ashoka Apartments and the wider Ashoknagar community.

Eight years ago, a soft-spoken 21-year-old from Ranchi arrived in Hyderabad with little more than hope. Rabi joined a private security agency, earning a modest income, but what he lacked in money he made up for with sincerity, warmth, and an unshakeable work ethic. Residents soon noticed his dedication and ensured he was permanently assigned to their building. Over time, he became more than a watchman—he was caretaker, helper, guide, and, above all, family. Understanding his circumstances, residents even paid him extra, covering agency charges and offering a small allowance.

Slowly, Rabi became a beloved figure not just within the 27 flats of Arihanth Ashoka, but across Street No. 4 in Ashoknagar—home to nearly 230 families. Everyone knew him. Everyone trusted him. Then, tragedy struck. One night at 1 a.m., 83-year-old Subba Rao, the RWA President, received a call from Jharkhand. A stranger’s voice broke the news: Rabi had died in a road accident while visiting his hospitalized mother. Moments later, his wife Pushpa arrived at Subba Rao’s door with their two children—five-year-old Rudr and two-year-old Trisha—crying in shock and disbelief.

Though most residents were senior citizens, age did not slow compassion. The community immediately activated its support network. Young resident Kolluru Srinivas Prasad rushed over to help, standing beside Subba Rao and taking charge of arrangements with quiet empathy.

The first decision was clear: Pushpa and the children had to reach Jharkhand immediately. Without hesitation, residents pooled Rs. 60,000 overnight, booked the earliest flight, and placed emergency cash in her hands. Srinivas Prasad personally drove the grieving family to the airport, while Subba Rao arranged special assistance through an Indigo executive. The airline staff treated them with extraordinary care.

Support poured in from all directions—owners, tenants, even children of residents living abroad. Rabi’s family, who lived in a small room on the terrace, had long been embraced by the community. Residents celebrated the children’s birthdays, helped with childcare, and treated them like their own. This was not charity—it was shared humanity.

In the aftermath, the Association assured Pushpa that she and her children would always have a home in their community. Leaders from the wider neighborhood stepped forward too. Inspired by this incident, the RWA is now proposing Group Insurance for all support staff, a model that could inspire societies across India.

A week before he died, Rabi had sent his 23-year-old nephew to fill in temporarily—as if he sensed something. His sense of duty was deep, and his absence is felt just as deeply. This story reminds us: greatness does not always stand on a stage. Sometimes, it stands at a gate with a warm smile—quiet, consistent, full of love. 

(As narrated by Dr AV Manohar Rao couple of days ago)