I lent money to a neighbor to build a house, and 35 years later, his son came to repay the loan.

Once upon a time, when my father, Mr. Ramesh, was young, he lent his neighbor, Harinder Singh, some money to build a small house in a village in Punjab. Thirty-five years passed, and my family considered the loan a gift and forgot about it.

But one winter afternoon, there was a sudden knock on my wooden door. The young man standing in front of me introduced himself as Amit Singh, my old neighbor’s son. He tremblingly handed the envelope to my father and said:

“This is the debt my father left me. He said he would definitely repay you before he died.”

My father opened the envelope and saw that there wasn’t much money inside, but as soon as he saw it, he suddenly burst into tears, leaving my entire family stunned.

My father couldn’t contain himself and ran straight inside, took out another 200,000 rupees, and handed it back to Amit with a choked voice:

“Your father doesn’t owe me… I owe your family.”

The thing is, when we built the house, Mr. Harinder had to work away in Delhi to earn money to gradually repay the loan he had borrowed from my father. During difficult times, when my family was struggling, he had secretly sent gifts, rice, and even money anonymously to help, but my father never knew.

Now, when his son came to repay some old debt, my father was deeply saddened: it turned out his family had been quietly paying off my family’s debt for decades, but we never knew.

That afternoon, both families hugged each other and cried. The 35-year debt was no longer money, but a deep affection that remained unbroken until the descendants…

A bond that endures for generations

Since the day Amit Singh came to repay his debt, our two families have become like blood relations. No one calls it a “debt” anymore, but rather a fate, a duty.

My father – Mr. Ramesh – has been ill ever since, but whenever he mentions Harinder Singh, his eyes light up:

“If it weren’t for his family, our family might not have survived those famine years.”

Amit also comes often, not to “repay the debt,” but to spend time with us like a relative. He told us about the days when his father was in Delhi, and to fulfill his promise to my father, he did all sorts of jobs, from working as a porter to carrying goods in Azadpur Bazaar. Whenever he mentions this, his eyes well up with tears:

“My father always said, Uncle Ramesh’s debt isn’t money, but gratitude. And gratitude should be taught to the next generation.”

Many years later, when my son Rahul passed the Delhi University entrance exam, the first person to congratulate him was none other than Amit. He gave Rahul a brand-new backpack and said:

“My son has used it, now it’s your turn. Consider it a keepsake to carry forward our fathers’ friendship.”

Rahul became emotional and hugged Amit as if he were embracing his uncle. From then on, Rahul and Amit’s daughter, Ananya, became close friends. They studied together, helped each other with their work, and sometimes even organized charity events in their old village.

When Rahul got married, Amit and his family performed most of the rituals. This wedding was not only a joyous day for both families, but also a testament: the friendship of 35 years ago had now become a lasting bond between them.

Before his passing, my father, Mr. Ramesh, had the opportunity to see the two families gathered around a banquet table, their children and grandchildren chatting with each other. He took my hand and whispered:

“So our debt has turned into a family relationship. In this life, I am at peace.”

Now, on every festival, the children and grandchildren from both sides gather, no longer a distance between the two separate families. The villagers look at them and say:
“This is no longer the Sharma and Singh families… but one big family, bound by the bonds of generations.”

And I understand, a debt from the past has become a priceless gift for the present: a family relationship that endures for generations.