Rest in Ledge, Brother: Harsha’s Story
- Prateek Khanna
- Jun 24
- 4 min read
In June 2018, when I was promoting my chess training platform in Bangalore, I spent eight days immersed in the city—meeting coaches, talking to parents, understanding the pulse of the chess community.
During one such interaction, I met a humble yet brilliant coach. As we spoke, he mentioned he had a tournament coming up in Mysuru, but before parting ways, he insisted—“You must meet someone.” He wouldn’t stop talking about him.
I’ve always trusted my gut.
So my teammate and I made our way to Mysuru.
The person he spoke so highly of was none other than Harsha—a junior state chess champion, and perhaps the most intellectually gifted tech mind I’ve encountered in over 15 years of building technology-driven ventures. He was not of this world.
His thoughts were layered, futuristic, and yet deeply human.
We spent some quality time together.
Over the years, we collaborated on a few projects (The Cricket One, I believe was special)
And even though we didn’t speak often, when we did, it was always profound. Hours would pass like minutes. His mind never rested—he was always building something extraordinary, pushing the boundaries of reality and imagination.
On April 24 this year, I was on a call with him again. It felt like any other conversation—ambitious, exciting, charged with the energy that only Harsha could bring.
Days later, I was told he had taken his own life.
A Soul Too Pure for This World
I’ve waited months to write this because Harsha wasn’t a murderer. He wasn’t a villain in a news headline. He was a pure soul. A visionary. A friend.
And most of all, a good human being.
What he faced was bigger than any one person should have to carry. A series of betrayals, financial ruin, legal traps, and crushing isolation.
He was failed—by his partners, by the systems that should have protected him, and by a society that rarely checks on the strong ones.
A Cautionary Tale for Every Dreamer
Harsha was a founder of a futuristic tech company. He raised millions in investment. His work was acknowledged at the highest levels of government. But like many solo founders, he longed for someone to share the load.
So, he onboarded a co-founder—someone he barely knew, but vibed with.
It seemed like the right move. But it turned into a nightmare.
While Harsha moved to the U.S. to drive R&D and fundraising, his newly appointed partner took control of India operations. That trust was deeply misplaced. The partner mismanaged funds, left taxes and salaries unpaid, and slowly dismantled everything Harsha had built.
Even worse, Harsha’s wife and mother were listed as company directors, unknowingly becoming legally liable for corporate defaults. Assets were siphoned. Shareholding structures were manipulated.
And through it all, Harsha remained silent, trying to fix it alone.
He didn’t go public. He didn’t file legal complaints. Perhaps he believed things would improve. Perhaps he didn’t want to admit the betrayal. Or maybe he just didn’t want to worry his loved ones any further.
But the damage compounded.
He sold ancestral property to pay off debts. He borrowed money to pay his team. And he kept building, believing in his dream, even as the ground beneath him disappeared.
Until he broke.
Why This Blog Is on DMET Club
I’ve been lucky. DMET has blessed me with brothers for life—friends, seniors, juniors—who I can pour my heart out to. At every crossroad, someone from DMET has stood by me. And if you’re a DMETian reading this—you have this support too.
We might pull your leg. We might argue. But we take care of our own.
Not everyone is as fortunate. Harsha wasn’t a DMETian, but if he had this kind of support system, maybe—just maybe—things would have ended differently.
So I write this here not to mourn but to remind:
If you ever find yourself in darkness, reach out. To a batchmate. A friend. A senior. Anyone.
You’re never as alone as your mind makes you believe.
Lessons Etched in Grief
What happened to Harsha is not just tragic—it’s a wake-up call. For founders. For dreamers. For all of us.
Here are some hard-earned truths:
Trust must be earned, not gifted. Don't make anyone a co-founder just because you vibe.
Keep family away from directorships unless they are fully aware of risks.
Speak up when something feels off—early. Delay is denial.
Your dream matters, but your life matters more.
Mental health isn’t a luxury. It’s your foundation. Prioritize it.
There is no shame in failure.There is great shame in silence that leads to irreversible tragedy.
To Harsha, From This World to the Next
If you’re reading this from somewhere beyond, Harsha—I hope you know you were not weak.
You were extraordinary. You were betrayed, but not broken.Your light may have gone out here, but it will continue to shine in every life your story touches.
As a society, we failed you.
But I promise—we’re getting better.
One conversation at a time. One blog at a time.
Rest in ledge, brother.
Disclaimer: This blog is a personal tribute. Names of individuals and organisations involved in ongoing legal matters have been omitted or anonymised. The story is real, the emotion is raw, and the intent is healing—not accusation.
If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health, please seek help. There is always a way out, and you are never alone.
