The Last Letter: Chapter 1



The rays of sun made its way through the little opening of windows.

Yet another day, a bright day calling out to the people to live their dreams in the city filled with colours, opportunities and emotions, the city of destiny, Visakhapatnam.

One person amongst the people was this man, Jayaram Krishna Tamarana, Assistant Commissioner of Police in the crime branch of Visakhapatnam.

He widened the window opening to embrace the warmth of the rays and walked to the mirror to shave.

“Take that beard off. You’ll look great in clean shave. Don’t you dare touching that mustache. Curl it up at the corners and you’ll look manly.”

Those words would hit him every morning and he would stop as soon as he completed shaving his beard and clean the razor.

“Don’t comb your hair side wards. Instead, comb it backwards.”

He would smile at his messy hair looking in the mirror and comb it backwards and then apply wax to his mustache to curl it up; just the way she liked it.

As soon as he finished his ablutions, the man on a mission whisked out of his house and made his way to the garage.

As he pulled the cover off his bike, he stared at it for a moment, as he would do it everyday.

“But, I love that bike! I want to own it!” He said.

“Of course, I know you love it. And you’ll own it for sure. And we would go out on it for drives,” she assured him.

He smiled.

“But it’s a single seater. What about me?” ย she said.

He laughed.

Taking a very good look at his Royal Enfield Continental GT, he jumped on to it and kick started the machine.

Vroom! Vroom! The powerful beast roared as he drove through the streets and caught the road to the highway.

As he finished reading the last column of the newspaper and having the last sip of chai at a road side tea stall near a bus stop, his regular spot, he checked his watch.

8:00 AM, the watch read.

“Sir, we are close. The route number of the bus is 25E.”

The text message on his mobile conveyed.

As the bus number 25E approached the stop, Jayaram boarded it and stood in the crowd alongside the passengers.

“Collect my bike and bring it to the station. It is at my regular spot,” he said as he called one of his constables and hung up.

He watched the crowd closely. The noise of the traffic, irregular honking of horns, cacophony of voices, he was searching for the nuisance he was reported by a college girl.

“Sir, we are sitting in the front row.”

Another text message conveyed.

He made his way through the crowded people and reached the front part of the bus only to find a bunch of guys teasing women.

“I will show these pictures to your dad. Or I will put them on the internet. If you dont want these pictures out in public, come with me. Come on, lady, just for a night!” One of the guys from the group whispered it in the girls’ ear.

“How about you spend the day with me in my office and then plan your schedule for the night?” Jayaram interfered.

The eyes of the girls around glistened with hope.

“Who the hell are you?” the spoilt brat raised his voice.

“Don’t pick a fight with him. Let’s get down at the next bus stop. He is a very strict police officer,” one of the spoilt brats friends warned him.

“Strict? My foot!” the spoilt brat glared.

Jayaram looked at him, right in the eye as he held the steel kada that was hanging loose around his wrist and pulled it up towards his finely shaped forearm till its tight enough.

“You better leave us alone. My father works with a local politician. Do you want me to call him?” the spoilt brat tried to warn him.

“Sure, go ahead and tell him to pick you up from my station.”

As the bus stopped at the next stop, a police jeep was ready to pick up the gang of four and Jayaram dragged them out of the bus.

“Sir, please, please leave us,” the guys pleaded.

The constables hurried to the bus and threw the gang into the jeep.

As the jeep made its way to the station, Jayaram preferred to relax and his mind was lost in deep thoughts.

I have no other choice, kannayya! He has our pictures. And he is blackmailing me! I’m really sorry for what happened and I just don’t want you to get involved in this. I don’t want those pictures to end up on my dads table, neither do I want to end up sleeping with him just because he is black mailing me! So, I decided I would end my life. I love you, Kannayya! Stay strong! Love you! Good Bye!

He recalled some of the lines from the last letter she wrote. He wished he had enough power to help her and he wished he could go back in time with the khaki he was now wearing and save her from dying.

“I don’t really know what to do with my life! Now that we are close to wrap up the graduation, I am worried. ” he complained.

“Why are you so worried?” she asked.

“I wish I could settle early in life and come meet your dad and tell him I love you,” he said.

“I can understand. But what do you want to become?” she said.

“I want to become a writer.”ย 

She smiled.

“What? Does it sound funny?” he glared.

“Nope, it’s amazing!” she held his hand.

“But sometimes, when i look at the shit that goes around in the society, I wish I could stop them!” he said.

“How? With a pen?” she teased.

He looked at her with a frown.

“Your pen may not stop it but a khaki will. You can make a very good police officer! And my dad would never say no if I am dating a handsome police man!” she winked.

Both of them laughed.



He wished he could meet her for one last time and show her his change over in looks and how he was now riding the bike he yearned for and brag about the Khaki he was now wearing to see her face swell with pride. Or atleast, he wished he could go back in time and kill the man who turned the woman of his dreams into a memory.

Aditya Tamarana, the man who was the reason behind her death, the reason for her suicide. Even 10 years of time could not heal Jayaram’s wounds. But, he learned to live with them.

The vibration from his phone shattered his thoughts.

“Thank you, sir.”

The text message read.

He smiled, his heart content for what he had done. All he dreamt was to spend his life with her, writing stories and driving a Bullet. Little did he expect, he would be watching over the entire city wearing a khaki and saving people while imagining her memories and recalling the words from her last letter, travelling in a commander jeep.

The journey from holding a pen to donning a Khaki wasn’t what he really thought of. But he was pretty sure he would find the man who had destroyed his love and kill him.


To Be Continued…









The Words Of A Broken Heart!

There is no end but only start, if I pen down the words of every broken heart.

Ink would fall short, words would start to rot.

My pain might look as light as a feather, be aware, it might get as ugly as a bad weather.

The scars on my body might heal and look better, only I and the blade know how much it cut deeper.

Eyes had lost its longing bond with dreams, nightmares molest them, as I wake up with screams.

Colours and silhouettes, both look similar, when hope meets disappointment, I guess it’s familiar.

Demons of past caress me and sing a lullaby, as I rest in it’s lap and watch angels laugh and fly.

I quiver, I long, for one such angel to come flying to me and make me strong.

I watch them in silence as they decided to flee, assuring I would be fine, now, the magic to put myself together lies in the hands of mine.

The Tale of a Hero.

โ€‹How do I begin? 

Where do I begin from, Dad?

Should I tell you, It all started with my coping your hair craft when I was kid, watching you comb your hair in front of the dressing table.

Or should I tell you, it all started when you took me for a drive on your bike and I pretended driving the bike with my hands on the handle bar and how you played along with the pretence. 

Or did my love for you start when you brushed the remains of ceralac off my mouth and fed me till my stomach was full and cuddled with me till I went to sleep.

I still remember, Dad, how you laughed when I didn’t know how to tie a lace and came home running to you from school, tucking the loose lace in the side gaps between the shoes and my ankle.

And I’m sorry, Dad, for sneaking out of the house early in the morning along with your bike, parking it back damaged and putting the blame on someone else. You knew how it happened, yet, you never said a word.

I’m sorry how at times, I blame you for not being rich enough to afford my needs. Little did I notice, when I was a kid, you never thought twice before buying me my favourite ice cream even when you had less money in your wallet.

I still remember, how I raised my voice against you sometimes and you said, “You grew so big!! Started back answering your father!!” Little do I remember, Dad, how big and tall I used to feel when I put my legs round your neck and watched the entire crowd below my feet while you held me up in the air.

” You’re the strongest man! ” I used to say.

Dad, remember, you picked up a good looking blazer for my high school farewell and groomed me into a stunning handsome man of the day. Did I ever tell you, my crush called me ‘Handsome’ at the end of the evening and added me on Facebook. It was all because of you. Thanks, Dad.

You are an inspiration. For all those who wanted an excuse to smoke and drink in the name of stress and tensions, you worked very hard under the same stress and pressure yet remained healthy with no such habits and passed on the belief of staying controlled even under peer pressure. I love your confidence and how you stick to the morals you believe in.

And I’m sorry, Dad, how I demanded for extra pocket money lying about books and material and how I spent your hard earned money in buying chocolates for the girl who wasn’t worthy enough.

Dad, remember? How you advised that light coloured formal shirt would go well with dark formal trousers for an interview and how you put a knot to my tie and put it around my neck.

Sorry for all the anger I showered when you consistently asked me how to open contacts on the smart phone you never learned to use. I forgot, it was your hands I first held while I learned to write the letter ‘A’.

Dad, I was fooled and deceived by DC and Marvel that Super Heros wear a costume, a mask, a cape and fancy armour. Little did I notice, you go to work in formals, wearing a smile, a sense of hope and come back home, tired yet satisfied for having done something for me and the family.

There were times I hung my head low when my friends asked what you gifted me for my birthdays!! While other fathers gifted their children costly toys, gadgets and bike, you gifted me those books and novels I hated yet read them. 

Now those books have started to make an impact, the letters and the words grew well on me like a forest with deep insight. 

From teaching me how to tie a lace to tie a tie knot, you have shown me what a beautiful soul can do. Angels don’t often fall from sky, dad, they are sometimes human with beards and strong shoulders willing to carry the burden of entire family.

You have been one such soul reflecting character, manners and a way of life. For the most handsome and lovable father, all I can do is write and speak my heart out for all the challenges you have been through and coming out successfully from the difficulties I put you through and proving once again that Heros don’t always wear costumes and capes but smile and intent to sacrifice themselves for the ones they love.

Thank you, dad. I love you.

Beauty Of Two Bonded Souls.

How magical the feeling truly is, that feeling between two bonded souls.
Added strength, added weakness, a perfect balance to their lives on a whole.

His blank mind, an empty canvas, feels dull until her thoughts color the sense of joy.

Her heart wails, all set to storm tears, like those dark clouds, if she caught any moist in his eyes.

There was a time, where all he could see was her, with his eyes closed. Words started to flow with great force, the tip of his quill was driven by pure love.

Pink crept over her cheeks, as charm in every word carved a place for him in her left, that beautiful feeling she went through was perfectly right, she knew her heart’s under theft.

But things change, nothing remains same, so was his art. Now only remains were spilled ink, scribbled words, torn papers and feeble mind.

He complained every now and then, cried his heart out, as he couldn’t believe his timid word art, the flaw seems to have met him right in the heart.

She never gave up on him, never did she accept he was flawed, she knew that the time is an unconquered master, it plays its game really smart, even the sun looks weakest when its in the west, she always insisted him to follow the thing under his chest.

How beautiful this truly is, that strength between two bonded souls.

When love meets life, every pain soothes, every hurt cures, every heart beats till the last.

Droplets of Love!!

It wasn’t a good night’s sleep. I was tossing in bed and waiting for sleep to hit me real hard. Power cuts in summer is such a pain in the butt!

Few moments later, I could feel my face caressed by gentle breeze. My sweating forehead finally found solace.

I winced as I felt a few droplets on my face and opened my eyes only to realise it was raining. The tiny droplets bounced on to my face after being hit on the window pane. 

With my eyes opened, still lying on bed, I saw the streaks of lightings illuminate the sky and I let my face take all the spills of the droplets. 

“First rain of monsoon,” I murmured.

Every drop that hit me flashed down a slide show of memories. The roaring sky, ocassional lighting, darkness and silence, except for the sound of the rain and lightinings, was too much for me to recall all those good old memories. 

Every single drop took me down to my memory lane. The very first one that hit me, took me to my childhood where I was left with no choice but stay at home and not go out to play due to rain. I hated rain back then. 

And the second one was too quick to remind me of my crush. Yea, my crush. How I shared my umbrella with her to cross a street after having pani puri on road side.

But my chest felt heavy, when the droplets reminded me of my journey with her. The woman I had been destined to meet and fall in love with and suffer the injuries from the fall. 

Falling for her was very easy, just like the rain, but the injury from the fall dispersed me into many shapes, I couldn’t gather myself to stand altogether as one unit of droplet.

It all started with a random text on Orkut. Yea, Orkut it was. Eventually ended up as friends only to realise we live a few blocks away from each other. 

It was monsoon back then when we first met. How she came half drenched and how we both became the closest of friends over a chai at Rashid’s cafรฉ. 

“Lucky me, I didn’t put on makeup, else my face would have been a mess in this rain,” the first line she spoke when we met.

Frequent meets in those rainy days was enough to make me fall for her chirpy voice and beaming smile.

How I once had to drop by her house due to heavy rain and how she made coffee for both of us while I used her towel to dry my hair. 

How the meeting at her place slowly turned romantic with candles lights inside and fierce winds outside. Power cut at that moment was the last thing I would regret in my life. And my hate towards rains slowly diminished.

How we shared a single blanket and single cup of coffee over time while we watched the least frightening horror movies and I pretended to be scared just to hold her hand. 

How she would tie her hair back into a bun and pull her sleeves up after a tired day and smile to my compliments at her looks.

“How is the coffee?” she would sometimes ask.

“Needs some sugar, but don’t worry, your words are sweet enough to fill that,” I would wink. She would add two more spoons of sugar and stir my cup.

And how she asked me to take her out for a drive in the rain where she did spread her hands in the air to live that moment to the fullest as I drove her second hand Activa she bought with her hard earned money.

“Are you enjoying this moment?” She would shout from behind.

“Yeah, I am,” I used to lie as I would be busy adjusting my glasses and vision to drive properly in that heavy rain.

How sometimes we would sit on the rocks of the sea shore and wait for the waves to hit us with full force.

As the rainy season faded the bond between us grew stronger.

“First Rain of Monsoon,” I murmured yet again but this time with my eyes closed and wiping the rain drops off my face.

A heavy roar from the sky and streaks of lightings illuminated the sky yet again but this time turning the weather harsh. 

Slowly, I regained my senses, jumping back to past isn’t that easy. Reliving what we once were obsessed with and then coming back to the reality is the hardest part one could experience.

Because, now, the coffee never tastes the same, the pillion seat of my bike remains empty forever, the other side of my bed is left unoccupied, the watch I bought for her is still hanging around in my closet and the unsaid words are still sound and loud enough that they are reverberating in my mind.

To be continued…

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑