A loving and heart-touching story of Mumbai lane. Based on true experience, it’s an inspired story between the years 1987-2000 of a crowded Mumbai’s Grant Road of a man named Raghunath Shinde, who was a postman who used to collect the letters that had not been delivered. Raghunath Shinde believes himself to be the gentleman among all rather he was not the famous one or the important personality, but he completed thirty-two years in the postal department with no regrets. Raghunath Shinde believed that letters were not paper instead it was piece of people.

Raghu had the same routine of walking the same pathway and collecting innumerable words. Thoughts, feelings, love from one place to another. But not all the letters were deliverable; some were without addresses, without pin codes, no names were written on the letters, some had moved to a different city or another house, some had lost their families, some had died. The letters were marked undeliverable by other postmen man but Raghu was different; he collected the letters every day and brought them back home, the undelivered envelopes.

Raghu had a tiny trunk under her iron bed where he kept the letters every day, which he collected from the office. There were letters for three decades, and he bifurcated the letters with 3 different colours.

Some letters had been tied with red colour
Some letters were tied with a yellow colour
Lively, some letters were sealed so tightly that even air felt impermissible to enter.

Every day the same thing, the same routine. His wife used to observe these things every day, and one day she asked Why are you collecting these letters? They are not yours, neither no one is anyone going to come here to collect them; it’s completely baseless. He replied with a smiley face that may be someone is waiting, maybe someday a person will come to collect the lost letters. No letters are baseless; instead, they are feelings. He said that people write letters because they cannot connect face-to-face. People write letters to express feelings, to tell the words they cannot say face-to-face. People write letters; they put their heart into words. Never say letters are baseless; they are feelings. Though I have never read any letters yet but I can feel the pain, the wait, the love. His wife smiled and believed his thoughts.

As everything was going well with no worries, it was the season of monsoon then in the year 2000, Raghu passed away. He took his last breath while sleeping. He lived his life fully with no fear, no trouble, soundlessly. He had a nice wife, well, well-settled son named Sameer. He had a short, cute, lovable family. As his son listened to the news of his father, Raghu, he immediately left for Mumbai from Pune. He got emotional. Sameer did all the rituals he had to for his father. Now, as the rituals got finished, he completed the other works, and now he thought of cleaning the house, as there may be anything left, and he found something unusual, and that thing was the tiny trunk where Raghu had collected the letters. He took them out and opened it, which was so shocking for Sameer. The smell of old papers and emotions, feelings filled the room. Sameer’s hand started shaking like a leaf.

He asked his mother, and, shocking to his lost father Why, Dad, why. Then someone from his neighbour replied that Raghu always wanted these letters to be delivered where it meant to be. He always wanted things to be given another chance. Sameer listened to his neighbour’s words and kept thinking overnight, about whose letters these are why they have not come to collect them. My father was right, the letters should be delivered to everybody who deserves it. Many of them would be waiting. He made the decision, and the next morning, firstly he called up his boss and explained to him everything and took a leave for days and then, with a fresh face blessings of his parents started the journey. He began the mission his father wanted to complete.

He roams every building, every house, and every lane every day. He never cared about his hunger, his health, but he continued his mission. But it was not easy because many addresses had vanished, and some were changed to different apartments. Some families left the city, some had already left the world. But he continued kept ask house by house, building by building, lane by lane.

The First door

Then, knocking on the first door, an elderly man with his shaking hand received the letter, and the letter was an apology letter from his son, which was written 18 years ago. The old man hugged the letter like he was hugging his son and cried and whispered while crying Why does it take such a long time because I thought he had forgotten me. Sameer got emotional while standing outside the door and realised his father had preserved much more than the words. The old man thanked Sameer and hugged him, and blessed him.

Letters That Healed

Another letter was from a mother to a daughter. The letter went to a woman in her 40s, and the message was written when she was in a hostel. She was unaware of the fact that her mother wrote her a letter every Diwali. This letter reunited two sisters who were in a property fight when the letter was written. There was a secret blessing from her grandfather, who kept learning “I love you “loudly.

Some letters were teary, emotional.
Some letters reunited.
While some letters brought long-lost smiles back.

Sameer delivered 186 letters in seven months. Isn’t that crazy?
In total, 200 letters were delivered, some after 30 years.

The Opening of the Tunnel

A journalist heard the story of Raghu and the headlines she wrote while looking at the trunk...

She wrote:
This is not a box of old letters.
It’s a tunnel
Where forgotten feelings waited for years to find their way home.
And this is how it became...

The Tunnel of Letters

.    .    .

Some references based on this topic:

• In Thiruvananthapuram, undelivered letters were found in a postman’s rented room.
• In Kurla (Mumbai), 14,000+ letters were undelivered for years before being discovered and addressed by authorities.

References:

• Times of India: undelivered postal articles found at a postman’s place.
• Indian Express: multiple years of undelivered mail found near Kurla.