They were both named Ramesh — two boys from Nellore, Andhra Pradesh — who grew up chasing dreams beyond the parched fields of their childhood. Fate had tied their names together, and destiny, cruel as it can be, would one day tear them apart.
Back in 2005, Nelakurthi Ramesh and Golla Ramesh met as young men in Bengaluru, two restless souls who had left home after finishing their Secondary School Certificate.
There was no talk of college, only of survival — of finding a job, a room to share, and a future to build.
They found both in each other. Working as salesmen for Hindustan Unilever, they climbed the rungs of life one product, one paycheck, one small victory at a time.
They became brothers — celebrating festivals together, marrying around the same time, watching their children play together in the narrow lanes of their colony. For two decades, they stood side by side through every turn life took.
And then came Thursday night.
The two families boarded the V-Kaveri Travels bus from Hyderabad to Bengaluru, chatting, laughing, half-asleep to the rhythm of the highway.
Golla Ramesh, 31, and his wife Anusha, 28, with their little ones — an 8-year-old son and 6-year-old daughter — took the upper berths. Below them, Nelakurthi Ramesh, 30, his wife Sri Lakshmi, and their children lay resting.
At 3 am, fate struck like a matchstick. A motorcycle collided with the bus near Kurnool, tearing open its fuel tank. In moments, flames devoured the vehicle.
“I woke up to see fire everywhere,” whispered Nelakurthi, his voice breaking as he recounted the horror. “I shook my wife and children… we smashed a window and jumped out.
I called out to [Golla] Ramesh, told him to hurry… but the fire had already reached them. They couldn’t even get down from the berths.”
His family stood outside in shock, watching helplessly as the bus — their shared journey — turned into an inferno.
Twenty lives were lost that night. Among them, Golla Ramesh, Anusha, and their two small children — a family of four reduced to ashes on a road they had traveled countless times.
Now, Nelakurthi carries a grief no man should bear — the unbearable burden of survival. “He was like my brother,” he said, tears streaking his soot-stained face.
“We shared everything… dreams, food, laughter. Now, I have to collect his body and take him home.”
In Gollavaripalli, Nellore, Golla’s father, Malakondaiah, waits — inconsolable, broken. They had just seen their son a week ago, not knowing it would be for the last time.
Two men. One name. One dream. And now, a road that will forever divide them — between the living and the remembered.
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