I’m the kind of person who treats the couch like a soulmate — loyal, comforting, and nearly impossible to part with unless absolutely necessary. And what’s more necessary than survival? Our ancestors hunted wild beasts; I hunt for Wi-Fi and a decent cup of coffee. They had spears, I have spreadsheets. Same struggle, different century.
In this modern-day jungle, I commute 14–16 km each way — a journey that has become my daily dose of adrenaline. I’ve tried it all: buses that charge like they’re flying you business class, trains that test your core strength during peak hours, and cabs that cost more than therapy. After much trial (and even more error), I’ve sworn allegiance to my trusty steed — the Jupiter. It’s fast, frugal, and doesn’t judge me for screaming at potholes.
Speaking of potholes — Mumbai roads are less “roads” and more “obstacle courses designed by sadists.” One moment you’re cruising, the next you’re airborne, courtesy of a bump that NASA might classify as a launchpad. And if the potholes don’t get you, the craters will — deep enough to make you question if you’ve entered a parallel universe.
There was a time I’d get bumped at least once a day. Now, the traffic is so dense, I don’t even notice. It’s like being in a mosh pit on wheels — you just go with the flow and hope your bones stay intact.
The latest thrill? Blinding headlights. Apparently, some drivers believe that high beams are magical wands that part traffic like the Red Sea. Meanwhile, I’m squinting through the glare, developing a migraine and a deep appreciation for sunglasses at night.
And let’s not forget the monsoons — Mumbai’s way of saying, “Why take a water slide when you can ride through one?” Every puddle is a potential splash zone, and every ride is a gamble between staying dry and starring in your own shampoo commercial.
Each day, I set out not knowing whether I’ll reach my office or the afterlife. Backaches, headaches, and a growing vocabulary of creative expletives are my daily souvenirs. But hey — who needs bungee jumping when you’ve got Mumbai traffic?
"They say life begins at the end of your comfort zone — mine begins at the end of my driveway, dodging potholes and existential dread."
"Every day I leave home, I whisper to my scooter: ‘Let’s survive this madness together, old friend.’"
I may not be an adventurer by choice, but life clearly had other plans. And so, I ride on — helmet on head, heart in mouth, and a prayer on my lips. "Why climb Everest when you can survive a Mumbai commute on a scooter every day?"
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