The Ride That Never Ends
I book a ride-sharing taxi. 8 minutes away. Lies. Traffic in this city has no concept of time. If Einstein had lived here, he wouldn’t have discovered relativity—he would have just stared at the nearest traffic bottleneck and said, “Time is a lie.”
The app shows the driver 100 meters away. But he isn’t moving. Why?
- A car trying to merge into a space that does not exist
- A biker attempting quantum mechanics by existing in three lanes at once
- A pedestrian casually crossing the road like they have infinite lives
- A bus parked just because it can
I call the driver.
Me: “Hey, where are you?”
Driver: “Sir, stuck in traffic. You come little ahead?”
Cynic Upstairs: “Ah, classic. You ordered a ride, and now you are the ride.“
I sigh, dodge a street vendor, leap over a pothole, and finally spot my cab. The door opens, I slip inside, and thus begins my epic journey through the city’s traffic apocalypse.
Chapter 1: The Art of Not Moving
This city’s roads have a unique feature—they look like roads but act like parking lots.
My ride moves three inches. Stops. Moves again. Stops. This isn’t a ride. This is a slow-motion horror film.
On my left, a woman is riding pillion on a two-wheeler, laptop balanced on her knees, fingers typing at the speed of survival. A true coding warrior.
Cynic Upstairs: “Move over, coffee shop freelancers. This is real hustle.“
To my right, a man in a car is on a Teams call, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting his headset.
Man (on call): “Yes, yes, I can hear you! Sorry, there’s a lot of noise… NO, I’M NOT AT HOME!”
His car is barely moving, his frustration is rising, and I can already tell he’ll be replying to that meeting email in all caps.
Meanwhile, an ambulance blazes through the chaos, sirens wailing. Is it carrying a patient? Maybe. Is it empty and just rushing to pick someone up? Possibly. But it demands priority.
Cynic Upstairs: “In this city, we respect the siren… unless we don’t.”
A few cars give way. A few don’t. A biker sees the ambulance as an opportunity—if he follows it, he gets through faster. Genius or chaos? Hard to tell.
Chapter 2: The Ecosystem of Chaos
Every city has traffic. But this city’s traffic is an ecosystem. Every species plays a role:
- The Lane Owners: Drive like they own the road. Because they do.
- The Auto Brigade: Lane discipline? No need. They are the lanes.
- Bikers: If there is even a molecule of space, they will fit.
- Pedestrians: Cross anywhere, anytime. Traffic lights are just decorative.
- Public Transport Gods: Move like they have diplomatic immunity.
- Honkers: Believe their horn is a magical traffic-clearing device.
Cynic Upstairs: “This isn’t driving. This is survival.“
Chapter 3: The Signal That Never Turns Green
We approach a legendary city signal. The countdown begins.
- Red Light Timer: 180 seconds
- Number of vehicles waiting: Too many to count
- Hope Level: Extinct
The timer ticks down. 3… 2… 1…
It’s still red.
Me: “What happened?”
Driver: “Signal not working, sir.”
Cynic Upstairs: “Oh, but it is. It’s working perfectly… against you.“
Eventually, one brave biker decides rules are optional and speeds ahead. Another follows. Soon, chaos erupts.
Within seconds, the whole signal becomes a lawless wasteland.
Me: “Should we go?”
Driver: “No rules in traffic, sir. Only courage.”
I don’t know if this is true. I don’t care anymore.
Chapter 4: The Legendary Flyover (That Solves Nothing)
We finally reach a flyover. No signals, no intersections—just freedom.
Except… it’s jammed.
Of course.
Cynic Upstairs: “Did you really think the flyover would save you? Oh, you sweet, naive fool.”
The flyover isn’t moving. Why? Because:
✔ Someone missed an exit and is now reversing
✔ A truck broke down right in the middle
✔ A biker is trying to overtake inside a gap meant for air molecules
I stare out the window. The service road below is moving faster than the flyover.
Cynic Upstairs: “You thought you were being smart. The service road is laughing at you.”
Chapter 5: The Symphony of Horns
A biker cuts across my ride, and the driver slams the brakes. The car behind us honks angrily.
Why? Who knows. Maybe honking gives them emotional support.
Me: “Why is he honking? We can’t move!”
Cynic Upstairs: “Because in this city, honking is a coping mechanism.“
A bus stops in the middle of the road to drop off one passenger. The auto driver behind it leans out, screaming:
“Chalu chalu chalu!!”
Cynic Upstairs: “Shouting has always been an effective traffic management tool. Oh wait. No, it hasn’t.”
Chapter 6: The Arrival That Took My Soul
After what feels like a lifetime, we finally reach my destination.
I take out my phone. Open Google Pay. Scan the QR code.
Me: “Paid.”
Driver: “Sir, app not working. Try again?”
Me: “I just paid.”
Driver: checks phone “Aah, yes sir. Thank you.”
Cynic Upstairs: “A digital transaction so smooth, even traffic is jealous.”
I step out. The traffic hasn’t moved. The city is still gridlocked. And somewhere, a signal is still red.
Cynic Upstairs: “See you tomorrow, same time, same pain.”
Final Thought:
Traffic in this city is not a system.
It’s a social experiment.
Some pass.
Most barely survive.
Would you like another ride?
The app suggests: Yes.
Cynic Upstairs: “Your funeral.” 😏