There are two types of people in Mumbai:

Those who think they can “outsmart” traffic.

And those who have simply accepted that they will age 17 on the Western Express Highway.

I belong to the first category.

Every morning, I open Google Maps like a delusional optimist, thinking, "Today will be different."

Spoiler alert: it’s never different.

You could leave at 7 am, 9 am, 3 pm, or even 2 am — there will always be that one BEST FRIEND sitting ahead of you, in a rickshaw, arguing with a biker over who was "more wrong." Meanwhile, you’re stuck behind them, recalculating your life choices and wondering whether you even needed to leave the house at all. Maybe that Zoom call could’ve been an email after all. Maybe your destiny was to stay indoors and become a plant. A thriving, photosynthesizing, non-driving plant.

Every Mumbaikar has said these three famous last words at least once:

"Bas 20 minutes ka traffic hai."

I don’t know who started this lie, but it’s a legacy now. Right up there with "I'll reach in 5 minutes" and "This shortcut is faster, trust me."

(If you have a friend who says this, cut them off. They will ruin your life.)

And the worst part? The hope.

You’ll be sitting in an Uber Pool, checking the ETA like: "Omg 12 minutes left!"

Feeling victorious, feeling smug.

And then suddenly you realize:

You haven't moved since 2017.

A stray dog is overtaking your car at a full sprint. The auto next to you is playing Himesh Reshammiya songs at max volume. Your driver has accepted his fate and is halfway through a nap.

Meanwhile, you're texting "on the wayyy" while knowing damn well you're closer to death than your destination.

And don't even get me started on the stereotypes.

Every time a car is stuck trying to reverse at a weird angle, someone’s going to say, "Pakka lady driver hoga."

Like, yes, Ramesh, because only women are capable of bad parking in a city where half the male drivers think turn signals are optional accessories.

Bro, women are trying to survive the same potholes, the same flying rickshaws, and the same existential crises as you. Calm down before your WagonR takes flight.

Listen, I have beef with Western Express Highway.

It promises you expressiveness. It even has "express" in the name.

But if you're driving there at 8 am or 6 pm, congratulations — you're now part of an experimental human endurance program.

The "express" part? That’s your heartbeat when the auto-wallah next to you decides to switch three lanes without signaling. While you’re eating dust and regret.

One minute you think you're moving, the next minute you're parked so hard you might as well charge parking fees.

At some point, you'll think to yourself:

"What if I just abandon my car, live here now, start a small dhaba on the divider?"

And honestly? Not the worst business plan.

Menu: chai, pav, broken dreams.

The Real Traffic Rules of Mumbai

• Horn louder = Right of way.
• Indicators are decorative items. Like fairy lights, but for cars.
• If the signal is red, it’s just a suggestion.
• Traffic police will arrive exactly 2 minutes after you commit to a wrong turn, never before.
• If you don’t have existential dread at a random signal in Andheri, are you even from Mumbai?

Also, why are we acting surprised when people drive on footpaths?

Bro, there are days when even I want to buy a cycle and ride it straight into the Arabian Sea.

At this point, Mumbai driving licenses should come with a free therapy voucher and a coffee subscription.

You know who deserves awards?

The bikers.

The way they slide through microscopic gaps between cars like liquid is something even Marvel heroes can’t explain.

Physics laws don’t apply to them.

They will deliver your Swiggy order, your groceries, your soul — all while wearing flip-flops and a backpack bigger than the bike itself.

Meanwhile, you, sitting in a four-wheeler, are wondering if it's even worth having ambitions anymore.

Another shoutout to the people who casually cross highways like they’re taking an evening stroll in Bandra.

No urgency. No fear.

Just vibes.

Mumbai energy is different. You either become one with the madness, or the madness becomes one with you.

Welcome to the Circus

Mumbai traffic is not a problem.

It’s a personality trait.

It builds character, tests patience, and occasionally turns sane people into amateur stand-up comedians just to survive it.

The thing is, it's weirdly comforting too.

If you’ve lived here long enough, you find peace in the chaos.

You start recognizing the same street dogs sleeping under the same tea stalls. You start picking your favourite pothole. You start bonding with random cab drivers about how hopeless it all is.

There’s community in the suffering.

There’s pride in saying, “Bro, I survived 2 hours from Kandivali to Lower Parel and didn’t lose my mind.”

So the next time you’re stuck at a signal for the 18th consecutive minute, just remember:

You're not alone.

There are at least 4000 of us next to you, also wondering if we should just abandon our vehicles and live on the streets.

Maybe someday, the roads will be clear.

Maybe someday, people will follow lanes.

Maybe someday, Uber drivers will stop saying "bas 5 minutes" when they’re still in Dadar.

Until then?

We suffer. Together.

With horns blaring, auto-wallahs staring, and a silent tear rolling down our face at the Jogeshwari signal.

And maybe, just maybe, we’ll finally accept that the real shortcut...

 It is not leaving home at all.

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