I’ve spent sixteen years driving across Mumbai and outside.
The roads have gradually transformed from drivable to bump-able. Potholes have become so large that they almost qualify as roads themselves, only to be temporarily “fixed” with bumps that appear out of nowhere. Some of these bumps are so artistically placed that one wonders if there’s a stretch of straight road left in the city. They’re practically invisible until your car finds them. At times, I genuinely wonder whether the potholes were the smoother option.
Then came the concretisation of roads. They’re meant to be an upgrade, but instead they overheat, contribute to tyre bursts and eventually crack, giving birth to beautifully symmetrical potholes. No artist could rival their precision. Come the famed Mumbai monsoons, these concrete roads refuse to let the water seep through, transforming perfectly ordinary streets into artificial rivers. Every year, I find myself fondly remembering Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, wishing my car would suddenly discover its amphibious capabilities.
And then there are the flyovers. They seem to spring up in places where nobody ever imagined one was needed. While they’re being built, they narrow already crowded roads, test everyone’s patience and create traffic that feels endless. Once completed, they don’t always inspire confidence either. Potholes patched with paver blocks, uneven surfaces that feel like pimples on a bridge, and occasionally, alarming cracks. Sometimes, they even collapse. The outcome-I don’t think I need to spell that out.
Yet, somewhere amidst all this chaos, Mumbai has quietly turned itself into one giant canvas. It’s become wonderfully toddler-friendly. Butterflies and peacocks decorate lampposts, colourful murals brighten forgotten walls, and sculptures of animals and birds appear at crossroads. Traffic, which once tested my patience, has become an unexpectedly educational experience for my daughter. We spend those extra minutes identifying birds, animals, colours and art forms, all from the comfort of her car seat while her favourite songs play in the background. It’s one of those little silver linings I never expected to find on Mumbai’s roads.
So yes, I can certainly see my hard-earned taxes being put to good use in beautifying the city. They’ve also left me with deep holes in my pocket, an aching back and the privilege of enjoying an off-roading experience without ever leaving Mumbai. They’ve brought back memories of my terrifying rides at Essel World-I was the child who dreaded amusement parks. But beneath all the humour lies a far harsher reality: the countless lives lost in registered and unregistered accidents, and the many more permanently altered by tragedies that could have been prevented.
Tomorrow, like every other day, I’ll get back behind the wheel. I’ll buckle up, say a silent prayer and set off for what should be an ordinary drive to the marketplace. In Mumbai, though, even the shortest drive has a way of becoming an adventure.