The Cab Confession

Arjun entered the cab wearing new shoes, a pressed shirt, and the energetic smile of someone who had not yet used his new office’s travel route during morning hours.

“First day?” asked the driver, Mahadev.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Laptop bag still has paper inside the handle.”

Arjun removed the little paper sleeve. He had spent Sunday polishing his professional introduction and choosing a lunchbox that communicated neither excessive ambition nor indifference. His new company had a welcome email describing the office as vibrant and well connected.

For the first ten minutes, Arjun agreed with every word.

He described the role to Mahadev: operations strategy, cross-functional collaboration, growth. Mahadev listened without judgement. He had driven enough passengers to know that most jobs became understandable only after their third explanation.

“So you help people organise work?”

“Exactly.”

“Useful.”

Near Bellandur, the traffic slowed. Then it settled. Arjun checked his arrival estimate. It adjusted itself with the confidence of a person who would never have to apologise in reception.

He messaged HR from the back seat. They replied kindly that first-day traffic happened and he should travel safely. Arjun relaxed. This was a good company. He told Mahadev so.

At the next long stop, his phone showed an advertisement for a hillside homestay. He looked at it for a little longer than the advertiser probably expected. There was a veranda. There were trees. Nobody on the veranda appeared to have a quarterly review.

“Excited?” Mahadev asked.

“Still excited.”

The reply contained a small administrative delay.

Arjun’s mother called. Had he reached? Not yet. Had he eaten? Yes. Was the driver good? Arjun looked at Mahadev, who was patiently allowing a bus room to turn.

“Very good.”

“Then don’t disturb him,” she said, ending a call she had initiated.

Twenty minutes later, Arjun confessed that he had briefly considered leaving corporate life to open a homestay. Mahadev nodded as though this were a routine stage of employment onboarding.

“Where?”

“Somewhere with hills.”

“Do you know how to run a homestay?”

“I can learn.”

“Plumbing?”

“Not currently.”

“Guests calling at midnight because one mosquito?”

Arjun looked again at the veranda photograph. The mosquito was probably just outside the frame.

Mahadev explained that his brother ran a small guesthouse. The work involved bookings, repairs, laundry, complaints, and coordinating several people at once. Arjun recognised the shape of his own job description, now with bedsheets.

“So every dream career has operations,” he said.

“Most things have a water tank also,” Mahadev replied.

They moved another stretch. Arjun put away the property advertisement. He still liked the trees, but he decided against resigning from a job he had not physically entered. Instead, he asked Mahadev about better departure times and public-transport options he could investigate for future days.

The conversation became practical. Arjun made notes. The trip remained slow, but the morning stopped feeling like a personal betrayal. Other people in other vehicles were also trying to get somewhere. None had been appointed to sabotage his induction.

At the office, Mahadev found the correct entrance and wished him luck. Arjun thanked him sincerely. His shoes were still clean. His lunchbox had survived. HR gave him a visitor badge and directed him to a room where a facilitator invited everyone to share one unexpected fact about themselves.

Arjun thought about the hills, the water tank, and the brief property search.

“I’ve already considered a career change today,” he said.

The room laughed. The facilitator smiled. “And what made you stay?”

“My driver explained the alternative.”

By lunchtime, he had three new friends and an invitation to a commute-planning group. He joined immediately.

Read when you’re a passenger or safely off the road. Never while driving.