The Cab’s Music Rights

Alisha asked whether she could play her music before the cab left the pickup point. Her driver, Mohan, said yes, provided the volume remained comfortable.

She sat securely in the back, connected her phone while they were safely stopped and pressed play with the casual confidence of a person who believed she remembered what she had last been listening to.

A calm voice filled the car.

“Release your anger.”

Alisha stared at the screen.

Mohan looked briefly at the road ahead, which was already preparing a queue near the Indiranagar junction.

“Good timing,” he said.

She laughed and explained that it was a meditation recording from the previous evening, not the playlist she had intended to select. She offered to change it before they moved.

“Can keep for a little,” Mohan said. “Sounds peaceful.”

So they began the journey with an unexpected instructor asking them to notice the present moment. The present moment contained a bus, several cars and a scooter rider who seemed deeply interested in finding space that did not exist.

Alisha kept the volume low. Mohan concentrated on driving. The recording did not make either of them immune to inconvenience, but it supplied an amusing alternative to discussing every vehicle’s decisions.

At a red light, a horn sounded behind them. Nothing ahead could move. The recorded voice advised patience in a tone suggesting it had never personally needed to reach a meeting.

Mohan smiled faintly.

“This teacher knows the route?” he asked while they were safely stopped.

“Possibly all routes.”

The horn repeated. Mohan did not answer it. Alisha looked at the queue and realised how rarely additional noise helped anyone understand the actual situation. They were waiting because there was nowhere useful to go, not because the road had failed to hear a request.

The recording continued. It suggested letting thoughts pass. Alisha had a long list of thoughts about a project at work and found this instruction both appealing and administratively ambitious.

After a few minutes, she asked whether Mohan wanted ordinary music instead. He said a gentle playlist would be fine. As the passenger, she handled the change without involving his hands or attention. The car acquired a quieter song and lost its temporary life coach.

They talked only when it was comfortable and safe. Mohan said he liked passengers who asked before taking over the sound. Alisha said she appreciated drivers who did not treat every delay as an argument that needed winning.

At another pause, Mohan asked whether the recording included instructions for people who blocked pickup areas. Alisha said probably not so specifically. He nodded, apparently disappointed by the syllabus. She suggested that clear signs might work better for that part. They agreed that practical instructions and peaceful thoughts did not need to compete.

The journey remained slow in places. Nobody pretended a recording could replace practical driving decisions. Still, the mood had changed. Alisha stopped refreshing the arrival estimate every few seconds and sent her colleague one clear update instead.

At the destination, Mohan stopped appropriately and confirmed the ride had ended. Alisha disconnected her phone, checked her bag and thanked him.

“Good playlist,” he said.

“Even the accidental part?”

“Especially that part.”

Later, her friend asked why she had arrived at the office looking unusually relaxed. Alisha described the recording and the horn behind them.

“Did the traffic improve?” the friend asked.

“Not immediately.”

“Then what worked?”

“I stopped adding a second traffic jam inside my head.”

The friend considered this useful and requested the recording’s name. Alisha found it on her phone, then checked the queue before sending anything.

The next item was an energetic workout track.

She closed the app with relief.

Some follow-up instructions would have been harder to explain in a cab.

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