The Green-Light Shock

Mohan had not intended to become emotionally attached to a traffic signal. It happened gradually, through familiarity and a surprisingly comfortable back seat.

He was a passenger in a cab near Bellandur, heading home after a long day. His driver, Yasir, followed the road calmly and stopped properly at the red light. Mohan looked at the queue, adjusted his seat belt and accepted that they would be there for a while.

At first, he checked a message. Then he put the phone down. He noticed a small shop sign, a tree branch and a man on the pavement carrying a very ambitious bunch of balloons. The scene became familiar enough to feel like a temporary neighbourhood.

Yasir remained attentive. Mohan, who had no responsibility for driving, began choosing a podcast on his own headphones. He tucked his bag securely beside his feet, checked that nothing could roll, and settled into the small pause.

The podcast asked whether modern life had become too hurried.

Mohan looked out at the stationary queue and felt the episode had selected an interesting setting.

He leaned back. His shoulders relaxed. The balloon man remained outside, conducting delicate negotiations with the wind. Mohan had almost reached the point of wondering whether the shop sold something useful when the signal changed and the car moved normally.

He sat up with the surprise of a hotel guest discovering checkout had arrived early.

“Oh,” he said.

Yasir checked the road and continued safely. There was no abrupt acceleration, only the ordinary movement Mohan had been hoping for ten minutes earlier.

At the next suitable pause, Yasir asked whether everything was all right.

“Yes. I had settled.”

“In traffic?”

“Temporarily.”

The driver smiled. “Now we can go.”

Mohan nodded, slightly offended by his own reaction. He had wanted progress. Then he had built a little psychological room inside the delay and resented its demolition.

He messaged his friend as a passenger: I just got surprised by movement.

The friend replied that this sounded like a reasonable summary of adulthood.

The podcast continued discussing hurry. Mohan listened differently now. Waiting was not always wasted, but it was also not a place he could demand to keep once the road became available. The driver’s job was to move safely when possible, not preserve the atmosphere of his passenger’s momentary retreat.

His friend suggested naming the phenomenon Signal Residency. Mohan replied that the deposit would be paid in patience and the notice period supplied by a traffic light. The friend immediately asked whether visitors were allowed. Mohan said only if they remained in their own vehicles. This exchange was less useful than the podcast but considerably more enjoyable.

At another signal, he resisted making a large production of settling in. His bag stayed secure. His seat belt stayed fastened. He watched the surroundings and enjoyed the pause without establishing a tenancy.

When green came, he was ready for the entirely unsurprising consequence.

Yasir noticed the small smile when they reached the destination and stopped in a suitable place.

“Good podcast?”

“Mostly. Strong competition from the journey.”

Mohan thanked him, checked his belongings and stepped out safely. At home, his wife asked how traffic had been. He said slow in places, then unexpectedly mobile.

She looked at him. “That is usually the idea.”

“I understand it intellectually.”

He described the long red light, the balloons and his temporary attachment to a shop he had never entered. She laughed, then pointed to the sofa.

“Here. You can settle properly.”

Mohan sat down, put his bag away and relaxed.

A minute later, she called that dinner was ready.

He looked up in familiar surprise.

“Again with the moving.”

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