Conversation with Rickshaw wala

This morning, on my way to the station, I sat in a rickshaw—another routine ride in Mumbai.

Nothing dramatic. No expectations.

“Bhaiyaa, station chaloge?”

“Hmm.”

“Online hai?”

He smiled, looked at me through the mirror and said,

“Aap baitho toh sahi. Online–offline, sab bata deta hoon.”

I told him honestly,

“Aap baad mein ladte ho isliye pehle hi pooch liya.”

That’s when he said something simple, almost casually:

“Ye Mumbai walon ne life itni complicate karke rakhi hai na… online nahi rakhunga toh mera hi nuksaan hai.”

He wasn’t complaining. He was stating a fact.

And then, as we moved towards the station, he started showing me why.

On the road, Mumbai revealed itself.

• A man in his 50s rode past us—no helmet, speeding, eyes fixed ahead. Office time. Late already.
• A little further, another rider—again no helmet—one hand on the handle, the other holding his phone. Calls more important than balance. Work more urgent than safety.
• Then someone else—driving and spitting on the road, without hesitation or awareness.

The rickshaw wala noticed everything.

What struck me wasn’t just what he saw—but that he saw.

Here was a man—an outsider to Mumbai, not armed with degrees, not sitting in air-conditioned offices—yet he understood the city better than many who claim to run it.

Around us were people with high levels of education.

Corporate employees. Professionals. People considered “successful.”

And yet, they were the ones driving recklessly.

Breaking basic rules.

Risking their own lives—and others’.

The irony was loud.

The one navigating Mumbai for survival had clarity.

The ones navigating it for success had lost it.

Just before I got down, he said something that made me stop thinking like a commuter and start thinking like a human:

“Hamare state mein kam se kam logon ko jeena aata hai. Yahan Mumbai mein log zindagi ke liye kaam karte hain… aur phir marne ka intezaar karte hain.”

That sentence stayed.

Because he was right.

Mumbai teaches you how to work.

It teaches you how to earn.

It teaches you how to compete.

But somewhere in the process, many forget how to live.

And the most uncomfortable part?

It wasn’t the rickshaw wala who had forgotten.

Sometimes, wisdom doesn’t come from education.

Sometimes, it comes from observation.

And sometimes, the people we call “outsiders” see the truth most clearly – because they’re not blinded by the race.

So maybe the question isn’t whether Mumbai is too fast.

Maybe the question is whether we’re too busy proving something to pause and ask—

Are we living… or just working hard enough to wait for the end?