Welcome to The Cab Travel Chronicles, the series where I share the surprising stories and human connections I find on my daily commutes. This is where it all began.

When I landed in Bangalore in 2014, I entered a strange new phase of life—one without my own vehicle. For four decades, I had been self-reliant in getting around, moving from a faithful cycle to a Luna, a Kinetic Honda to a Scooty, and finally, a car. I had even sold my last car before moving, fully intending to buy an automatic soon after (a Celerio was high on my list).

I had the perks of being in IT: test rides, booking benefits, the works. But while I waited, I observed. The long winding roads, sudden U-turns after miles, narrow service lanes, and maddening traffic made me pause. Was I truly ready to navigate this city behind the wheel?

I decided not to buy a car.

Embracing the City

Instead, I embraced Bangalore’s public transport. The city’s bus network is efficient, colorful, and accessible. I even rented a flat close enough to my workplace to walk—20 minutes from door to desk. Carrying my laptop in a haversack, I strolled every day, a freedom I hadn’t experienced in years.

But Bengaluru’s weather had other plans. With sudden showers and unpredictable clouds, I began turning to the newly booming cab services—Uber and Ola. Autos were unreliable and often unkind to non-Kannada speakers like me. I explored the entire city by bus. The bus stop was right outside my office gate. The red-colored, air-conditioned bus fascinated me. I also traveled on the blue and green color bus, which took me to the airport. Often, I’d buy a day pass and enjoy every ride. What impressed me the most was that the bus depot support team was available on the phone. They shared information about the required bus, including its location and the time it would arrive at my stop. Wow! This was amazing. My airport rides were secure with the Vayu Vajra bus. I felt like a tourist in my own country.

Of course, being a woman travelling alone didn’t go unnoticed. I attracted glances and occasional comments—it turns out age doesn’t shield you from that kind of attention!

The Surprising Discovery

When you drive your own vehicle, you’re in control. Public transport, however, opens doors to new experiences—and introduces us to strangers. That’s when I discovered something surprising: I loved hearing their stories.

Be it a fellow passenger, conductor, or cab driver, everyone had something to share—challenges, joys, regrets, dreams. I listened. Often, that was enough. I noticed the sensitivity and rudeness of passengers.

“Do You Ask Them Things?”

No. I only listen.

My brother, Suresh, enjoyed the stories I shared, but was always skeptical. “Why would a cab driver just open up to you? You must be asking questions,” he’d ask. I insisted I didn’t. People like to share their feelings with me.

He didn’t believe it—until the day we were trying to cross a crowded street on MG Road in Pune. We were stranded, unsure of when to dart across the chaos. Just then, one elderly, shabbily dressed man appeared with a stick. He offered help, and I accepted.

We crossed, and in those two minutes, he told me he was an ex-serviceman working as a security guard, trying to make ends meet while caring for a sick wife. He earned tips by helping people cross busy roads.

As we drove away, Suresh turned to me and said, “Now I believe you. People do talk to you.

Another Dinner Table, Another Doubt

Once, while chatting with my friend Jayshree and her son Indrajeet, I shared a story about a driver.

Jayshree asked, “Why did he tell you all that?”

I smiled. “People want to be heard. I listen actively. Maybe add a ‘Really?’ or ‘Oh, that must’ve been tough,’ and they continue.

She insisted, “You must have asked him something.”

Before I could answer, Indrajeet jumped in: “Sneha Maushi is right. She listens well. She talks at the level of whoever she’s with—elder, child, driver—it’s easy to connect with her. That sealed it.

From Stories to a Book

My brother Suresh, amused by the stories, encouraged me to document these interactions. He said others might enjoy these real-life vignettes as well. That’s how the idea of my second book began—sharing the stories of cab drivers and the quiet acts of kindness or resilience that left an impression on me.

Not all moments were pleasant. Some drivers were rude or unkind, and I remember those few stinging moments.

But most of my stories are about connection. They’re about seeing people as people, even when they’re strangers on wheels.

So here begins my chronicle of cab travel stories—of strangers who became storytellers, of rides that revealed life’s many layers, one conversation at a time.

Continue The Cab Travel Chronicles

Have you ever had someone open up to you unexpectedly? What did you find when you decided to listen?

A Note to My Readers: This is the first post in The Cab Travel Chronicles, a series of real-life stories from my daily commutes across Bangalore. Each entry captures a moment of unexpected connection, a glimpse into someone’s life, or a quiet act of kindness. I hope you’ll join me as I continue to listen, learn, and share —one ride at a time.

Another ride: What We Carry: A Cab Ride and the Weight of Stories