Hyphenated-Homestead

Part 3: Midnight Detours, Speed Demons, and the First Victory

If you are binge reading, please carry on. If you just landed here from internet ether, I request to start reading from the top (Part 1)

Mumbai never sleeps, they say. But at 3:15 AM, it sure feels like it does.

As our Uber driver, SarjeRao, smoothly pulled out of the airport, I finally let myself relax. The worst was over, right? No more navigating chaotic underground parking, no more sweaty treks with baggage—just a straight ride to Pune. Simple. Easy. Predictable.

Until it wasn’t.

The Detour That Triggered Every Alarm Bell

Barely 15 minutes into the drive, SarjeRao veered off the main highway. The streetlights dimmed, the traffic thinned, and before I knew it, we were weaving through unfamiliar, deserted lanes of Mumbai.

For a second, my heart missed a beat.

At 3:30 AM, I was in a city I hadn’t lived in for over a decade, with my wife beside me in a car driven by a stranger. The “man” in me switched to high alert. All the wrong thoughts flooded in—Why is he leaving the highway? Is this a setup? Am I being paranoid, or is this actually a problem?

Mumbai is probably the safest city in India, right? And SarjeRao seemed like a nice guy. Besides, Uber trip tracking alerts my brother, and the app even warns if we go off route. I should be fine… right?

I couldn’t help myself. “Bhaiyya, highway zod kyun diya?” (Why the detour?)

SarjeRao, unbothered, smiled and said, “Gas bharna hai Sir, bas do minute.” (Just filling up gas, sir. Will be back on the highway soon.)

I exhaled. Looked at my wife. She gave me the look.

The one that said “I told you so.”

I grinned. Okay, maybe I overreacted. But hey, at least my instincts were still sharp.

High-Speed Thrills and Ghat Road Antics

Once back on the highway, SarjeRao made up for lost time. And by that, I mean he drove like an F1 racer with a personal vendetta against slow vehicles.

Indian highways at night are a different beast altogether. Massive, mostly overloaded semis (or just trucks as we call them in India) lumber along, often three-wide on a two-lane road, making overtaking an art form. SarjeRao, however, had mastered this art.

He zipped through gaps that barely existed, overtook from the shoulder when needed, and took winding ghat roads like a seasoned rally driver. My American sensibilities had long forgotten this style of driving—this wasn’t defensive driving, it was offensive survival.

But somewhere between the high-speed lane changes and the near misses, we got talking. And suddenly, SarjeRao wasn’t just a crazy fast driver—he was a gentleman at heart. He spoke fondly about his family, his love for long drives, and how he always made sure his passengers got home safe, no matter how late.

I smiled. Mumbai had changed. But its people? Still solid at the core.

A Surprise Early Arrival

When we left the airport around 3:15 AM, my brother told me he was heading to bed. “It’ll take you at least 7 AM to get here,” he had said.

But thanks to SarjeRao’s Schumacher-level driving, we were pulling into Kothrud by 5:30 AM. I called my brother.

“Hey, wake up! We’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

I didn’t have to say anything more. I knew he would be downstairs waiting.

And sure enough, as we turned the final, familiar corner into our street, there he was. Pacing. Waiting. Just like I knew he would be.

He wasn’t just there to greet me—this was big brother guilt. He had let me do this on my own, but deep down, he probably felt bad for not picking me up himself. Still, I knew he was happy—his little brother had made it home safe and sound.

A Small But Important Victory – Paying My Own Way

One of the things I really wanted to do on this trip was simple—pay for things myself.

For years, my brother had covered every expense during my India visits. No questions asked. But this time, I wanted to do it differently. I wanted to be a part of the system that India now runs on—UPI.

I pulled up my phone, entered ₹5650, and hit pay.

ERROR.

Shit. Wrong password.

My brother, always prepared, reached for his wallet. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, casually pulling out some cash.

No.

I took a deep breath, typed my UPI PIN again, and hit enter.

✅ Payment Successful.

A green checkmark. The sweetest victory. SarjeRao was paid. And yes, I threw in a handsome tip—some American habits never change.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t just a visitor—I was an active participant in the system I was once a part of. It felt… right.

Home, Finally

As we walked into the building, I could already smell it—chai brewing.

My sister-in-law had been waiting too. And as we stepped inside, it hit me: I was finally home. Not just physically, but in every way that mattered.

If you missed the opening blog post about this series, please read it here.

Next up: Food, Family, and a Walk Down Memory Lane.

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