Chapter 2: My First OLA Ride

Arjun Sharma gripped the steering wheel of his Maruti 800, parked on a bustling Bandra side street. The Mumbai sun beat down, but his phone’s glow held his attention: the Ola driver app, open and ready. After 20 minutes of waiting, his first order had finally pinged—a ride from Hill Road to Khar West, 5 kilometers away. A standard ₹200 fare, but with the Midlife Mastery System’s promise, he’d pocket every rupee, no 30% commission cut. This is it, he thought, heart racing. My first step to clawing back my life.

He drove through Bandra’s chaotic traffic, dodging rickshaws and honking scooters, to reach Hill Road. The passenger, a young woman in a kurti with a laptop bag, waved him down. “Khar West, near the station,” she said, sliding into the back seat. Arjun nodded, his nerves easing as he pulled into the flow of Mumbai’s streets. The Midlife Mastery System’s words echoed in his mind: “Be your own boss. No job will exploit you.”

The ride took 15 minutes, weaving past street vendors selling vada pav and cutting through narrow lanes. At Khar West, the passenger paid via the app, and Arjun’s phone buzzed: ₹200 credited. Midlife Mastery System: Full amount retained. Task Progress: 1/25 rides for ₹10,000 bonus. He grinned. Normally, Ola would’ve taken ₹60, leaving him ₹140. This was real money—his money.

Back in his Andheri flat, Arjun had only ₹3,000 left after giving Meera, his ex-wife, the ₹500,000 layoff compensation. Meera, with her “psycho” tantrums—screaming over a late chai or tossing his shirts for being unironed—had drained him for 20 years. Now, at 45, born in Mumbai’s first ’80s batch, he was jobless, but the Midlife Mastery System was his lifeline. Priya, his 20-year-old daughter, was just starting college, her admission forms submitted. Meera wouldn’t pay a paisa for her fees, leaving Arjun to figure it out.

He checked the app for another order. Noon was slow, but the Midlife Mastery System kept him hopeful. Another ping: a ride from Bandra to Santacruz, 3 kilometers, ₹120 fare. Full ₹120 mine, he thought, accepting it. As he drove, memories of Meera’s cruelty surfaced—her online posts bragging about her “thirty-something” looks, her ₹10,000 monthly splurges on designer bags while he scraped by, less valued than their pet dog. No more, he vowed.

The second passenger, a middle-aged man in a polo shirt, chatted about Mumbai’s traffic. Arjun, practicing the “service-oriented” vibe from the app’s requirements, kept it friendly. At Santacruz, another ₹120 hit his account. Task Progress: 2/25. Eight more rides today, and he’d hit ₹3,000–₹4,000, his daily goal. The ₹10,000 bonus for 25 rides felt within reach.

Arjun parked near a chai stall, sipping a cutting chai for ₹10. His phone buzzed—not an order, but a text from Priya: “Papa, need ₹2,000 for college books. Okay?” His heart sank. With ₹3,000 left, he couldn’t say no like Meera would. I’ll make it work, he thought, replying, “Will send soon.” The Midlife Mastery System’s next task flashed: “Run 1 km tomorrow, earn ₹1,000. Stay fit, live to 100.” A jog along Juhu Beach could cover Priya’s books.

As the afternoon rolled on, orders picked up. A ride to Dadar, then back to Bandra—₹300, ₹160, all his. Each fare felt like a small victory, a step away from Meera’s chaos and his old life as a wallet. At 45, Arjun wasn’t done. The Midlife Mastery System was his second chance, and Mumbai’s streets were his new battlefield.