Arjun Sharma eased his Maruti 800 into a Bandra car wash, paying ₹200 to erase the stench of Anjali’s Corgi from the back seat. The car sparkled under the monsoon drizzle, a small triumph after a messy morning.
Anjali had filed a complaint on the Ola app, but Arjun brushed it off. I’ll jump to Uber if needed, he thought. Then his phone buzzed: “Midlife Mastery System: As a tycoon, you’re immune to all complaints.” The complaint vanished. Arjun laughed, a weight lifting off his chest, lighter than he’d felt in years.
From his first order to the car wash, an hour and a half had ticked by. With two and a half hours until his 6 p.m. cutoff, he chased his ₹2,000–₹2,500 daily goal. Current progress: 8/25 rides for ₹10,000 bonus.
He tweaked the Ola app for short rides—under 10 kilometers, some just 2–3. Most drivers skipped these, pocketing ₹50–₹100 after commissions. Arjun didn’t care. The Midlife Mastery System’s no-commission perk meant a ₹200 ride stayed ₹200, and quick trips pushed him closer to the 25-ride bonus.
His next passengers were a breath of fresh air after Anjali—punctual, polite. A student from Khar to Santacruz, 4 km for ₹210. Then a businessman from Bandra to Dadar, 7 km for ₹380. Each ride took ~20 minutes, netting ₹800–₹1,000 hourly, all his. Without the system, Ola’s 30% cut would’ve left him ₹600–₹700, barely covering Mumbai’s soaring rents.
By 5:45 p.m., Arjun hit 25 rides, weaving through Mumbai’s honking traffic. His phone buzzed: “Task completed: 25/25. ₹10,000 reward credited. Funds are legal, no worries.” A bank alert followed: “SBI: ₹10,000 deposited to account ending 6867. Balance: ₹14,600.”
With ₹2,440 from the 25 rides (doubled fares, averaging ₹100 per ride), ₹1,000 from Anjali’s car wash payment, minus ₹200 for cleaning, his balance hit ₹14,600. Enough for Priya’s college books and more. Arjun withdrew the Ola earnings via UPI, grinning at the Midlife Mastery System’s magic. No more scraping by, he thought. Tomorrow, he’d try longer rides to stretch his earnings.
He drove home before the Maruti’s battery faded, the city’s neon lights cutting through the humid dusk. His Andheri flat, near Jogeshwari’s Shivaji Park, was a crumbling 2006 wedding home with Meera. Red-bricked, eight stories, no elevator, it was now mostly rented to migrant workers for ₹4,000 a month. Arjun’s third-floor unit, with a parking spot, creaked like a relic.
“Priya, home?” he called, unlocking the door. Silence. His 20-year-old daughter, just starting college, was likely out with friends, sipping cold coffee at Carter Road. Meera, his “psycho” ex-wife, had finalized their divorce today, leaving Priya with him. Her tantrums—flinging plates over burnt rotis or posting “thirty-something” selfies for likes—still stung. Priya, indifferent to the split, mirrored Meera: 1.6 meters, curvy, average face with bold eyeliner, and a cold edge.
Arjun, with his Mumbai University bachelor’s and master’s, had slaved for them, yet Meera branded him “useless.” Born in 1980, he envied the ’60s and ’70s, when wives cooked, and husbands earned. He’d cooked, cleaned, and earned ₹50,000 monthly, outshone by Meera’s pampered Corgi. Now, free from her chaos, cooking for two felt like a breeze.
Priya snacked on chaat or pav bhaji outside, so Arjun grabbed potatoes, green peppers, and eggplant from the fridge. His phone buzzed: “Midlife Mastery System: Temporary task—Cook two dishes, open a beer, enjoy a meal, forget the past, start anew. Reward: ₹1,000.”
Like a game, but life-changing, Arjun thought, smiling. He whipped up spicy potato fry, baingan bharta, and kichdi for Mumbai’s sticky nights, pairing it with a chilled Kingfisher. In 30 minutes, dinner steamed on the table.
“Task completed: ₹1,000 credited.” A bank alert pinged: “SBI: ₹1,000 deposited to account ending 6867. Balance: ₹15,600.”
Savoring his meal, Arjun scrolled YouTube Shorts, watching “Bhai Breakup,” a 38-year-old divorce vlogger whose ex-wife rants hit close to home. Women flooded Bhai’s comments, flirting shamelessly. Arjun toyed with vlogging his own struggles—divorced, broke, but rising—but laughed it off. The system’s better than likes.
Meera, for all her faults, gave him Priya. Today’s women, he mused, seemed less accountable, demanding flats and cars without wanting kids. Why marry, then? he wondered, sipping his beer.
The door creaked. “Priya! Eaten?” he called.
“Yep,” Priya mumbled, her face flushed, steps wobbly from drinks with friends.
“Partying again?” Arjun asked.
She ignored him. “You divorced Ma?”
“Yeah. You staying with her or me?”
“Ma’s got no house. I wander with her?” Priya, 1.6 meters like Meera, stormed to her room, her eyeliner smudged.
The three-bedroom flat, one room for his village parents, felt cozy despite its peeling walls. Alone, Arjun ate in peace, no “psycho” Meera screeching in his ear. After washing dishes, his phone buzzed: “Midlife Mastery System: Long-term task—Jog 2 km after dinner, no time limit. Reward: ₹2,000. A millionaire needs health.”
Juhu Beach tonight, Arjun planned, ready to run toward his new life.
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