I wanted to get a first-hand experience of the work that many of us depend on every single day but rarely acknowledge. The kind of work we casually label as “menial,” while enjoying its convenience without a second thought. So I registered myself as a Rapido captain, willing to offer on-demand rides on my scooter whenever I chose to.
I did this not for content, not for sympathy, but to live—even briefly—the life we choose not to see.
It took several days for Rapido to verify my documents and credentials. When the account was finally enabled, I switched on the app on a Saturday. Within minutes, my phone buzzed.
My first ride had arrived.
“Uncle, You Don’t Look Like a Rapido Captain”
My first customer was a teenage boy. He hesitated when he saw me. I was dressed casually, in a long-sleeved polo T-shirt, jeans, and Crocs.
When I nudged him gently, he hopped on.
A little into the ride, he asked, “Uncle, you don’t look like a Rapido captain.”
I told him I was doing this to understand the experience.
The drop was barely one KM. I asked him why he booked a ride when he could have walked.
He replied softly, “I am late today. Usually my mother drops me. She couldn’t. I have a test in the next 10 mins.”
Convenience is often mistaken for laziness. In reality, it is sometimes the thin line between coping and failing.
When Language Becomes a Bridge
The second ride was with an IT professional from Bihar. He did not understand Telugu. I could not speak Hindi. So we met in English.
The conversation flowed effortlessly. Careers, cities, work pressures. I sensed his surprise, not at the conversation itself, but with whom he was having it.
Somewhere along the way, we unconsciously assume intelligence, articulation, and ambition disappear the moment someone wears a service uniform.
They do not.
An Engineer Without Direction
The third rider was an engineering graduate searching for a job in Java. His voice carried hope and fatigue in equal measure.
We spoke about interviews, expectations, and the sting of rejection. I tossed in a few trivia nuggets—Java the language, Java the Indonesian island, coffee, and Chai – HP’s once-hyped rival to Java. As he stepped out, he smiled and said, “now I know why Java’s logo looks like a coffee cup.”
Education may give us degrees, but it does not guarantee direction. On the road, everyone is simply trying to get somewhere.
Three Hundred Meters of Anxiety
An IT professional booked a ride for just 300 meters to the nearest metro station.
Three hundred meters.
I did not ask why. Maybe those 300 meters stood between being late and being reprimanded. Between holding on to a job and losing it.
An Entrepreneur Healing Himself
One of the most interesting rides was with an ex-entrepreneur from Chandigarh, currently undergoing therapy.
He stood barely 30 meters away, yet kept waving for me to take a U-turn and pick him up. I caught myself wondering—why not just walk a few steps? When he moved closer, I noticed the strain in his posture. A spinal issue. My assumption dissolved on the spot.
As he settled in, he asked my age. When I told him, he looked genuinely startled.
We spoke about failed ventures. Mental health. Vipassana. Silence. Stillness.
When he asked what I did for a living and I mentioned my regular job. He listened with a depth that felt rare.
At the end of the ride, he asked for my number and said “let’s stay in touch.”
Sometimes strangers offer more understanding than acquaintances ever do.
A Parcel, a Mistake, and Humanity
Next came a parcel delivery. The customer had “mistakenly” booked a ride instead of a parcel service. FYI, a ride costs less.
I waited ten minutes outside a gated community. When he finally arrived, he realized his mistake (booking a ride instead of parcel). Embarrassed and apologetic, he offered to cancel.
I told him it’s OK as I had already waited and agreed to deliver on the condition that the recipient collects it promptly. He thanked me repeatedly. That gratitude felt heavier than the parcel.
Decency costs nothing, yet it is increasingly rare.
Entitlement at Twenty
A girl, about twenty years old, booked a ride and gave the wrong pickup location. She guided me endlessly, five directions, zero effort. She waited inside her house the entire time.
At the end of the ride, she scanned the QR code, nodded, and walked away.
Something felt wrong.
I stopped to check whether I had received the payment.
I had not.
I went back to her. She said she was still trying to pay and that there was nothing to worry about. I showed the scanner again. This went on for two minutes. Finally, she called her mother and said, “Mom, I do not have money. I am sending a QR. Can you send fifty rupees?”
Her mother paid.
The girl showed no guilt. No embarrassment. It seemed business as usual to her.
A Name, a Story, a Smile
An IT professional from Tamil Nadu took the next ride. During our conversation, I explained the etymology of his name, Karthikeyan.
His face lit up.
Sometimes respect is simply being acknowledged as a thinking, feeling human being.
Silent Judgment
A municipal worker booked a ride from a cramped, slum-like stretch of the city. Reaching the pickup point wasn’t easy.
When I finally got there, she looked at me, at my clothes, at the laptop bag slung over my shoulder, and cancelled the ride without a word.
I was willing to drop her. She was unwilling to trust me.
Bias does not belong to one class alone.
When Thirty Rupees Feels Heavy
After dropping a job-hunting rider on a tiring Saturday afternoon, I stopped near a sugarcane vendor. A glass cost thirty rupees.
I could not bring myself to spend it. I never had any second thoughts when I had to spend on the finest food and drink. But this time, my conscience did not allow me to spend. Instead of cane juice, I settled for a ten-rupee water bottle.
That was the moment I realized I was no longer observing this life. I was living it. Counting. Calculating. Choosing.
After 22 rides, spread across two weeks of heat, sweat, dust, and aching limbs while exhaustion settled into my bones, I earned ₹892.81.
Every time someone paid me a rupee or two less in cash, it pained me a lot. That money felt priceless. Because in earning it, I understood this:
The real warriors are not the ones who speak about hard work from comfort.
They are the ones standing on the road, waiting, riding, delivering, absorbing impatience and disrespect, day after day, without complaint. They may be fighting a battle you know nothing about. They are not unskilled. They are not invisible. They are showing up every single day, choosing dignity over despair, and refusing to give up.
The next time you book a ride or take a delivery, be prompt, be humane. Someone is navigating traffic, weather, fatigue, and uncertainty to meet you at a pin on a map. Respecting their time is respecting their dignity.
Those 22 rides show the lives we usually don’t see. People working hard every day, dealing with pressure and bias, just to make a living. A good reminder that every job deserves dignity and respect.
Thank you, Venkat