Mumbai: The City That Can’t Sleep

I was 18 when I decided to mark my entrance into adulthood with a tattoo. I walked into a shop, picked a Chinese character I couldn’t read, one that meant “eternity”, and braced myself. In the beginning, I felt bold, maybe even wise. But by hour two, as the artist switched to a needle meant for shading, the pain shifted. It wasn’t sharp anymore, it was just relentless. A low, grinding hum beneath the skin.

That, as I’d later learn, is the exact feeling of arriving in Mumbai.

If New York is the city that doesn’t sleep, then Mumbai is the city that can’t. There’s no off-switch here. From the moment your plane descends into Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Airport, surrounded by skyscrapers and slums, it’s clear: this city runs on a different voltage. It’s not here to impress you. It’s here to reveal you, to yourself.

Lesson One: Surrender or Suffer

The first lesson Mumbai teaches isn’t wrapped in mysticism or tradition, it’s practical. Either surrender, or suffer.

Nothing here is convenient. Traffic feels like a controlled demolition experiment. The horns never stop. Street vendors shout, cab drivers compete for fares, and the heat clings to you like a second skin. But within that intensity is a kind of rhythm. A pattern. And if you give in to it, you start to see that what felt like chaos is actually its own form of order.

At first, every ride felt like a near-death experience. I’d get out of the car sore from clenching every muscle. But then something shifted. I began noticing how the drivers read each other, how horns weren’t just noise, but communication. I still can’t explain it, but I can say this: Mumbai traffic shouldn’t work, and yet, it somehow does. A metaphor, if there ever was one.

That surrender, of control, of expectation, is the only way to exist in this city without burning out. It doesn’t ask you to be perfect. It just asks that you stay open.

The Gift of Sonu

One of the people who helped me understand that was Sonu, our driver during my stay. He didn’t speak English, and my Hindi is… well, let’s call it “limited.” But thanks to my friend Ishan, who lives in Mumbai, we were able to communicate. Slowly, over time, we got to know each other.

Sonu works three jobs to support his family. That alone is enough to make you pause. But what struck me more than his resilience was his kindness. Every morning, he greeted us with a smile. Every ride, no matter how intense the traffic, he drove with calm. And somehow, despite how hard he was working, he never seemed hardened by it.

We made sure he never had to pay for a meal while we were there. On our last day, we handed him a large tip, not out of guilt or charity, but out of deep respect. He had become more than a driver. He became a thread in the fabric of our experience. Quietly, without needing praise, Sonu reminded us what grace looks like in motion.

Lesson Two: Judgments Are Mirrors

There’s a quote I return to often from Dr. Wayne Dyer: “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” Nowhere has that been more true than in Mumbai.

At first, the city overwhelmed me. The poverty. The noise. The visible suffering. I found myself wanting to fix things I didn’t understand, especially when I saw street dogs, emaciated and wandering through alleys. It was heartbreaking. I wanted to rescue every one of them.

But then I saw something else: these dogs were being fed by the very people we might label “destitute.” And in return, the dogs stood guard. There was a kind of sacred exchange happening, one I would have missed if I stayed in judgment.

I realized then that my discomfort wasn’t about the city. It was about what it was reflecting back at me. Mumbai didn’t need saving. It needed seeing.

Final Thought: Mumbai Leaves a Mark

Mumbai doesn’t ease you in. It baptizes you in contradiction—beauty beside suffering, silence inside noise, generosity in the midst of struggle. It can feel like too much. But if you stay open, if you surrender to it, something extraordinary happens: you fall in love. Not with the ease of it, but with its truth.

Much like that first tattoo, Mumbai leaves a mark. But unlike ink, it doesn’t fade. It settles in deeper, under the skin, and quietly changes how you see everything after.