Kishore Da To the Rescue!

Ramesh was in his car, locked in what could only be described as the father of traffic jams. Two hours, zero movement. The cars weren’t moving, but the blood pressure of the drivers was breaking Olympic records.

On his left, a man in a shirt and tie was so furious he had unbuttoned half his shirt — his chest hair looked angrier than him. On his right, an auto driver was yelling at a cow that had sat royally in the middle of the road like it had booked the entire lane on BookMyShow. The cow continued chewing and blinked slowly as if to say, “Bhai, chill.”

Some bikers had switched off their engines and were pushing their bikes with tragic faces, like extras in a slow-motion sci-fi fantasy movie. A fruit seller appeared between cars, announcing, “Banana lo, timepass karo!” One uncle had given up entirely and was snoring loudly in his driver’s seat.

Ramesh felt his patience break like a papad dipped in too much curry. But then, salvation arrived. He tapped his phone, and Kishore Da entered like a hero.

The first song floated in:
“Zindagi ek safar hai suhana…”
Something inside him shifted. Instead of sulking, he leaned back and hummed. Suddenly, the traffic jam didn’t feel like punishment—it felt like life giving him a compulsory karaoke session.

Next came:
“Mere sapno ki rani kab aayegi tu…”
Ramesh looked at the frustrated man in the car beside him and thought, “Your rani is probably stuck two autos behind, bargaining with a cucumber seller.” The man didn’t laugh, but Ramesh did.

Then the speakers played:
“Neele Neela Ambar Par…”
Now Ramesh was drumming his steering wheel like a tabla, head bobbing so hard the guy in the back thought he was having a fit. A peanut vendor shouted, “Wah! Free Kishore Kumar concert!”

As the sun dipped, “Yeh shaam mastani…” filled the car. The orange sky and lazy breeze made the traffic feel like a picnic, a very noisy, polluted picnic. Ramesh rolled down his window, stretched his hand out dramatically, and allowed two mosquitoes to join in.

Soon, “Ek ladki bheegi bhaagi si…” began. Just then, a drizzle started tapping on his windshield. Ramesh laughed like life itself had hired a background music director. The uncle snoring next door woke up, confused, thinking he had been transported to a black-and-white movie.

By the time “Mere Naina Saawan Bhadon…” played, Ramesh was in full concert mode—waving, swaying, sending flying kisses to his rear-view mirror like a filmi hero. The cow flicked its tail to approve the song.

Finally, when the traffic began to crawl, “Musafir hoon yaaron…” played. Perfect timing. Ramesh tapped the wheel, laughed, and shouted, “Yes! Could there be a better soundtrack to finally moving after three hours?”

He reached home late, but not tired, not angry, not sulking. Instead, he walked in humming Kishore Da, smiling like a man who had turned a three-hour jam into a three-hour jukebox. His wife raised an eyebrow and asked, “Traffic?”
Ramesh nodded proudly.
She sighed and said, “Kash sab aadmi aise phaste.”

Horn-Free Gyaan:

Life is basically one big traffic jam.

Sometimes it’s on the road.
Sometimes it’s in your office when your boss says, “Quick meeting, only 5 minutes”—and you’re still there three hours later watching your career crawl slower than an angry snail.
Sometimes it’s at home when your Wi-Fi decides to buffer right at the climax of a cricket match.

You can do what everyone else does: honk, shout, bang the steering wheel, blame the government, threaten the cow, and age 10 years in 10 minutes.
Or… you can do what Ramesh did—switch on Kishore Da and declare, “If the car isn’t moving, let me move my mood.”

Because think about it—

• Traffic can jam your car, but why let it jam your happiness?
• Life will block the road, but music can unblock your brain.
• Stress makes wrinkles; Kishore Da makes dimples.

So next time life puts you in a jam, don’t honk like a goat with asthma. Don’t pull your hair, because that’s your barber’s job. Just roll down your window, blast Kishore Kumar, and turn your misery into a musical roadshow.

Remember: Petrol khatam ho sakta hai, patience khatam ho sakta hai, par Kishore Da kabhi khatam nahi hote.

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