I live in the millennial city, the pride of Delhi-NCR, and the IT hub—Gurugram. But Monday evening turned into one of the longest nights of my life on the roads of my city, stuck in a traffic jam for 11
hours. It speaks volumes of how, behind the glitzy and plush condominiums and apartment complexes, the public infrastructure lies in shambles.
I had taken leave to help my parents finish some important work, and we were supposed to leave early on Tuesday morning for Agra to meet our chartered accountant with the tax deadline approaching. Instead, we ended up spending almost the entire night inside our car, stuck in a massive jam while returning from MG Road, Gurugram, to our residence on the Dwarka Expressway. Minutes became hours, stuck amidst bad bumper-to-bumper traffic.
It all began around 4.30pm when we left after a meeting at MG Road. Heavy rain was pouring down, and the roads were already waterlogged. Still, I didn’t imagine what awaited us. To lighten the mood, I told my mom that once we got home, we’d make chai and pakoras. Google Maps showed 2 hours 35 minutes for a drive that usually takes barely 35 minutes. There was a “+51 minutes” warning on one stretch, but I thought we could manage.
By the time we reached near Hero Honda Chowk, my hope began fading. The car was barely crawling, and at times, not moving at all. Around us, vehicles started breaking down—some flooded with water, others running out of fuel—only worsening the jam. My parents, both diabetic, began feeling weak as hunger set in. Thankfully, Gurgaon’s well-lit stretches around the sprawling wine and beer shops had smaller stores where I managed to grab some chips and snacks. That little relief helped us push on.
Inside the car, to distract ourselves from the monotony, old Hindi songs from the 1960s played softly in the background. Their timeless melodies gave us a strange sense of comfort as the rain lashed outside and endless red tail-lights stretched ahead. I was thankful that our fuel tank was full, and during long stretches of standstill, I switched off the engine to save fuel—something that gave me peace of mind as I saw cars around us stranded after running dry.
Around midnight, a glimmer of hope appeared as we spotted the cloverleaf—the sleek new highway that leads us home. By 11.30pm, we finally hit it and heaved a sigh of relief. Our bodies ached, we were hungry, but we kept praying for the ambulance stuck in the same jam. We tried to make way for it, but I still don’t know if it managed to get through. Adding to the surreal scene, people were wading across the flooded roads, holding their shoes in their hands.
Just when we thought the ordeal was over, at around 12am, Google Maps turned red again. Another gridlock on local roads connecting apartments at Dwarka Expressway. We spent more than two hours crossing two locally jammed roads before inching forward.
At one point, my mother even requested a traffic police officer who was standing nearby but not intervening. His reply was disheartening—he said he had been trying to solve the situation for the last four hours and was too tired. A little ahead, his colleague sat down to have dinner while hundreds of us remained stuck in our cars.
By the time we finally reached home at around 3am, we were exhausted. We quickly prepared a simple dinner and went to bed, postponing all plans to the next day. All we wanted was rest after a night spent trapped on Gurgaon’s waterlogged roads—with old 1960s songs as our unlikely companions.
Kudos to all those who stepped out of their cars in the pouring rain to unclog snarls and help clear the way—ordinary citizens turning into traffic managers when the city needed it most.
