Fiction: Third-generation producer Andy was part of Bollywood elite. Now he’s a walking disaster

Back to facing Linking Road, Andy had to make a decision. Turn right and head towards Bandra, or turn left and head into the armpit of Mumbai, that sorry place where the film people congregated, Andheri West. Andy decided to turn left. He could hang at either Starbucks or The Club. There were always people he knew hanging around and who knows, they might end up making plans for the evening.

Making the left turn, Andy saw to his delight, that had he turned right, which he was inclined to do initially, he would have come out right behind a green garbage truck. And Andy, with or without a coke high, couldn’t imagine sitting another half an hour to forty-five minutes in traffic behind a garbage truck. But that said, his situation wasn’t any better in terms of speed or progress. By now, the evening rush hour was beginning. All lanes on all sides were blocked solid. Google maps would be red-redder-reddest.

Is there really a rush hour in Mumbai? In about thirty minutes, he had covered almost four kilometres. As he wormed deeper into Andheri West, bumper to bumper with all manner of transport ranging from the 14th-century thela to the sparkling 21st-century...

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