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By:

Reeva Sakaria

8 November 2025 at 3:04:18 pm

How transport systems make urban life easier

Did you know Mumbai commuters lose hundreds of hours every year not in distance, but in delays, waiting, and uncertainty. In Mumbai, commuting can feel like a challenge, but technology is quietly changing that. Intelligent transport systems (ITS) are helping people navigate the city more efficiently by combining real-time data, adaptive routing, and smart coordination across trains, metros, monorails, buses, and last-mile options. At the forefront of this transformation is Yatri, Mumbai’s...

How transport systems make urban life easier

Did you know Mumbai commuters lose hundreds of hours every year not in distance, but in delays, waiting, and uncertainty. In Mumbai, commuting can feel like a challenge, but technology is quietly changing that. Intelligent transport systems (ITS) are helping people navigate the city more efficiently by combining real-time data, adaptive routing, and smart coordination across trains, metros, monorails, buses, and last-mile options. At the forefront of this transformation is Yatri, Mumbai’s official local app. Using ITS, Yatri shows the best combination of transport modes in real time, provides accurate live locations of trains and metros, and even enables smart, easy metro ticketing via QR codes. The result: a commute that’s no longer an uncertain experience, but a predictable, stressfree journey. It’s 8:20 a.m., and you have a 9:30 a.m. meeting in BKC, at a place you’ve never been to before. You pause for a moment, weighing your options. Do you risk sitting in traffic in a cab, watching the minutes tick by, or take a train and hope you don’t miss it by a minute? Will one small delay early in the journey quietly snowball into being late? This familiar moment of hesitation is something countless commuters in Mumbai experience every single day. In a city like ours, peak-hour travel is rarely linear. A route that looks manageable on a map can quietly stretch from under an hour to well over 80 minutes, with average speeds during rush hour dropping to 10–15 km/h on key corridors. Over time, I’ve noticed how commuters adapt: leaving earlier than necessary, padding schedules with buffers, mentally preparing for delays, carrying the cognitive load of uncertainty long before the journey even begins. What often goes unnoticed is how strong Mumbai’s public transport network already is. Every day, local trains carry nearly 7 million people across the city. Metros cut through peak-hour chaos with steady, reliable travel times. Buses, autorickshaws, skywalks, and short walks quietly take care of the last mile. But in real life, the challenge isn’t availability—it’s coordination. When commuters are forced to mentally stitch together trains, buses, metros, and walking routes without reliable information, they default to what feels familiar rather than what’s efficient. Take a common rush-hour commute from Lower Parel to Andheri East. By road alone, this journey can easily take 75–90 minutes on a bad day as traffic slows unpredictably. But when modes are combined, walking to Lower Parel station, taking a local train to Andheri, switching to the metro, and finishing with a short walk, the trip often takes just 45–55 minutes. That’s a time saving of 30–40 minutes per trip. Over a five-day workweek, that adds up to 2.5 - 3 hours; over a year, more than 100 hours reclaimed, time that would otherwise be lost to waiting, guesswork, and congestion. According to a report by The Times of India, using real-time data and adaptive routing, intelligent transport systems can cut commute times by 30–40% and reduce congestion hours by up to 35%. Cities around the world that have adopted ITS are already seeing the impact: fewer hours wasted inching through traffic, and more time getting where people need to be. What excites me most is how commuters themselves are becoming part of the solution. An overcrowded train, a signal failure, or a last-minute platform change often unfolds in real time through shared updates. On Yatri chat, people flag delays, confirm train arrivals, and alert fellow travellers before official announcements. This two-way flow, where technology is strengthened by human insights, creates a living, responsive network rather than a static schedule. Yatri brings journey planning, metro ticketing, live train locations, and real-time travel information into a single platform, helping commuters navigate efficiently across local trains, metros, monorails, buses, and last-mile options without guesswork. By combining intelligent transport systems with real-time updates from both technology and fellow travellers, journeys become predictable, stress-free, and under control, making cities feel smaller, connections closer, and everyday life just a little easier to navigate. The writer is a co-founder of Yatri. Views personal.)

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

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