Some Monday mornings begin with an alarm. Mine began with a bang.
On Sunday night, I boarded a sleeper bus to Chennai. It was one of those familiar overnight journeys: find the berth, settle in, and trust the driver to do the hard work while you sleep.
I sent the usual updates to my mother and wife: “Boarded the bus.” A small message, but an important ritual—especially when travelling overnight.
For a while, I scrolled through my phone. Then, sometime around 11 PM, I crashed.
Figuratively, of course.
The bus took care of the literal version a few hours later.
The 5 AM wake-up call
At around 5 AM, a violent bang pulled me out of deep sleep. The bus had collided with a water tanker. For a few seconds, there was only confusion—the kind where your body wakes up before your brain understands what has happened.
Sleep vanished instantly. Everyone began checking themselves and looking around. The front windshield was shattered, and the scene looked frightening enough to make the seriousness of the accident immediately clear.

Mayday on a Monday
Thankfully—and by God’s grace—there were no major injuries. That was the only detail that truly mattered.
Once the initial shock settled, I realised how quickly an ordinary journey can become a story you will repeat for years. One moment, I was peacefully asleep on the way to Chennai. The next, I was waking up to my own version of a mayday on a Monday.
Not the Monday morning I had planned. Definitely not the alarm tone I would recommend. But it ended with gratitude: shaken, startled, and suddenly wide awake—but safe.
Some journeys take you to a destination. Some give you a story. This one did both.








