Industrial photography can take you to factories, furnaces, forests, and sometimes… straight into the jaws of madness. And this story? This one is served piping hot with fear, fun, and full Hyderabadi attitude.
It began like any other assignment—me and my assistant sitting in the rear seat of a faithful old **Ambassador**, a car so legendary it should’ve had its own Aadhaar card. The roads were silent, the breeze was cool, and we were busy discussing important things in life:
• Whether the chai at the next dhaba will have proper “adhrak ka kick.”
• Why wide-angle lenses behave like moody girlfriends.
• And whether advertising agencies secretly enjoy torturing photographers.
All was well… until the trees began to thicken like the plot of a thriller movie.
Welcome to the **Midnight Jungle Route**—no streetlights, no humans, no hope. Only darkness, crickets, mysterious howls, and us.
And then the heavens opened.
Not a drizzle. Not rain.
No.
This was **Baarish: The Revenge**.
Sheets of water slammed the windshield so hard it felt like the sky was washing its sins. We could barely see a few feet ahead—not even enough to spot our own tension.
Naturally, we waited for the driver to switch on the wipers.
Naturally, this too was wishful thinking.
Instead, he did something straight out of a comedy movie:
He rolled down the window, poked half his body out like a wildlife photographer searching for cheetahs, and **started manually wiping the windshield with a damp kapda**.
I blinked once. Then twice.
“Bhai saab… wipers?” I asked, hoping there was at least a sad backstory.
He replied without shame, without doubt, and without logic,
“Are miyaan… wipers kya karenge? *Gaadi dil se chalti.*”
Dil. Se.
The Ambassador shuddered. My assistant almost fainted. The rain intensified as if it wanted front-row seats to our tragedy.
He now had one hand on the wheel and one hand out of the car, wiping the glass like it was a dosa tawa.
And somehow… this man was SPEEDING.
A dramatic wide-angle point-of-view shot from inside an old Ambassador, racing through a storm-lashed jungle at midnight. The driver leans out of the window, wiping the rain-soaked windshield with one hand while confidently steering with the other. In the backseat, two terrified passengers lean forward, eyes bulging, caught between panic and disbelief as lightning illuminates the dense forest outside. The scene is raw, cinematic, and soaked in adrenaline—perfectly capturing the madness of a ride no one could forget.
The jungle around us transformed into a full-blown horror set:
• Thunder roaring like a drunk Sindhi uncle on karaoke night.
• Lightning cutting the sky like a Japanese sword.
• Trees bending like item dancers in a climax song.
• Our hearts beating like tabla in a qawwali.
“Some rides test your skills. This one tested our souls.”
My assistant whispered,
“Sir… why are we doing industrial photography? Why couldn’t we choose accounts job at SBI?”
I tried logic again.
“Bhai, speed kam karo…”
He smiled like a saint who had seen 17 past lives.
“Saab, speed kam karne se problem badhta. Bharosa badhao.”
*Bharosa?*
Bhai, at this point even the car didn’t trust him!
Still… he drove like a jungle-trained ninja. Not a single skid. Not a single wrong turn. The man was a walking GPS—*Ganja Positioning System.*
Every few minutes he did the same routine:
Window down.
Wipe wipe wipe.
Window up.
Full speed.
At one point I swear even the **monkeys** were watching from the branches like: “Yeh log pagal hai kya?”
But finally… after surviving enough jump-scares to make a Bollywood horror trilogy… we emerged from the jungle. The road opened wide. Rain calmed. Windshield dried. Our souls returned to our bodies.
The driver turned, chest out, moustache twirling, and declared with pride:
“Dekha saab? Aap tension lete hain. Main toh maze karta.”
Maze.
Yes.
This man called our near-death experience *maze*.
Me and my assistant looked at each other and burst out laughing—the kind of laugh that only comes after you realise you’re still alive.
“We entered the jungle as photographers. We came out as survivors.”
---
## **The Moral?**
Life will throw storms, jungles, and malfunctioning wipers at you.
Sometimes you just need a mad Hyderabadi driver with overconfidence levels higher than petrol prices.
And next time…
We’re carrying:
• A Raincoat
• A Torch
• A Power Bank
• And a brand-new pair of WIPERS
Just in case destiny wants a sequel.
Our Other funny stories
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