r/ourvadodara | reddlx

It was one of those nights.

I had just finished editing a video — you know that phase where your brain is fried, eyes are burning, but heart is still restless? That. So I thought, “Chalo, ek round maar ke aate hain.”

Helmet uthaya, bina destination ke nikal gaya.

Now if you’ve been in Vadodara long enough, you know — this city doesn’t sleep like Mumbai, and it doesn’t die like smaller towns. It just… slows down and starts breathing differently.

I crossed Fatehgunj — still alive, obviously. A couple of chai stalls, some engineering students discussing life like they’ve figured everything out (they haven’t), and one guy loudly saying, “Bhai startup karte hain.” Classic.

I didn’t stop.

Kept riding.

Reached near Kala Ghoda. Empty. Almost too empty. The kind of silence where even your own thoughts sound loud.

And that’s when I saw him.

One old man. Probably late 60s. Sitting on a broken plastic chair next to a closed paan shop. No phone. No chai. Just… sitting.

I slowed down. Not because I was curious. Because something felt… off.

You know that instinct? When a scene feels like it’s trying to tell you something.

I parked.

Walked up to him.

“Uncle, sab theek?”

He looked at me like I had interrupted a very important meeting… with himself.

Then he smiled.

“Tum log abhi bhi raat ko ghoomte ho?”

I laughed. “Haan… thoda dimag shaant karne.”

He nodded. Like he understood more than I said.

Then out of nowhere, he goes —

“Pehle yahan raat ko awaaz hoti thi.”

Now I’m confused. “Awaaz?”

He points around.

“Logon ki. Baatein. Cycle ki ghanti. Radio. Hasi. Ab sirf gaadiyan hain… aur jaldi mein log.”

That hit harder than expected.

Because he wasn’t complaining.

He was… remembering.

We stood there for maybe 10–15 minutes. Random conversation. Or at least it sounded random.

He talked about how he used to work in a printing press near Mandvi. How nights were louder back then. How people had time.

Then suddenly he asked me,

“Tum kya karte ho?”

“Video editor.”

Pause.

“Matlab kahaniyaan kaatte ho… ya banate ho?”

I didn’t have an answer.

Because honestly… most days, I just cut clips.

He smiled again. That calm, slightly sad smile.

“Dhyaan rakhna. Kahaniyaan sirf kaatne ke liye nahi hoti.”

I left after that.

Started my scooty. Rode back.

But something had changed.

Vadodara still looked the same — same roads, same lights, same late-night chai stalls.

But now it felt like the city was full of unfinished conversations.

People who used to talk… but don’t anymore.

Stories that were loud… but got edited out.

And suddenly I realized — maybe the city didn’t become quiet.

Maybe we just stopped listening.

Next day, I went back to that spot.

Closed paan shop was still there.

Plastic chair was gone.

And so was he.

I don’t know who he was.

Maybe just an old man.

Maybe just my overthinking brain.

Or maybe… Vadodara decided to talk for one night.

And I happened to be there to listen.