The Mumbai monsoon draped Andheri in a sticky haze, the evening air at 38°C clinging to Arjun Sharma as he parked his petrol-powered Maruti 800 in his complex's lot. At 45, 1.85 meters, and ~100 kg, he felt a spark he'd lost in his IT days, when Meera's "psycho" tantrums—screaming over spilled chai or his late-night cricket games on the laptop—had bloated him with stress. Back then, 80-hour weeks and her ₹20,000 lehenga splurges drained his energy, piling on the kilos. Now, the Midlife Mastery System was his reset button—better digestion, lighter steps, a grin that stuck. Freedom's my real gym, he thought, grabbing the two bags of fruit from yesterday's ₹4,800 splurge at Fruit Fiesta: 5 kg Alphonso mangoes at ₹2,500, 5 kg Kesar mangoes at ₹1,050, 5 kg peaches at ₹1,250.
His phone showed ₹20,050, built from ₹3,400 in Ola rides (10 trips averaging ₹220, doubled by the system) and a ₹5,000 cashback, Today, he'd splurged ₹5,000 on Nike sneakers via Swiggy Instamart, confirmed with a UPI ping: "SBI: ₹5,000 debited. Balance: ₹15,050." Still, his ₹3,400 daily hustle could hit ₹90,000 a month, trouncing his old ₹50,000 IT peak. Meera hoarded every paisa; now I spend smart, he mused, planning a pension for Priya's future or maybe a new scooter. The Midlife Mastery System made it possible.
"Arjun bhai!" Mrs. Desai's voice rang out, her saree fluttering as she shuffled from the complex gate, clutching a bag of guavas. "Those fancy fruits again?"
Arjun hefted his bags, smirking. "Just enjoying my Fruit Fiesta haul—Alphonso, Kesar, peaches. Gotta treat myself."
"Arre, so posh!" Mrs. Desai's eyes popped at his ₹4,800 receipt, tucked in a bag. "Juhu market's half the price! Divorce has you living like a Bandra influencer!" Her laugh warmed the humid dusk, her role as the complex's gossip queen making her everyone's favorite aunty, from the watchman to the doodhwala.
"Take some," Arjun offered, handing her 2kg Kesar mangoes and a 1 kg peach, worth ₹700. "You've shared your village pickles for years."
"Hai Ram, ₹700 for fruit!" she protested, but her smile widened as she accepted. "You're glowing, Arjun bhai. Meera was… a tornado, no? Heard Radhika's blind date crashed—some Colaba bigshot ghosted her. She's still chasing a BMW-wala like Meera's new guy."
Arjun chuckled, recalling his fib to Radhika about Meera's 29-year-old Malabar Hill boyfriend from their Marine Drive ride. "Radhika's got her work cut out," he said. "Meera's chaos was next-level—chai spills were a war crime."
Mrs. Desai leaned in, conspiratorial. "Half the aunties here want to set you up! A flat, a car, spending like this—you're a catch!"
"Let them dream," Arjun winked, heading upstairs. "I'm good."
In his flat, Priya's absence was expected—likely at a Vile Parle café, snapping reels with college friends. At 20, starting Mumbai University, she was a whirlwind, her coolness sometimes stinging. He sent a WhatsApp: "Priya, where you at?"
"Bandra, study group. Back by 9," she replied, adding a coffee emoji. Study group or Instagram? Arjun thought, typing: "No clubs, stay safe."
"Chill, Dad. Grabbing dosa," she shot back, with an eye-roll emoji. He laughed—her sass was Meera's, minus the "psycho" edge. Keep it to dosas, kid.
He washed a Kesar mango and a peach, chilling them for a fruit salad. The mango's scent sparked memories of village summers, dodging farmers for sour fruit that ripened sweet by August. Settling on the couch, he opened YouTube, where Bhai Breakup's latest video blared. "Yo, bros! Thane coder, big firm, but my ex? Total nautanki! Dropped my cash on Juhu boutique saris, then flipped out over my chai breaks!" Arjun roared—Bhai Breakup, a Mumbai grad with a knack for divorce rants, was his mirror. Meera's diploma didn't match Bhai's ex's IIT cred, but their chaos was identical. Love's not a degree, he mused, liking the video. The comments were savage—30-something guys whining about "toxic exes." Kids these days.
Savoring his lush fruit salad, Arjun washed the bowl, swapped flip-flops for his new ₹5,000 Nikes—delivered in an hour via Swiggy Instamart. Mumbai's apps outrun my old IT deadlines, he thought, checking his UPI again: ₹15,050 The sneakers stung, but the system's rewards softened it. Spend smart, save smarter—maybe a pension next.
He hopped on his TVS scooter, weaving through Andheri's potholed streets to Juhu Beach. Sidewalks were a mess—hawkers, dogs, cracks—but the beachfront was a runner's paradise. The sun dipped, painting the sky orange, as couples strolled, kids flew kites, and bhel puri vendors shouted. A chaiwala waved a cutting chai, but Arjun grinned, "Not today, bhai!" No chai drama here.
Under a palm tree, he warmed up—jumping jacks, leg stretches, ankle rolls—for 10 minutes. Day one's sprint without prep had nearly killed him; now, he was wiser. A 2-km jog along the shore followed, dodging a stray dog chasing waves and a kid's errant kite. Juhu's neon stalls glowed, the sea breeze cooling his sweat. He felt alive, each step shedding Meera's stress. Logging the run via the Midlife Mastery System, his phone pinged: "₹2,000 credited for running. SBI: ₹2,000 credited to account ending 6867. Balance: ₹17,050."
A new task flashed: "Your body's waking up! Start a fitness plan. Running's step one. Check in at a gym for a trainer session. First check-in: ₹20,000, 2 attribute points, 2 knowledge scrolls. Daily gym check-ins: ₹1,000, 1 scroll."
An attribute panel loaded:
Height: 185 cm (+)Physical Age: 48 (-)Wealth: ₹17,050Strength: 60 (+)Spirit: 40 (+)Props: NoneDaily Tasks: Run 2 km, gym check-in
48? Arjun winced. Meera's rants and IT overtime had aged him three years past 45. No wonder Sanjay's greys look fresher. But the system's attribute points were a lifeline—strength, spirit, maybe youth could be reclaimed. I'm just starting.
He rode his TVS scooter to FitZone Gym on Linking Road, a kilometer away, dodging rickshaws and honking taxis. Mumbai's streets pulsed—streetlights flickering, vendors hawking knockoff Ray-Bans, neon signs buzzing. At FitZone, gym-goers in tank tops streamed in, the air humming with energy. Arjun eyed the membership desk, pulse racing at the thought of his first check-in. ₹20,000 and a new me? Game on.
His phone buzzed—Priya: "Dad, dosa's amazing. Home soon." He grinned, typing: "Save me a bite." With ₹17,050, Priya's college secure, and the Midlife Mastery System fueling his hustle, Meera's chaos—was a fading echo. Arjun was sweating smarts, sprinting toward a stronger, freer life.