No Manager. No Framework. Just a
Broken Motorcycle and a Decision.

Everyone Told Me to Stop Riding. I rode 2000 Kms on the Anniversary of My Accident and then 8000 Kms to the Top of the World. Here's Why.

Can't believe it's going to be 10 years. A decade that completely changed how I look at life. And yes, I had colored hair.

A motorcycle accident in Tamil Nadu, India. A stranger who spoke only Tamil. A KTM service centre held open past midnight. And the most important leadership lessons I've ever learned — none of them from a classroom.

January 28, 2017. Highway. Tamil Nadu. 1:30 PM.

I was 150 km from Madurai, riding back from Kanyakumari to Bangalore, when my bike went down. My right leg and right hand were fractured. The bike's headlight came out. The right side was completely destroyed.

I was sitting on the ground on a national highway — in pain, in shock, with a broken machine and no plan.

What happened in the next 20 hours taught me more about leadership than a decade of program management ever did.

This is that story. And this is what it means for every leader, every TPM, every person navigating impossible situations without a playbook.

01 / What Actually Happened That Night

When the accident happened, I did what any leader should do first: I assessed the situation. Not panicked — assessed. Right leg fractured. Right hand fractured. Bike: the headlight was out but the engine still ran. Friend riding behind me: called on the way.

Local Tamil students stopped to help — strangers who owed me nothing. They helped move the bike from the highway and offered water. That moment of unexpected grace in a crisis stuck with me. It still does.

I called Bangalore KTM Service Centre from the highway — the dealer where I'd bought the bike. They told me to get the bike to the nearest KTM service centre. That was Madurai KTM - near Trichy, 150 km away. It was Saturday. They said they'd close at 5 PM.

I kept calling them. Again, and again. I didn't ask for a favour once — I made the case, repeatedly, that this was an emergency and I needed their help. Eventually, they agreed to stay open.

A local man with an auto carrier agreed to transport me and the bike those 150 km. He spoke only Tamil. I speak no Tamil. We rode 150 km together, in the rain, and he told me stories — through gestures and broken words — about why life is precious, and risk must be calculated because we all have family. I understood every word of it. My friend rode all the way fully drenched to the service centre and never left me alone in this journey.

We reached Madurai (Trichy) KTM at 8 PM. Three hours after closing time. They had stayed. They offered me a room to rest. I asked them to fix just the headlight and the lock — not the full service — because I needed to ride home. Bangalore was 350 km away.

By 10 PM, the bike was ready. At 10:30 PM, my friend and I started again.

Every time my fractured foot touched the ground at a stop — to balance the bike — electricity shot through my body. I rode 350 km like that at night. We stopped at 1:30 AM in Karur because the rain made the road invisible even on high beam. An old man let us shelter in his temple till 4 AM. I didn't sleep. The pain wouldn't let me.

At dawn, we started again. We didn't stop except to refuel until Bangalore. As soon as I reached home, my family took me to the hospital. The doctor confirmed the fractures.

29 Jan 2017, Baptist Hospital, Bangalore

To defeat that voice, I did the only thing that made sense to me: on the same date in January 2018 — one year later — I rode from Bangalore to Mumbai and back. 2000 kilometres. On the same bike. On the same roads.

Mumbai, 27 Jan 2018 - Solo Roadtrip

Not to prove anything to anyone. To prove something to myself.

Mumbai, India

02 / The Leadership Lessons — One by One

I've run programs at Citrix, Cerner, Cisco, LinkedIn, and now Amazon. I've managed teams across continents, budgets in millions, and crises that kept me up at night. Here's what that highway night maps to — cleanly, directly, without stretching.

03 / The Lesson That Took Me the Longest to Learn

People told me not to ride anymore after the accident. Colleagues. Friends. Well-meaning people who genuinely cared about me. The advice came from love.

But the advice was wrong. And I knew it was wrong.

What nobody saw was what happened 45 days after the accident.

I sat on the motorcycle for the first time since that highway. Shaking. Terrified. Every instinct is telling me this was a mistake. I rode for 10 minutes and came back home.

I told my family I wouldn't be able to ride again.

They didn't let me quit.

They said you cannot give up on something you love. Something you're passionate about. That was it. No long speech. No framework. Just that.

It rewired something in me permanently.

I stopped seeing difficult situations as signals to stop. I started seeing them as the exact moment that defines who you are — and who you refuse to become.

That is the leadership lesson nobody talks about. Not the accident. Not riding home on a fractured leg. The decision to get back on — when your own fear is louder than anyone else's doubt.

I don't give up. Never have since that day.

And every time a program is on fire, a deadline collapses, or a stakeholder says it can't be done — that 10-minute ride comes back to me.

Get back on.

04 / What This Means for You

You don't have to ride a motorcycle to understand this story. But you do have to lead — and leadership, in my experience, is almost always about navigating something you weren't fully prepared for, with resources you don't fully control, for an outcome you can't fully guarantee.

The highway was just the setting. The lessons are universal.I still ride. Every chance I get. Spiti Valley, Ladakh, the roads that terrify most people — those are the roads I choose. Not despite what happened. Because of it.

July 2018 - Solo 8000 Kms Ride from Bangalore to Ladakh

The accident gave me something I couldn't have gotten any other way: proof that I could navigate the worst-case scenario and come out the other side with the bike still moving and the dream still alive.

IAndTripZ | Santanu Majumdar The Ride Which Changed My Life, Solo Ride From #B The Ride Which Changed My Life, Solo Ride From #B

Watch on

That proof — quiet, private, earned the hard way — is worth more than any certification, any promotion, any performance review.

Carry yours with you. Whatever road gave it to you.I still ride. Every chance I get. Spiti Valley, Ladakh, the roads that terrify most people — those are the roads I choose. Not despite what happened. Because of it.

Magnetic Hill, Ladakh

I still ride. Every chance I get. Spiti Valley, Ladakh, the roads that terrify most people — those are the roads I choose. Not despite what happened. Because of it.

Nubra Valley, Ladakh

Turtuk Village

July 2018 - Ladakh Ride, Visited Taj Mahal

Recently in 2025 I did solo road trip from Bangalore to Spiti covering 6500 kms - complete overlanding in extreme conditions, I will cover that story in my upcoming edition. It was an epic journey.

2025 Solo Bangalore to Spiti Roadtrip

The accident gave me something I couldn't have gotten any other way: proof that I could navigate the worst-case scenario and come out the other side with the bike still moving and the dream still alive.

That proof — quiet, private, earned the hard way — is worth more than any certification, any promotion, any performance review.

Carry yours with you. Whatever road gave it to you

For more on this, subscribe to Unblocked — my weekly newsletter for TPMs who lead at scale. Next in Unblocked: Have you thought about any Netflix seasons that changed your perspective on technical program management?

For 1:1 mentorship and coaching, I'm on Topmate

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