From Fan Desk to Food Delivery | Passion Projects | Education | 60633

The plan was simple: get a bicycle, earn some money, survive the gap. It was not to argue with reckless drivers, dodge rickshaws, or see my city in a way I never had before.

I did not immediately realize I had been hit.

For a split second, my brain assumed something had brushed past me, maybe a bag or a careless passer-by. That felt more logical than accepting that someone had actually struck me while I was waiting on my bike. I was standing near a side road, delivery bag on my back, checking the Foodpanda app and waiting for traffic to ease.

The shove came from behind.

By the time I turned and shouted, the man was already walking away. My words made him stop. He turned back, angry, accusing me of blocking the road as if the road belonged only to him. He stepped closer, voice rising, chest out. I paused mid-sentence. This was the moment I realized that no delivery, no argument, and no sense of pride was worth escalating things. I stayed quiet. He left.

That was my first lesson as a delivery rider in Bangladesh: silence is sometimes a safety tool.

No two shifts are the same when you deliver for Foodpanda. Most of my orders are fast food: burgers, fried chicken, pizza, cocktails, and endless cups of coffee. A surprising amount of coffee. My new workplace could not be more different from my old one. I used to work remotely, seated comfortably in front of a screen, fan humming, meetings stacked neatly into calendars. Now my office is traffic, heat, horns, and movement.

The culture shock was immediate and physical.

After losing stability more than once, applying to countless jobs and hearing nothing back, bills did not stop waiting. Rent, internet, groceries, mobile data. Big expenses were looming, but the smaller ones could be managed if I kept riding. I sold a few unused things, fixed up an old bicycle, and signed up through my phone. Foodpanda approved my documents, sent me a delivery bag, and that was it. No interview room. No HR orientation. Just the road.

The first thing that hits you while riding is independence.

Between delivering burgers and biryani, there is a quiet realization: you are alone out here. I have never met anyone from Foodpanda in person. I signed up online, the app tells me where to go, and I decide when to log in. No manager watches me sit at a desk. No supervisor reminds me to smile. If I want to stop under a tree and drink water, I do. If I need rest, that is between me and my body.

"The income is lower, yes but there is value in choosing your own hours instead of waiting for another email about restructuring or organizational change."

My helmet turned out to be a good decision.

One afternoon, a car stopped suddenly. A rickshaw swerved. I braked too late. I did not crash dramatically, but I went down hard enough to feel the road scrape my skin. Bike lanes, where they exist, are narrow and inconsistent. Often they disappear entirely, forcing riders to compete with buses, cars, CNGs, and trucks that do not acknowledge you exist.

These moments are common.