The older I get, the more I realize that life will test you with the same challenge until you learn the lesson. The same fight in every relationship. The same burnout in every job. The same regret in every missed chance. Until you do the inner work, the outer world won’t change.
The other day, a friend mentioned how he considers a trip successful if he doesn’t come across other Indians on it.
I don’t agree with the wording, but I agree in spirit.
Look, there’s a canyon opening up in how Indians travel now. Two completely different species with the same maroon passport.
On one side, you have the package tour brigade. Forty souls shepherded through Europe like a school excursion, matching Safari suits and all, ticking off the Eiffel Tower before lunch, the Colosseum after, and hunting desperately for “veg Indian food” by day two because “yeh sab khaana suit nahi karta.” They’ll fly 8,000 kilometers and still seek out the familiar taste of home-style paneer. They return with thousands of photos and exactly zero stories that don’t start with “the guide told us…”
Then there’s us.
We’re the ones crouched at a street stall in Hanoi at midnight, sweating through our shirts, attempting to order bún chả with hand gestures and Google Translate, eating something that would give our mothers a heart attack and absolutely living for it.
Indian restaurant abroad?
We’d rather starve.
Not because we don’t worship at the altar of our cuisine—we do, devoutly—but because ordering butter chicken in Barcelona is a betrayal of the entire enterprise. We didn’t leave Mumbai’s vada pav to eat Delhi’s chole bhature in Amsterdam.
We didn’t cross oceans to pose with monuments like props in someone else’s movie. We came to sit in a Lisbon café until the owner knows our order. To find the late-night jazz joint in New Orleans where tourists don’t go. To wander through Kyoto at dawn when the city belongs to itself, not the Instagram algorithm.
The previous generation traveled to collect places. We travel to be claimed by them.
They moved in protective bubbles, insulated by the comfort of their own kind, comparing everything to “back home” and finding everything lacking. “Wahan toh yeh better hai.” The tour bus became a moving living room where they could critique foreign cultures without ever touching them.
We’re hunting for the opposite. Give us the Australian with stories from six continents. The German photographer sleeping in train stations. The Brazilian who plays guitar at hostels. Anyone whose life isn’t a mirror of ours. The hostel common room, the shared taxi, the random walking tour—that’s where we come alive.
The old way was checklist dharma. Europe in seven days, touch-and-go. As the saying goes, if it’s Monday, this must be Madurai. Click photo, tick box, move. Never pause long enough to let a place leave its mark on you. Never stay long enough to stop being a tourist.
We reject that entirely. Two weeks in one neighborhood beats two days in seven cities. We return to places. Again and again. Because Rome doesn’t reveal itself in a weekend, and we’re not interested in seeing it—we want it to see us. We want to become regulars somewhere that isn’t home.
This isn’t about being embarrassed by where we come from. It’s about refusing to recreate Connaught Place in Copenhagen. We carry India with us—in our stories, our humor, our ability to befriend strangers over chai—but we’re not trying to find it everywhere.
We came to lose ourselves in the world. To eat things we can’t identify. To have conversations that don’t make sense but somehow matter. To return home with something more valuable than photos—a different way of seeing.
That’s the real gap. Not the one between India and the world. But between those who travel to confirm what they already know, and those who travel to have everything they know challenged.
We chose the latter. And honestly? There’s no going back.
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For context - upto 2024 OpenAI had raised appx same amount in funding
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"More data—such as paying attention to the eye colors of the people around when crossing the street—can make you miss the big truck." - Nassim Nicholas Taleb