An Indian reader living abroad recently contacted me and suggested that I write a post about the mistakes Indians make, especially when trying to behave in a western manner. One particular story comes to mind — that of a young Indian guy from Kerala, who had never been out of his state before coming to Melbourne to study. It’s the tale of his shock, and mine, during his first week in Australia.
The story starts around three years ago, when I was managing a guesthouse in the tourist beach town of Varkala, Kerala. An Australian friend had been leasing the guesthouse for a number of years, but couldn’t make her mind up if she wanted to continue doing so. Her priorities had changed, so she asked me to run the guesthouse for the eight months of the tourist season.
Towards the end of the season, the owner approached me. His son was coming to study in Melbourne, he told me. Could his son ask me for help? I reluctantly agreed, if I was in Melbourne at the time. My reluctance came from the fact that the owner had not been particularly hospitable to me, and had constantly asked me for money for every possible thing. I was not in the mood to provide free orientation services to his son.
The time for the son’s move to Melbourne arrived, and it just so happened that I had recently returned to the city myself. The son repetitively contacted me, begging me to let him stay with me. I had a spare room, and was yet to start working. So, I agreed to rent the room to him for some much needed money.
The night that I picked him up from the airport was the beginning of one of the most challenging weeks of my life. Yes, his stay with me only lasted a week. It ended very abruptly one night, after it became clear that we could not adapt to each other.
I had met the son once in Kerala, but I could barely recognise him at the airport. He was dressed formally, in pants and a shirt. As soon as I loaded him and his luggage into the car, the questions started. Each sentence that he spoke was preceded with “Sister…” or “In Kerala…”
Some of his questions, I couldn’t answer. So, I had to refer him to my housemate. It became apparent very quickly that neither of them could understand each other, despite both speaking in English.
He began to unpack and brought out a statue of his god. “Sister… you have small chair for god?”, he asked me. I managed to determine that he wanted a small gold throne that Hindu gods sometimes sit on in India — which of course I didn’t have. “Sister…. you have oranges? For feeding to god.”, he then asked hopefully.
His morning puja (worship) soon had my housemate and I running to our rooms. He appeared daily in the kitchen, fresh from showering and naked except for a small towel, to collect the oranges. Following his puja, he hunted us down to apply red powder not only on our foreheads but on our throats.
Mealtimes brought more anxiety. I made him toast for breakfast and a sandwich for lunch, but he refused to eat it. “Sister… I want rice. You make rice now”, became a familiar request. My parents came to visit, so I made Indian curry. We all sat at the table to dine, but he had to eat with his hands because he couldn’t manage to use the cutlery. My housemate and I got pizza for dinner one night. “Please help yourself”, we told him. “Sister…you serve my meal”, he replied.
I started sneaking vodka into my juice by midday to try and remain calm.
He realised that he needed a plug adapter for his appliances, so I took him shopping at a three level mall. He’d never seen an escalator in his life, and was too scared to get on it. We found a plug adapter but he was horrified over the price — $20 (700 rupees). “Sister…this is too much money. In Kerala, this is costing only….”
I inquired about his college studies, particularly when did he start. “Sister… I am not knowing”. Sigh. He handed me a letter from his college, and I quickly realised that he’d already missed the first day of his orientation. I rang the college and arranged for him to attend a later orientation. “Sister….you are coming with me, okay.” Another sigh from me. I really needed time to find a job!
On the morning of his orientation, we set off together on the train towards the central business district of Melbourne. “Sister…”, he soon commenced as we were walking along the street. “That phone booth, how much calling to India?” I looked around. Which phone booth? “Sister… here phone booth”. I was astonished to see him pointing, not to a phone booth, but to an automated parking ticket vending machine.
I safely delivered him to his English test, and then to his orientation, and waited all day in the city for him to finish. I was tired and looking forward to some time alone, relaxing at home. “Sister… tomorrow you also coming”. Sigh. “Sister…I need job, you help me find job”. Bigger sigh. When would I ever get a chance to find myself a job! “Sister… me hungry…tonight I want rice. You make rice”.
I became exasperated. “Look”, I told him. “You haven’t even paid me rent and food money yet”. “Sister…I am not having enough money”, he responded. “Well, then you can’t eat!” I replied, fed up. He found it hard to comprehend that although I was living in a house owned by my parents, it was an investment property with a mortgage. I paid them rent money and was not staying for free, and neither could he. “In Kerala……”.
When we arrived home, I shut myself in my bedroom, hoping for some peace and quiet. I didn’t get it though. There was a repetitious knocking on my door. “Sister….” “Please, I’m tired, don’t bother me tonight”, I insisted.
Except for while he was asleep, I’d barely had five minutes uninterrupted since he’d stepped off the plane. It was well and truly taking its toll on me.
His room was next to mine, and I heard a flurry of animated phone calls in Malayalam. Not long after, there was another knock on my door. “Sister… I am leaving”. “Really, when?”. “Now”, he told me. “Okay”, I replied. He had interrupted me trying to meditate, so I wasn’t keen to continue the conversation.
Soon, I heard a car and Indian voices outside. Doors banged. And then there was silence. I got up and found my housemate. Had he really gone? We looked at each other in disbelief and relief. Just like that, he’d managed to find alternative accommodation, while previously pleading with us that he had nowhere to stay. We searched the house for signs of his belongings. However, all we could find were the mouldy remains of the fruit he’d fed his god, lying under the bed and in drawers.
I felt terrible about what the situation had come to, but there was nothing I could do about it. Despite my familiarity with India, the cultural divide was just too huge. I couldn’t cope with him and his requests. I debated in my mind, was he taking advantage of me as my friends suggested or, more likely, was he simply behaving according to his culture?
Epilogue: The son is still in Melbourne and doing well. I saw him in the street a few months later. He had shaved off his moustache and acquired a fashionable western look. He has even managed to cook rice for himself.
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By the way, Sharell, I’ve really enjoyed reading your blog and experiences in India. Thanks for making all of this available for all of us! I’m actually glad this gentleman found other accommodations since that was a fairly classy way of ending an uncomfortable situation. There’s nothing worse than having two people living under one roof who can’t stand each other…
It definitely doesn’t make getting up in the morning enjoyable, that’s for sure James!
I’m glad you’ve enjoyed the blog…
Sharell, this is the first time I have read your blog. But what you write here is so true. I am an Indian living in US with my husband. And when we hear that a relative or some ones child is coming to US. We hope that they are not coming anywhere near where we are. We have had lots of bad experience with others. Very recent situation was one where some random guy called me on my cell phone (how he got it I am unaware) asking for help finding a job here. He claimed to be related to me and had finished his MS and need to find a job quick. I told me not to call me and that I couldn’t help him find a job. He then asked me if I could give him the number of another cousin of mine. I told him outright – no and hung up. A few days later, another lady calls me asking me why I didn’t help her nephew find a job. I told her I don’t know you and I don’t have to answer to you.
I am an Indian and I would never do this to another one. Yet, my fellow Indians seem to expect me to let them walk all over me. My husbands cousin expected us to give her 10000$ to help sponsor her getting into an university in India.
What this guy did was so wrong! Why did he want to come outside India when he had no idea what the western world is like? And his expecting you to cook — why did he come without learning to cook. I bet he knew how to cook but was treating you like that because you are a woman. I hate men like that. But the story you tell here is one that I have heard over and over again.
I would say good riddance!
Hi Bhuvana, I was fascinated to read about your experiences with Indian “relatives”. Thanks so much for sharing. It’s amazing how presumptuous these people can be!! I would’ve been more inclined to help that guy if only his father was more helpful to me when I was in India…. but no…. he demanded money from me for every little bit of assistance he gave me! Then expected me to help his son for free. I’m a helpful person by nature, but now I don’t want to be so much because so many Indians seem to just take advantage.
Glad to hear that you’ve been assertive about it!
Rejecting the food your host offers and telling him/her to cook food of YOUR choice is very bad behaviour. Cultural misadjustment is no excuse. That sort of thing is frowned upon in almost every culture in the world, including Indian ones because it violates common courtesy.
I’m pretty sure that no Indian host would indefinitely tolerate such cheek from a paying guest who hasn’t even paid them yet. And I’m not even talking about making you wait in the city for a whole day, telling you to do it again the next day and then ordering you to make the dinner he wants you to have.
Lol, you’re definitely an awesome person. I assure you I’d have kicked him out a lot sooner than you did. Not because of his cultural shock (not his fault) but because of the sheer sense of entitlement he seems to have felt. Glad to hear he snapped to reality in the end.
I am really beginning to like your blog now.
I don’t know who needs to be blame here. Is it the government, for not providing quality education which makes people like these go abroad, the parents & society for not imparting proper social etiquette & minimum courtesy to their children OR….. the guy, who still behaves like a child with no sense of responsibility.
No matter what the government, it is the parenting and self learning that counts. Its clearly visible that this guy is like a robot and typical male brain from India. I am from the same country but I am nothing like that nor are my friends.
Awww, thanks so much! There are bits and pieces of everything on here, from contentious to amusing!
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