Travel
How To Not Be A Spoiled Brat In India
What I Learned From Culture Shock
A Nice Restaurant, Somewhere Deep In India
“BURRRRRP!”
The very large man, sitting by himself at the table in the corner, had let out the loudest, gassiest burp I had ever heard.
Melanie and I looked at each other with wide eyes, and then we burst out laughing.
“SHHHHHHHH,” my mom said to us. “Don’t laugh!”
“But he burped so loud!” Melanie replied, looking at me and giggling.
“It’s not polite to laugh,” she informed us sternly.
“Ohhh, but it’s polite to burp?!” I snorted back at her, through my laughter.
“In some parts of India, and other parts of the world, it’s considered a compliment to the chef,” she tried to explain. “It means you’re full, and you enjoyed the meal.”
“A” For Effort
I looked down at my plate. I had asked for a burger with fries.
My dad had said it was ridiculous for me to order a burger with fries at a fine dining restaurant in India. It wasn’t even on the menu.
But the waiter was accommodating. He said he would ask the chef to make a special burger with fries for me.
And there it was: A thick, fried ground beef cutlet (the burger), with no bun, and no ketchup. It came with about 6 thin slices of fried potatoes(the french fries), but with no salt, and not crispy at all. There was also a side of lettuce.
‘A’ for effort, I thought. But not what I wanted.
I should have listened to my dad.
“Now, eat your lunch,” mom instructed me.
Children Starving Elsewhere
“I can’t eat this,” I replied.
“What do you mean, you can’t eat it? You will eat it. You asked for a burger and fries, and you got it!” she shot back.
“But this isn’t what I thought it would be,” I complained.
“Eat it. There are children starving in China,” she said. In Canada, she would say that the children who were starving were in India, but since we were already in India, she transferred the children to China.
“Eat your food,” is all my dad said, but he gave me a glare that meant ‘eat it or else’.
So I ate it.
Culture Shock
This was my first trip to India. My parents had warned me that I was going to experience some culture shock, and they were right.
When we stepped off the plane, we were met with a wall of heat. The airport was jammed with people. We took a taxi through Bombay, and of course I noticed the strong and pungent smells. And the poverty. And the crowds. And the crazy driving.
It was a shock, yes.
But after the visit, when we took off for the next leg of our trip, to Hong Kong, I told my parents that I missed India.
Mostly because of the people I had met.
In India, everyone treated us like we were family. Even when we weren’t.
But I also missed it because of the food. I loved the fresh mangoes. The rice and curry. The chapatis.
My Compliments To The Chef
So I made it through that meal, chewing down every piece of the fried beef and potato presentation in front of me. I did it partly because of my dad’s threat. But also partly because the waiter had been so nice, and had tried to make me happy.
“How did you like everything?” he said to my dad.
“Oh it was great!” my dad replied.
“Will you be staying long in India?” he asked.
“About 3 weeks, and then we fly off to China” my dad told him.
“Well, I hope you enjoy your trip. Come back soon.” he smiled.
“And you, young man,” he said, turning to me, “did you enjoy your burger and fries?”
I breathed in.
“BURRRRRRP!!
My compliments to the chef.”
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