Have you ever seen someone (typically a guy from a developed country) travelling to India seeking a spiritual awakening?

You can sneer at their tangled hair and the way they say “Namaste” with an accent. But in fact, I was also one of those people who went to India seeking spiritual inspiration – or at least a different perspective on the world. 

In the late summer of 2008, I flew to India by myself. Since I have had some experience travelling to developing countries, I thought I could handle India. Well, as you can probably tell, I overestimated my travelling know-how, or I underestimated the sheer dynamism of India.

The moment I arrived at the New Delhi airport, I realized I had forgotten a basic fact about this growing country – the population is ten times bigger than Japan. 

Getting to the hotel from the New Delhi Station was the first challenge I faced before I learned how to pronounce “Namaste”. I couldn’t find a taxi driver I could trust. I knew I had to negotiate a price before getting in a taxi, but it took me more than 10 minutes to find a driver who would give me a reasonable price from the central station to the hotel I booked. 

And as he started driving he tried to take me to another “better” hotel that his “friend” ran. And no matter how many times I told him that I already had a booking, he didn’t listen to me and tried to take me to somewhere in the outskirts of Delhi. Being terrified of the situation, I yelled at him and got out of the car.

And so, I was left on the street without a local SIM card. I knew I must have been close to the hotel where I was supposed to be staying, but I had no idea where I was. It was a time way before Google Maps, Uber or eSIMs. The sun was setting down.

Luckily my Japanese phone covered international calls, so I called up my hotel and asked the receptionist to come pick me up. I told them the name of the street and things I could see from where I was. While I was waiting for the person to arrive, I had to say “No, thank you” probably more than 100 times to street kids, beggars, taxi drivers, and other numerous people who appeared to try to get something out of me. Eventually, I stopped responding and ignored them altogether. 

Surely I have met beggars, drunks and a few shady salespersons on the street in Tokyo or Osaka. But back home I knew I would be safe if I ran to a nearby convenience store. Whereas on the street corner near Connaught Place, I felt as if I were a sugar cube put in the middle of an ant colony. When I finally saw a person with a hotel name tag walking towards me, I almost cried.

So my trip to India started off in a seemingly very challenging way. Sitting on a bed in my hotel room, I found myself feeling like going back home. I haven’t experienced that kind of feeling before. And it was only my first day in India. My heart sank. Not feeling like going out again, I ordered room service and went to bed early.

From the next day, I became far more cautious. I ignored everyone on the street. I took a group tour for sightseeing. Every morning I told the hotel receptionist where I was going to go on that day.

I became more direct and audacious as I negotiated a price of something. It didn’t feel natural but I felt I got stronger by the day. After a week, I didn’t even raise an eyebrow when I saw a giant cockroach crawling on my luggage. 

There were also moments when I felt quite safe. It was on a sleeper train from Jaipur to New Delhi. In the second-class carriage I took, it seemed to me, I was the only tourist in the car. As I was climbing up to the upper bunk, people looked at me as if I were a rare animal. They seemed to be curious (they were looking at me and talking in Hindi or Punjabi or one of those 121 languages spoken in India), but they didn’t seem to know how to ask me anything. 

But as the train started to move, one of the guys in the lower seat stood up and talked to me. He asked, in broken English, if I was travelling by myself. 

“Yes, I am travelling solo, but my friend will be picking me up in Delhi.” Actually, I didn’t have anybody waiting for me in Delhi, but I lied. 

“Oh, okay. But be careful. There are a lot of men in this car. It could be dangerous. If someone approaches you in the middle of the night, you can wake us up. My family and I will protect you.”

He pointed to a group of guys sitting nearby. His elder brother, his younger brother, his uncle, his cousin, his nephew and other relatives… I couldn’t remember, but I was very touched by his kindness. 

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.” I smiled and bowed to them, and said “Namaste” with my Japanese accent. 

In a sense, India taught me a great lesson. It was not really a spiritual awakening, but more pragmatic survival skills in this chaotic world: I have only got one life. And I am responsible for that.