Being bilingual all my life, I thought I’d conquered English. I read it, wrote it, spoke it – I was almost Shakespeare of course with better hair!!. So, when my Indian company sent me on a three-month business trip to LA, I was thrilled. I grilled my colleagues for tips, and my soon-to-be US manager assured me the company would put me up in an “Extended Stay America” with a kitchen, plus a “Subway” right downstairs for nice sandwiches.
My exposure to American novels had vaguely introduced me to the concept of an underground train referred to as “subway”. I would like to remind you that this was a time when India had not yet fully experienced American fast food invasion. Yes… I’m ancient. So, naturally, I envisioned a train station below the hotel, complete with a bustling platform and maybe some dude selling something similar to “Mumbai street sandwiches”.
Fast forward a few days, I’m in LA, reporting to my manager. During our chat, I casually mentioned, “I think there’s been a mix-up. This hotel doesn’t have a train station.” My manager looked at me as if I had asked if palm trees grew in Antarctica. “Why would there be a train station?” he asked. “Because you said there was one!” I replied, baffled. “And you also said there were good sandwiches there!” His forehead scrunched. The next second his face relaxed and he burst into laughter. Soon I learned that Subway isn’t a transport hub but is a sandwich sub
That night, my manager, now my unofficial cultural translator, took me to the actual Subway.
I watched him confidently navigate the complex sandwich ecosystem: the bread selection, the meat, the veggies, the sauces. He was like a seasoned gladiator in the arena of fast food.
The next day, feeling bolder, I walked in alone. I was ready. I ordered my sandwich with the precision of a NASA engineer. Bread? Check. Meat? Check. Veggies? Check. Sauces? Check.
Then, just as I was about to bask in my victory, the cashier hit me with a sudden verbal attack:
"For here or to-go?"
Now, in India, we don’t say ‘to-go.’ We say ‘parcel.’
I froze. I panicked. My brain short-circuited like an overheated laptop.
Mortified, I mumbled, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
She repeated the question, and finally, after some awkward gesturing, I figured it out. Another linguistic landmine successfully detonated.
The cultural mishaps continued. I learned that "curb" wasn’t what you did to bad habits, it was where you put your trash. "Taking" a class meant attending, not teaching. And “drug stores” actually sold aspirin and tylenol, not weed. How disappointing!!! I know!!!
Then came the grand finale: packing time. I needed to weigh my suitcase, so I asked the front desk for a “weighing machine.” The clerk directed me to the laundry room. I searched, found only washing machines and dryers. I returned, confused. The clerk insisted, "It's by the laundry room." Another fruitless search. Finally, she walked me there and pointed to… a vending machine. I explained, “No, no, I need to weigh my bag, not buy a soda.” “Oh!” she exclaimed. “You need a scale!” Now, in India, "scale" is a ruler. My brain screamed, I just needed to check the weight, not measure the length of my suitcase!
Before I came to the US, I thought I had mastered English. But language, my dear friends, is more than just words. It’s culture, context, and sometimes, utter confusion.
But here’s the beautiful thing—I was never alone in my confusion. Every time I struggled, a stranger helped. My new manager, who laughed but patiently guided me through my first Subway order, the server, who repeated “For here or to-go?” without frustration, the hotel clerk, who walked me to the “scale”. And that’s when I realized something profound. Despite our different customs, and ways of doing things, at our core, we are all the same. We are human. We laugh, we learn, we struggle, we help.
Yet, too often, we let these differences divide us. We see different accents and assume misunderstanding. We see different cultures and assume incompatibility. We see different countries and assume separation. But in reality, our differences are not walls—they are bridges. They are opportunities to learn, to grow, and to connect.
Imagine a world where we don’t fight over differences but celebrate them. Where we don’t mock misunderstandings but help each other through them. Where we don’t see language differences as a barrier, but as a doorway to deeper connection.
Because at the end of the day, we all share the same struggles, the same dreams, and the same humanity. And if a lost, confused Indian in Los Angeles can find kindness in the most unexpected places, then surely, my friends, we can all find ways to unite rather than divide.
Let’s stop drawing lines and start building bridges. Because when we embrace our differences, we don’t just connect cultures—we unite humanity.
