The Intoxication of India's Youth

Waking up to a hazy new reality as my motherland ignores the rising drug epidemic

When I first moved to the United States, I was always asked, “What is the most difficult part of adjusting to American life?”

“The STOP signs,” I said.

You see! In India, intersections are like roundabouts without the roundabout, and traffic can move in any direction to cross over. The palm-faced hand of a traffic cop brave enough to step in front of charging cars, buses, trucks and rickshaws, two-wheelers, two-leggers, and even some four-leggers seems to be the only sign we obey. But even that is considered an unwelcome and uncomfortable interruption responded only by the wrath of our honks. For we are in survival mode, and nothing should get in the way of the natural order of chaos on Indian roads.

So I understand why this big and bold writing painted in yellow on the road in front of my family home never came up as a topic of discussion, even as we drove over it every day. We don’t see these signs as we are busy chasing after the chaos of our daily lives.

One day I went for an early…