CHAPTER 1

DRIVING ON INDIAN ROADS

You cannot control the chaos.
You can control you.

Every day we hear about and see uncertainty in everything. We think about all the things we could be doing differently in our lives but we hold back because there are so many paths in front of us and they have no predictable and appealing outcomes. We consider going in one direction but then our minds start overanalyzing and overthinking all the possible problems we may encounter. “Yes, but . . .” starts coming out of our mouths almost immediately, restraining our hearts, which want to go forward. Our minds accentuate the negatives without any effort. We get so overwhelmed with all the chaos that lies in front of us that we find ourselves standing still, unable to move forward.

In a word, everything seems to be out of control.

But is that such a bad thing? We can’t control other people or how they think or what they’ll do. We can’t predict what’s going to happen with the economy or our jobs. Why create stress for ourselves by worrying about something that might or might not happen? Stop trying to control it. This incessant need to be in control is just a way to stand in the middle of the road while life passes us by.

In a very real sense, this book began during a taxi ride on an Indian road, where I realized how little control we have—and how little that should concern us. Participating in life, despite the chaos that lies ahead in all paths, is our choice and ours alone, and it can be as simple as driving forward in any direction, whatever may come. Because eventually, despite a cow or two blocking the road (as is commonplace throughout India), we will get there just fine.

During my friend Ben’s first visit to India, he joined a small delegation of U.S. businesspeople who were interested in learning about the country and doing business there. An entrepreneur at heart, Ben was excited to learn about how this booming emerging economy of a billion people worked. Because I’m the only Indian American guy he knows, and because I also serve on the board of the United States–India trade group that was taking him on this trip, Ben asked me to join him as his quasilocal guide for a few days. He wanted a friend to guide him so that he wouldn’t look like a typical foreigner.

I could sense his trepidation as he and a couple of others gathered around our car, ready to confront a road full of chaos that lay ahead of us in Ahmedabad, a city of roughly six million people. Navigating the city’s roads with a local driver was Ben’s first experience with uncertainty and shock since he had landed in India. There were no markings on the street and not many traffic lights—and no one paid any attention to the traffic signals anyway. The road was brimming with bicycles, carefree pedestrians, motorcycles, scooters, small trucks, rickshaws, three-wheelers (scooters that serve as small taxicabs), and the occasional cow or buffalo. These were our road companions as our driver weaved through the mess to our destination.

I was worried about making the meetings on time and was anxious because I wasn’t sure who was going to show up. I didn’t want our trade group to look bad and I felt like I had a lot riding on my shoulders. After all, this was “my” country, which I was trying to show off to Ben and others.

Just then, our car encountered a cow that wouldn’t move out of the way, so our driver backed up on a one-way street and found another road. Because, well, that’s what you do in India. Relieved that we were progressing toward our destination, I looked back to see the puzzled and amusing reaction of the passengers in the backseat.

The driver was a local, and although he wasn’t too knowledgeable about all the roads, he sure knew how to handle moving the car in and out of traffic. I was in front, next to the taxi driver, who sits on the right, and at one point I noticed in the side mirror a motorcycle approaching fast, trying to pass us on our left. Up ahead, also on the left, was a huge tree, and because the Indian custom is to not tear down sacred trees and/or any possible signs of God and so on, the road just sort of went around the right side of the tree.

Our driver started speeding up. This meant that the motorcycle behind and to the left of us was surely going to head right into the tree.

Now, I have built up some immunity over the years of travel in India, but seeing this motorcycle trying to speed up to pass on our left scared me. I thought surely the motorcycle guy was doomed.

I held on tight as we approached the tree. Our car veered slightly to the right and we passed the tree with no problem. I quickly looked behind, expecting the motorcycle to have crashed into the tree. Nothing doing. The motorcycle had simply slowed down and also passed the tree on the right—right behind us.

I looked back at the audience in the rear seat. They had been white before, but they were even whiter now, having lost some color in their faces.

Relieved and somewhat impressed with my new best friend—the driver—I asked in my broken Hindi, “Wasn’t that a little close?”

“Not really. What do you mean, sir?” he answered.

I was surprised. “I mean, come on. Didn’t you think that guy was going to hit the tree? Weren’t you concerned that by speeding up you were risking his chance of getting hurt?”

His answer resonated and has stayed with me. He said, “Sir, in this crazy road, which is my daily life, I have learned that I cannot count on anyone else or anything else to be predictable. Because each road has a surprise. Either a cow comes out of nowhere, another car races to pass, a child’s ball enters the road, a scooter or a rickshaw comes out of nowhere, with a total surprise. The only thing I can do is be prepared and think of only my car and the passengers in my car. So the person driving next to me has to take precaution as he needs to, and I should do the same for myself and my passengers only. I can only control my own driving.”

Being a passenger in that car made me realize that he was absolutely right. We don’t control what we encounter on the road. We only control how we steer our way forward.