Chapter 7

2017/18

With my one-year trip to London winding down and conscious that this might be my only opportunity to see the world, I decided to apply for a Schengen Visa. The Schengen Visa is a tourist visa for the European Union where you submit your entire family history, financial records, and geography, only to be randomly allotted a few days to travel. Sometimes you get a two-day single-entry pass; other times, six months or up to two years — entirely at the whim of the visa caseworker. It is, frankly, an absolute disgrace of a system.

As someone who spent most of his waking hours in front of a computer, I desperately needed something to pull me away before tech consumed me entirely. Weirdly, the only thing that gave me pleasure by then was coding on the web; it was my solace, my escape. It constantly reminded me of my college days when my dad tried his hardest to force me to socialize in the real world.

I also had a lingering crutch: I always needed someone to accompany me on anything big I did. That bothered me deeply. Someone who always needs to be held by the hand can never be a leader. Leaders step out of their comfort zones and venture into the unknown first; others follow. I wanted to shed that follower mindset, take control of my own life, make my own bold choices, and untangle my mind from the gazillion societal shackles it was caught in.

And so, I decided to travel solo. Over the next two to three months, on alternate weekends by taking Fridays and Mondays off, I booked two-to-four-day solo trips to Edinburgh, Paris, Barcelona, Amsterdam, Rome, the Vatican, Venice, Zurich, Interlaken, Brussels (traveling with Tin, a friend I made from Australia), Stockholm, and Berlin.

It was thrilling at first — making split-second decisions, booking the cheapest flights at the most obscure hours, staying in hostels on the outskirts of cities, sleeping in airports, and jumping off cliffs. But by the tenth trip, I was utterly exhausted from traveling. Along the way, I made lifelong friends: Ilo from Germany, Emi and Vic from Argentina, Jen from the UK, and Tin from Australia. I cherished every friend I made from every corner of the world.

After a successful year in London — making friends, seeing the continent, and saving a bit of money — my short-term ICT visa ended, and I returned home to India.

After spending a week with family, I took the train to Bangalore, eager to see Nat. After meeting in 2012, splitting in Kochi in 2014, parting ways for the final time on her birthday in Chennai in 2016, and spending a year talking across phone lines, we were finally going to reunite — just in time for her birthday, which I wouldn't have missed for the world. I remember the exact moment the train slowed down at Krishnarajapuram Railway Station and she appeared on the bench, waiting for me. It was a profoundly special moment. We were together again, but this time, it was different. We had weathered so many storms that we knew this bond was something rare. Presence strengthens love; absence sharpens it. I spent three months in Bangalore working, teaching, traveling, drinking, and deepening that relationship.

Looking back now, I wouldn't recommend my behavior back then. Chasing someone after they have rejected you is toxic to both them and yourself. I should have respected her decision and focused on building my own life. The archaic idea that it is a man's sole responsibility to "convince" the woman — a trope I absorbed from Indian movies — pushed me to behave in ways I never imagined. The fact that it ultimately worked out doesn't negate the reality that I forced this dynamic onto her against her initial wish to separate. Having said that, the feelings we shared were genuine, and we truly wanted to be together. She appreciated the extraordinary lengths I went to, the years I waited, and especially the dedication I poured into mentoring her.

After three months in India, my company asked me to return to London, this time for a three-year stint on a Long-Term ICT Visa. This visa allowed skilled professionals to work in the UK for a higher salary (£41K/year) so as not to undercut local opportunities, though it granted no access to public funds, didn't count toward residency, and subjected us to standard UK taxes. Once again, I accepted it without doing proper due diligence. In the winter of 2017, I was back in London for round two.

I booked a week’s stay at St Christopher’s Inn in Moorgate, close to the office, while hunting for a permanent place. I wanted to avoid my previous mistake and explore new parts of London, steering clear of ghettoization. I ended up subletting in Islington with an Indian friend and two guys from France, Rom & Rom. We paid entirely in cash — something a naive me thought was completely normal, having always paid cash for accommodation in India. Six months in, all four of us were suddenly kicked out. I had no idea UK tenants had legal rights and couldn’t simply be turfed out on a whim. In India, I never worried about housing rights; I paid rent, and when the landlord wanted the property back, I moved. Leases were practically nonexistent or merely symbolic. But the UK housing system, tax enforcement, and legal framework were rigorous. I was just ignorant of all that.

With very little time to find my next home, I hurriedly secured a place in Upper Clapton which had a very different vibe to it. If East London belonged to people from the Indian subcontinent, North London seemed dominated by the Mediterranean, featuring a strong Jewish presence and Turkish communities just a bit further south. Unfortunately, my landlord decided not to renew my contract for the following year due to refurbishments, and by February 2018 — just three months later — I was room-hunting yet again. This time, I moved to Shadwell, right at the doorstep of historical East London, a neighborhood heavily populated by the Bangladeshi community.

London features distinct pockets of people from all over the globe, making it a true mini-world. Everything and everyone from everywhere converges here — the undeniable magic of a global city. While I loved counting the diverse friends I made, I also realized that multiculturalism can easily tip into ghettoization when enclaves become so insular that communities feel no need to integrate, threatening civic harmony. London's vibrant diversity, I realized, exists on a knife-edge.

At Shadwell, an easy walk to London Bridge, I finally secured a room of my own in a tiny house shared with four others: two Brits, a Czech, and a Tunisian. One of the Brits, Cey, became a close friend. To this day, one of my absolute favorite walks in London is the route from Shadwell, past St Katharine Docks, all the way to London Bridge.