At an aquarium in New Jersey, I brushed against another visitor. I was trying to take a photograph.
The young relative I was staying with patted me on the back.
“You need to learn American social manners. You don’t keep the three-foot bubble. You speak loudly. And you wear chappals in public.”
I laughed.
“I was visiting America decades before you were born.”
But he wasn’t entirely wrong.
His point about my chappals was clear. Chappals are the open sandals many of us wear in India, almost everywhere. He felt that showing dusty or dirty feet in public was not okay here.
That made me think.
I grew up in a hot country. Open footwear is practical there. It’s just normal. In colder places, closed shoes and boots have long been a need, not a choice.
Climate shapes habits. Habits become customs. Over time, customs start to feel like plain common sense.
Religion adds another layer.
In India, we take off our footwear before entering Hindu temples. We do the same in many homes. It’s a sign of respect. In America, people walk into churches wearing shoes. No one thinks this is disrespectful.
Same feet. Different meaning.
Personal space works in a similar way.
Many Americans like some space around them, an invisible bubble. In India, we often stand close. Shoulder to shoulder, in queues, markets, trains, temples.
Growing up, we rarely called ahead to visit close friends or family. We just showed up.
For us, that closeness was a sign of trust.
Here, I’ve noticed something different. Calling first, respecting someone’s privacy, remembering that their time is their own—this is often seen as a form of care.
Maybe there’s a bigger difference underneath all this.
In India, plans often bend to the moment. In America, the moment often bends to the plan.
Bending to the moment can bring warmth and connection. It can also bring some mess and unpredictability.
Sticking to the plan can bring order and privacy. It can also feel a little stiff at times.
Neither way is better. Every strength has its shadow.
I learned a similar lesson years ago, in business.
I was a young entrepreneur in India. I wanted access to the personal know-how of a retired American professional. I respected his work deeply.
So I circled the subject.
I talked. I listened. I tried to build a relationship first, before asking for what I really wanted.
Finally, he stopped me.
“You want my personal IP?”
Yes.
He agreed to share it—and charged me handsomely for it.
I thought I was being respectful by not being too direct.
He thought I was beating around the bush.
Neither of us was wrong. We were just reading the same moment through different cultural eyes.
This might be one of the easiest mistakes to make with another culture. We mistake our own way of doing things for common sense.
It isn’t.
What feels polite in one place can seem evasive in another. What feels warm in one place can feel intrusive in another. What signals respect here can look strange there. What feels natural to one person can feel disorderly to someone else.
Every culture has its own ideas about what is polite, respectful, and normal.
We grow up inside those ideas. So we rarely notice them at all.
The trouble starts when we mistake our own customs for the only right way to live.
Maybe cultural understanding starts with one simple question:
Is this actually wrong? Or is it just unfamiliar to me?
Sometimes what looks like bad manners is just another culture, speaking its own language.
By the way, I still prefer chappals in America. They keep my feet cool. And perhaps cultural tolerance can stretch all the way down to someone else’s feet.
