Meet Venkat, an Uber driver with a knack for smooth rides and even smoother conversation. He’s been in the business for a couple of years now, chauffeuring people around Kansas City while probably questioning their navigation skills. Originally from the Indian countryside near Hyderabad, he moved to the U.S. with his wife eight years ago, and his brother followed suit a couple of years later. Now, only his parents remain in India, possibly wondering why their kids abandoned the land of spicy food for the land of BBQ and unpredictable weather.
Talking about Hyderabad, I asked him how big the city is, expecting a number like 5 or 6 million. “Over 10 million,” he says, then adds with a grin, “or one crore.” Wait, one what? “Crore. We count by the tens of millions.” Ah, of course, why settle for plain old millions when you can spice up your math just like your food?
Speaking of India, I’ve been there once, and let me tell you, it’s a feast for the senses—flavors, colors, and culture everywhere. But let’s talk about the traffic. Chaos. Absolute, unfiltered, glorious chaos. Lanes? Suggestions. Traffic signals? Optional. Personal space? Doesn’t exist. Venkat, laughing, advises me never to attempt driving in India unless I have a deep-rooted desire to experience near-death moments every five minutes. “There are rules,” he says, “but nobody follows them.” Sounds like a thrilling survival squid game to me.
Food, Family, and Freezing Temperatures
Venkat misses his family, the food, and the culture the most. But he redeems my evening with a golden nugget of information—his top Indian food recommendation in Kansas City: Rajadhani Indian Cuisine in Overland Park. “You must try it,” he insists. And the best part? They actually ask you how spicy you want your food, unlike in South India, where the only spice level is “kiss-your-tastebuds-goodbye” hot.
He moved here to KC because there weren’t many job opportunities back home. He visits India every two years and misses his parents dearly. Fortunately, his many cousins keep them company. His parents like visiting him but have no interest in staying. “Too cold,” his mom declares. Can’t blame her. India doesn’t do snow.
Ah yes, snow. Venkat had never even seen it before moving here. “They never taught us about snow in school,” he tells me, as if it’s some mythical creature. The first time he saw snow, it was magical—until he had to drive in it. “Messy,” he sighs. I can only imagine the horror of navigating icy roads when you grew up dodging auto-rickshaws and cows instead.
Cricket: The Ultimate Time-Consuming Drama
Finally, we hit the most important topic—cricket. Venkat loves it, which means he’s got stamina because cricket is not just a game; it’s an investment. A match can last days. “But,” he says, “now they play 20 overs, so it’s only three to four hours.” Only three to four hours—casual. For reference, an over consists of six balls (or pitches, for my American friends). The Indian national team is his pride and joy, though they haven’t won a world title in a while. Still, when they did win about four years ago, the entire country lost its collective mind.
Before I hop out of the car, Venkat shares one last thought: “Cricket is long, stressful, and unpredictable, just like Indian traffic.” And with that, my ride ends—full of stories, laughter, and a new restaurant to try.
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