‘Tea is not optional’: What living in India taught a Zambian engineering student

When she left Zambia to study engineering in India, she packed textbooks, winter clothes, and the quiet confidence of someone ready for a new chapter. What she didn’t pack, because no one really can, was a manual for decoding head wobbles, surviving auto rickshaw rides, or understanding why tea is treated like oxygen.Through her Instagram account, @mercy_jo123, the Zambian student has been sharing humorous snapshots of daily life in India. Her posts are not dramatic culture-shock confessions. Instead, they read like voice notes from a friend, amused, curious, occasionally overwhelmed, but always observant. One of the first things she noticed was how people dressed. Walking through her university town, she saw young women confidently sporting crop tops, oversized shirts, and other globally popular styles. But when she turned to mainstream Indian cinema, the depiction sometimes felt different, though not uniformly so. A character portrayed as bold and contemporary in one scene might appear distinctly traditional in another, shaped largely by the demands of the script. The contrast caught her attention. It wasn’t a critique, but it did leave her slightly intrigued by how on-screen narratives and everyday life could at times feel like parallel worlds unfolding side by side.Then came the auto rickshaws. For anyone new to India, the three-wheeled vehicles are less a mode of transport and more an initiation ritual. The first few rides felt like being inside a pinball machine. Traffic surge from every direction. Motorbikes squeeze into impossible gaps. Horns create a constant soundtrack. Sharp turns and sudden brakes make it impossible to tell left from right. “Your body has no idea which way is up,” she joked online.Another adjustment was the attention.As an African student, she quickly became aware of lingering glances in markets, small shops, and public spaces. The looks were rarely hostile, mostly curious. In many places, people simply were not accustomed to seeing someone from Zambia. But these moments often opened doors to conversations rather than closing them. Curiosity, she realized, is not always exclusion; sometimes it is simply unfamiliarity.If traffic was an adrenaline rush, tea was the opposite — grounding, constant, unavoidable.Back home, tea was a beverage choice. In India, it felt like a social obligation. Morning chai before lectures. Afternoon chai during study breaks. Evening chai with classmates. Tiny roadside stalls serving steaming cups to workers, students and strangers alike. Refusing tea sometimes felt like rejecting connection.Perhaps the most linguistically challenging discovery was the famous Indian head wobble.A subtle tilt. A gentle sway. A movement that can mean yes, no, maybe, I understand, or simply I’m listening. In the beginning, conversations required mental replay. Over time, context became the translator. Tone, facial expression, and situation mattered more than the motion itself. What once seemed impossible to decode slowly became intuitive, a small but significant sign of adaptation.Then there was bargaining, something she hadn’t fully experienced before.In many Indian markets, prices are not fixed; they are flexible starting points. Watching negotiations unfold felt like witnessing theatre. A shopkeeper would quote a price. The buyer would gasp in disbelief, and vice-versa. In India, bargaining isn’t aggression; it is engagement. It isn’t about being difficult; it is about playing the game.And then there were the midnight street snacks.Long after sunset, food stalls remained open, drawing students and night owls with the smell of frying spices. Back home, eating street food at midnight wasn’t part of daily life. Here, it felt normal. So much to choose from! There was hesitation at first, concern about spice levels, hygiene, and whether her stomach would approve. But curiosity won more often than caution. Each dish added to the growing archive of experiences that make up student life abroad. What stands out in her reflections is the balance between humour and humility. There is no mockery, no superiority, just observation. The tone suggests someone learning rather than judging, adjusting rather than resisting.Studying in a foreign country is already demanding. Add cultural translation to that equation, and every day becomes layered. Classroom lectures are only part of the education. The rest happens in auto rides, tea breaks, market negotiations and brief exchanges with strangers. One user responded, “I hope you enjoy your time here. I bet you'll leave with a little piece of India in you.” And one wrote, “You have come to the best country!”Living in India has not erased her Zambian identity. Instead, it has added new dimensions to it. Through shared jokes and small confusions, adaptation unfolds quietly. And in documenting these moments online, she offers something refreshing: a reminder that cultural exchange isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it is just laughter in traffic, confusion in conversation, and the realization that tea, in some parts of the world, is never optional.