I Fucking Hate Indian Tourists

A reflection I didn’t expect to write, but here we are.

This is a post I never thought I’d write. And honestly, it makes me uncomfortable just typing this out — because at some level, it feels like I’m turning on my own people.

But over the last few trips, something has been building inside me. A frustration. A quiet cringe. A helplessness.And today, somewhere between Spiez and Montreux, on the beautiful Golden Pass Express, it snapped.

I fucking hate Indian tourists.

Now before you come for me with pitchforks, hear me out.

I love being Indian. I love desi community.

When I’m abroad — especially for longer durations — I long for familiar accents. I find so much comfort in bumping into a fellow Indian. The way we nod at each other in silence, the way we can find warmth in a chai conversation — it makes me feel seen.

But when I travel — especially when I backpack or explore slower — I start to dread seeing large groups of Indian tourists.

And it’s not just a vibe thing. It’s behavior. Patterns. A certain way of being that makes me want to hide my own Indianness. And that’s where the real heartbreak lies.

So what triggered this?

Let’s talk about today.

I was on the Golden Pass train — a gorgeous panoramic journey that almost makes you feel like you’re inside a Windows wallpaper. Seats were semi-full. I had a quiet corner to myself, soaking it all in. And then walked in this Indian family.

Middle-aged couple. Their two kids. Within minutes, chaos.

First, they sat wherever — I’m pretty sure they didn’t have reserved seats but took over a four-seater anyway. Then one of them crossed over to the other side to take photos of the rest. Soon, everyone else followed to get that “aesthetic” angle. Suddenly, one lady had taken over the entire four-seater for a solo photoshoot, striking poses and recording reels like she was auditioning for a reality show.

Still okay, I guess. Until people started boarding from Interlaken.

Seats were filling up. Folks were looking for space to sit. But now, this family had casually claimed half the coach — and anyone who asked was told, “Oh, someone’s gone to the restroom” or “These are taken.” Lies. No one else was coming.Just a simple refusal to share. A sense of entitlement that reeked.

And then the volume.

Why are we so loud? Why does everything have to be a public event? Every comment shouted. Every laugh magnified. And don't even get me started on the snack wrappers. When they left, the seats looked like the aftermath of a toddler’s birthday party. Bits of food, open packets, litter.

I mean… how hard is it to clean up after yourself?

This isn’t a one-off.

In Budapest, I remember being at a pub where people were dancing, vibing. And then walked in this Indian guy — solo — who completely disrupted the space. He kept awkwardly jumping into others’ zones, made people visibly uncomfortable, and had zero sense of boundaries.

And what hurts the most is this:

These are the people the world meets. These are the ambassadors of India the world sees.We talk about soft power, but this is what’s representing us. Privileged Indians who have the money to travel, but leave basic courtesy behind at immigration.

What does this say about me?

Here’s the painful part.Over time, I’ve found myself tensing up when I see a group of Indian tourists approaching. I put my headphones on. I look away. I distance myself.

And that’s where the contradiction hits me the hardest.

Because I am one of them. I carry the same passport. I speak the same languages. I eat the same snacks.

And yet… I don’t want to be lumped into the same category.

That realization? It sucks. It feels like a betrayal. Of myself. Of my people. Of the culture I deeply love.

So why am I writing this?

Because I know I’m not alone in feeling this. Because I hope someone, somewhere, reads this before their next trip and decides to just be a little more aware.

Travel is a privilege.And when you enter someone else’s country, you carry more than your luggage — you carry your people with you. Your culture. Your stories. Your reputation.

All I’m saying is — don’t fuck it up for the rest of us.

We can be better travelers. Quieter. Kinder. Cleaner. More empathetic. More in tune with the world we’re walking through.

I still love my people. I still beam with pride when I see Indian innovation, grit, and generosity abroad.

But I also know this: If we want the world to see us differently, maybe we need to start acting differently too.