I haven’t spoken to her in years, and calling is not my thing, so I send a Whatsapp asking if she wants to meet up to talk about India again. Our conversations were always about that because it’s where we both lived and met.
The next day, we meet each other in the Jordaan in one of those typical Dutch cafés.
‘You won’t find anything like this in India,’ she says, laughing, referencing the ambience of the café. ‘The cosiness: just ordinary, old, brown and cosy.’
I immediately understood what she means by that. India may be fantastic, but I never felt that typical cosy feeling I experience here. Or at least it’s different, but I’m not sure if I can explain why.
It is rather exceptional that she had time for me on such short notice. When I just got back to the Netherlands, after living in India, I had to get used to the fact that even the best of friends pull out their agenda when you want to meet up with them. Maybe that’s why we keep meeting: India has indeed changed us, and it’s easier to connect with someone who has been similarly influenced by India than with a full-blooded Dutch friend.
She asks me if I still have my communications office in Delhi, and I nod affirmatively. I tell her about my plans to write blogs about “our” amazing country (India), a place that, although I would never want to live there again because of the intensity of life and worrisome air pollution, I still want to be there very, very often. I also tell her about my Indian boyfriend: how we met after my “Indian time”, that his parents live there and how he has brought me even closer to the culture. Although she is immediately excited about my blogging plans, she falls silent upon hearing about my partner’s origins. Her silence reminded me of how long it had been since we last spoke.
‘Lucky duck,’ she finally says. ‘I’ve always felt that the Delhi lifestyle, the Indian culture, fits you like a glove, and the fact that you’re really living it now is very special.’
She almost playfully pushes me off my chair and admits she is jealous of me. Her husband wants nothing more to do with that country, and her children — all three born in India — finally feel a little Dutch. Nevertheless, they still speak English, like my girls do (especially amongst each other and certainly when they are angry).
‘There is so much over there that we don’t have here,’ she sighs, wistfully. ‘Like the fact that we both have time for each other the very next day. Try that with hard-core Dutch people. Then the agenda comes into play.’
We take a sip of our coffee. She’s right. In moments like these, I realise that my attitude towards time is now quite different from my fellow countrymen. It reminds me that I came back to The Netherlands having lost a part of my “Dutchness”. It’s a sort of reverse culture shock. It’s feeling lonely all over again. It’s experiencing and dealing with a totally different kind of sociability. In our one and a half hour conversation, so many new insights into life in India versus the Netherlands came rushing forth. I always assumed I would be good at writing for non-Indians in India, but I should also write about coming back from India sometime. There’s enough to talk about.
About the author
Jolene has always had a strong connection to writing. While her professional work includes content for annual reports, websites, internal magazines, and company films, it’s the more personal, reflective writing that resonates most with her. She writes about what she observes, questions, and learns in everyday life. As Managing Director of a leadership communication agency THEY, Jolene divides her time between the Netherlands and India. Living and working in Delhi gives her the rare opportunity to experience local life up close—an experience that continues to shape both her perspective and her writing. Her blog offers reflections born from cultural friction as well as connection. She doesn’t write to explain, but to explore—and often gives voice to things others may have felt but not yet found the words for.
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23 / August / 2025
