I’m taking the risk of sounding like the cliché of a random European who “saw the light” during a trip to India. My friends always have Eat, Pray, Love in a corner of their minds when I tell them about my adventures, but what I want to share here is something different. Yes, my learnings are spiritual, but they’re also steeped in a pragmatism too often forgotten in those travel narratives with more or less “initiatory” tones.

I ended up in India by accident, out of laziness even — if I’m totally honest. I’d never dreamed of going there, I didn’t practice yoga regularly before I went, and I think I’d never even tasted Indian food before leaving. One October evening I had a glass of red at my neighbors’, met Margaux there, and told her I was planning to volunteer abroad but felt overwhelmed at the idea of finding a trustworthy organization… She gave me the contact of the founder of an association she’d volunteered with, and that’s how, on January 1st, 2019, I took off for India — terrified by this wild idea of heading out alone to face the unknown.

I’ve just returned from my third stay in this country I’m still so in love with. I’m not going to dwell on everything that feeds my special relationship with India — that’s not the point of this article. What is long overdue is taking stock of what my stays and Indian culture have brought me.

1. You can always adapt

I often tell, laughing, the story of a train more than ten hours late, for which the station master assured me, “we’ll adjust, don’t worry.” I couldn’t see how anyone could “adjust” a ten-hour delay; however, being one of the only foreigners on the platform in the middle of the night, I was forced to admit I was the one who would have to adjust. No use sighing, grumbling, threatening management, drafting a savage tweet — no. Here, when there’s a delay, you buy a chai, a kachori, you sit on the ground, and you exchange complicit glances with the dozens (hundreds?) of people who are also “adjusting” to this mishap which, in the end, isn’t so terrible.

That night, I quietly finished my embroidery on the platform; a young man offered me a chai, then told me about his studies and asked questions about scholarships in Europe and the best way to get into a master’s program in France or the UK. I took loads of photos with strangers — I must appear in countless Indian family albums, and that thought amuses me to no end.

In India, you adapt, you wait, you do things differently, you tinker a solution, you take a detour, you don’t give up. You go around obstacles — sometimes very slowly — like rickshaws quietly steering around cows. You keep moving. In entrepreneurship, in problem-solving, in conflict management, rigidity gets you nowhere; flexibility wears down your towering cliffs of impatience. And that, in my view, is a deeply underrated superpower.

2. Anger gets you nowhere

Picture traffic more chaotic than Paris on the eve of school holidays. And yet in India, it flows. Vehicles brush past each other, horns sound constantly — and still, no shouting, no road-rage explosions. Just a strange ballet inside an apparent chaos. You’ll tell me the majority of two-wheelers simplifies things — fair — but I believe the patience and adaptability of Indians deserve praise.

On a descent along a narrow mountain road, I got stuck behind a coach. In France, coaches would simply be banned on such a road. Here, drivers of various vehicles took turns helping one another through the tricky spots, signaling where and how to maneuver. Picture the scene: a man walking 25 meters uphill through a traffic jam just to help unblock the flow. Unthinkable at home, isn’t it? All of it done calmly.

India taught me that keeping your cool serves emergencies, crises, and conflicts far better than losing your temper — and I think it will take me a lifetime to excel at that delicate art. Keeping calm when the neighbor forces their way through (literally and figuratively), not flying off the handle when you feel cheated or faced with injustice. Maneuvering calmly to unblock situations, keeping a cool head.

I joked that the real yoga experience in India happens when you drive… take that as you will!

3. The sense of community

My previous point naturally leads to this one. One of my closest Indian friends confessed he felt a deep loneliness when he came to France for a few weeks during his studies — before we met. At first, I chalked it up to his shy, reserved temperament, but as I took the time to observe how people operate in India, I had to face the truth: the issue came from elsewhere.

If you watch the world bustling around you in India, you quickly notice that no one is really alone. Community is woven into daily life, anchored in family structures. Children grow up surrounded by elders. It reminded me of winters I spent at my grandparents’, sharing the house with my great-grandmother so she wouldn’t be isolated in her village.

In India, helping isn’t “a favor,” it’s simply how things work. If you’re lost, five people will rush to point the way — then leave without expecting thanks. That innate generosity is a lesson for society at large, and for how we build and lead businesses.

4. Slow down

I’m deeply convinced that unlearning the race toward meaningless productivity is the key to giving our companies a new momentum — one of intensity and depth. A way to rethink what we create, why we create it, and how. To use inertia wisely so we don’t run like headless chickens toward empty goals.

I believe a good director, manager, leader knows how to take the time to slow down to refine their decision-making process — and stop letting ASAP culture eat them alive.

I’m thinking of the explanation some investors give for choosing where to live: they weigh quality of life but also the distance from the noise and frenzy of global economic hubs, so that their decision-making/thinking process isn’t polluted by the injunction to speed that emanates from those so-called “strategic” places (I talk about this here).

5. The meaning of service

Another striking notion in India is that no one ever tells you no. When you go to buy clothing, spices, a trip, a meal… no one will tell you no! They send an employee to fetch the pants you want from another shop (I’m talking tiny competing stalls here, not big chains with stock distributed across various locations). They look up the recipe on Google (I taught a hotel manager how to make crêpes so he could add them to his menu). They offer you something “almost the same” that actually has nothing to do with it — all while serving you chai, showing you photos of their home or former clients, or making you read glowing reviews on TripAdvisor.

So yes, the result is often approximate, and regularly draws an amused smile, but the experience is always appreciable. Yes, you’re in the bustle and the noise, but as tradition would have it, you’re treated like a god (literally — in Hinduism, the guest is a god in your home). We can’t always say the same in France, and I think we have a lot to learn from the sense of service of Indian fabric vendors.

Rakesh, who sold me my first scarves in 2019, still remembered me four years later even though we’d had ZERO contact. He welcomed me like family every time I stepped into his shop. Vicky welcomed us into his home to cook with his wife and children. Mukesh took us straight to his warehouse so we could have a wider choice of fabrics…

Imagine a service where the experience you offer your client is truly your priority. Know that I don’t care if the pants I had made aren’t exactly like the photo I showed — because I was treated with such care that, in the end, the result matters less than the overall experience I lived. Food for thought.

6. Everything is a matter of perspective

I took my most recent trip with my family, and I saw just how much India gives that first impression of utter disorganization. You arrive and you think, “But honestly, how can this possibly work?!” You show up full of your own preconceptions, of what you “know,” with the very arrogant confidence that you know how it would be better.

It reminds me of the way a new employee joins a team — or a consultant arrives in my business — and seems to know best before they’ve even observed anything.

We’d like to believe we’ll do things better than Indians, that we possess magical recipes. But India has its History, its culture, its ways of operating, and you can’t apply a French line of reasoning to it. To understand India, you have to immerse yourself, take its perspective. This is exactly what Shane Parrish explains in his book Clear Thinking with the example of Michael Abrashoff and the USS Benfold (I can only strongly recommend you read this book): it’s essential to be aware of your blind spots if you want to approach a situation well.

I think India taught me not to stop at my first impression and simply to adopt my counterpart’s point of view. It’s an extremely difficult exercise — especially in a conflict — but it’s what allows you to find a fairer solution for both parties. Understanding the other so you can work better with them is essential, whether in a professional collaboration, a friendship, or your couple… We often stay stubborn, believing we’re right; we forget that the other side has their own sensitivity, their story, their values, etc.

7. The importance of believing in something

I’ll end on a more spiritual point, which is, in my view, one of the keystones of what I learned in India.

I left the first time after a burnout. I’d had enough of everything. I didn’t believe in anything anymore — not even myself. In India, there are temples on every corner, and the muezzins’ call to prayer sets the rhythm of the days. Without realizing it, I got into the habit of praying by leaving flowers in temples, going to sing, or simply appreciating the beauty of the statues scattered everywhere.

In India, people have faith — a solid faith in the universe. That faith dictates traditions and ways of life (some of them very debatable), and it is the cement of a vast nation with incredibly rich diversity. But this nation is united by faith. Whatever each person’s confession, they all believe in a god, in something that makes everything move forward.

It’s that something, that faith, that makes everything swarm with life; that makes you help elders climb the fifty steps of the temple; that makes you direct traffic for a coach on a mountain road.

I’m convinced our faith — in the future, in God, in ourselves, in something — is what makes us move forward, what keeps us from losing our bearings, what helps us hold the line despite the storms.

I think every good director, leader, manager carries in their gut that something that animates them — that thing you believe in, that keeps you going even in the darkest hours.

India reminded me that my faith is something beyond a purely religious question; it reconnected me to the courage to believe in my wildest dreams — gently, and simply.