Pursuing The American Dream: Embracing A Leap of Faith

Canada, my first overseas trip, was an overwhelmingly amazing experience, leaving me craving for more.

“But what about my UPSC plans?” I pondered. “I’m only 22, with 8 more years before I become ineligible for the exam. A couple of years overseas won’t hurt, and the money is good too.”

“But how do I get there?” was the question.

Applying for jobs on companies’ websites proved fruitless, and sponsorship was hard to come by. “Consultancy?” I quickly dismissed the idea. They were parasite middleman who would sponsor a work visa at your expense, and take a big chunk of your paychecks while holding your passport hostage. No way was I signing up for that circus.

The only option that seemed left was the traditional route of higher studies. I reluctantly bought a bunch of GMAT books to prepare for the exam. Every evening, I’d lie in bed, staring at the books, calculating the tens of thousands of dollars in loans I’d have to apply for, with exorbitant interest rates, to fund my studies, all without a guarantee of a job. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a better way.

Securing h1B visa: The Leap to the American Dream

Just as I was gearing up to kick off my GMAT study plan, I received news of my coworker, Surya, who had recently resigned from my company and had moved to the US. Without wasting a moment, I reached out to him to offer my congratulations. (Okay, let’s be real, I was more interested in some insider info.)

“Congrats, man! You did it,” I cheered.

“Thanks, dude. I was so tired of hauling my ass all day long in that pigeonhole cubicle for wages the size of a peanut… and my manager, that sadistic jerk, held my promotion, showing me the onsite trip carrot instead of a raise in appraisals for years. Am I a fucking peasant?” Surya vented, unleashing years of pent-up frustration in one go.

“I hear you, buddy. I’m in the same boat, looking for a way out myself,” I agreed, playing my hand.

“Why don’t you join me? My consultant is great. He didn’t charge me a penny for my H1B visa,” Surya’s words sounded like music to my ears. This was exactly why I called him!

“He’s even provided free accommodation until I land a job,” he continued, luring me in even further. “And guess what? He’s setup a bank account for me and deposited $100…and covered my first grocery bill too!”

“And tomorrow he’s buying me a laptop,” he added.

“How do I get started?” I interrupted, before he could entice me any further.

“Just send me your resume. I’ll take care of the rest,” he assured.

True to his word, he connected me with the consultant, and within two weeks, the consultant filed my H1B visa with a salary set at $60,000 per year! In just over three years, I had skyrocketed from a modest 11,400 rupees per month to well over 2 lakhs per month. To put it in context, gold was selling for just 7000 rupees per 10 grams back then. I could practically buy a Maruti 800 every month with that kind of money. Wrap your head around that! Imagine the brain freeze a 23-year-old had trying to process that kind of leap! It felt like I was riding the success tsunami, my stars aligned perfectly—or so it seemed in that surreal moment. From a college kid who perfected the art of dodging lectures and copying assignments, this was like living in a fairy tale, and I seriously needed a reality bite to believe it was for real.

USA: A glimpse on a Business Trip

While I was still caught up in my dollar fantasy and eagerly awaiting my visa approval, I was called upon to visit a client in California for a three-week business trip. The per diem was set at $50, I had accommodation at a Holiday Inn hotel, and a rental car for commuting (if I could manage left-hand drive). A prearranged cab picked me up at the airport and dropped me off at the hotel. The drive from the airport to the hotel was a breeze.

“Why do these guys need so many lanes?” I wondered. I even tried to clock a car that zoomed past my cab. I wondered if its tires were even touching the road. The guy must have been doing at least 100 miles per hour. I felt an adrenaline rush—a need for speed. So, as soon as I joined the office the next day, I went up to HR.

“Good afternoon, Madam. I would like access to a car for commuting, please,” I requested with a smile.

“Sure. Have you driven in the US before?” she asked.

“No, but I’ve driven in India,” I replied confidently.

“Oh. I’m sorry, but that won’t work. We have automatic left-hand drive cars here, unlike the stick-based right-hand drive in India,” she replied, shaking her head.

“I drove in Canada during my last overseas trip. Would that work?” I bluffed in a flash of brilliance. I was in no mood to let go of this chance to roar an American beast.

“Yeah, it’s the same. Okay, I will arrange the car for you today,” she agreed without hesitation.

True to her word, the next day, I was handed the keys to a gleaming red 2.2L Pontiac Sunfire—the most powerful car I had driven until then. The engine roared like the MGM Grand lion when I hit the gas, and I couldn’t wait to add miles to the beast.

Wheeling in the West: Wrong Turns and Quick Learns

Since I had bluffed about my left-hand driving experience, I drove cautiously.

“It’s a free right. It’s a free right,” I constantly reminded myself, like a mantra for survival.

But two days of a new driving style couldn’t override years of old habits. My worst fears were realized when I instinctively turned left instead of right on a street.

“You jackass! Watch where you’re going!” yelled the driver of the oncoming car, his head popping out the window.

“Free right… Free right… Shit, I made a mistake,” I muttered, snapping out of my oblivion. My reflexes kicked in—I slammed on the brake, shifted to reverse, and backed up 20 yards into a parking lot. I took a few deep breaths to calm down before resuming driving, this time remembering to stay on the right.

But it didn’t end there. Just a few minutes later, I made the same blunder on a highway, causing even more chaos. Horns blared, drivers cursed, and I felt like I was in a live-action game of Frogger. It was only after that second scare, with my heart racing like a bunny on espresso, that the “No Free Left” rule finally sank in for good.

Little did I know, it was just the beginning of more misadventures that awaited me in this new country.