Waiting In India: The line that isn’t there (#510)

One of the small shocks of spending time in India is the queue.

Or rather, the absence of one.

You stand patiently, believing in the invisible contract of first come, first served.

You wait. You inch forward.

And then, quite suddenly, someone steps in front of you. No apology. No eye contact. No sense that anything unusual has occurred.

At first, it feels rude. Even personal. A tiny moral breach.

But after a while, you begin to suspect it isn’t rudeness at all.

It’s something else entirely.

The Western Idea of the Queue

In much of the Western world, a queue is sacred. It is democracy in miniature. We line up as equals. We wait our turn. We silently judge anyone who violates the order.

The queue represents fairness, patience, and social trust.

You don’t need to be told not to cut in line. The rules are internalized. Breaking them invites social sanction and sometimes confrontation.

But that system only works when people believe the system works.

India’s Logic Is Different

India does not function along orderly lines. It runs on momentum.

On survival. On negotiation. On presence.

When someone steps forward at a counter or boarding gate, they are not necessarily being rude. They are asserting existence in a system that often rewards visibility over patience.

In India, waiting quietly can mean being forgotten.

In a country of 1.4 billion people, scarcity has shaped behavior for generations. Trains are missed. Forms are lost. Officials go on tea break. Systems stall. If you don’t step forward, someone else will.

Not because they are selfish. But because experience has taught them to.

Is It the Same as Driving in India?

Possibly.

Driving in India looks chaotic to the untrained eye. Lanes are suggestions. Horns are language. Right of way is negotiated in real time.

But it works.

Not because of rigid rules, but because of constant awareness. Eye contact. Micro-decisions. Anticipation.

Queueing follows a similar logic.

Queueing isn’t about waiting your turn. It’s about staying visible in a moving system.

A Different Relationship With Time

In Western cultures, time is linear. You wait your turn. Your time will come.

In India, time is elastic.

Delays are expected. Processes loop. Outcomes depend on relationships, timing, luck, and persistence.

Waiting passively feels naïve. So, people lean in. Step forward. Not aggressively, but assertively.

What I’ve Learned

At first, I found it irritating.

Then confusing.

And eventually, oddly impressive.

Because beneath the apparent chaos is a deeply adaptive social intelligence. People read situations instantly. They adjust. They push when needed. They retreat when required.

It’s not rude. It’s responsive.

And perhaps that’s the lesson.

The queue, as I understood it, assumes fairness is guaranteed.

In much of the world, it isn’t.

So, people don’t wait for permission.

They participate.

And Me?

I still queue.

Old habits die hard.

But I am learning not to take offense when someone steps ahead of me. I watch instead. I observe the rhythm. I step forward when it matters.

India, as always, isn’t trying to offend.

India is teaching something more subtle:

• That order looks different when life is crowded,

• That patience and passivity are not the same thing, and

• That sometimes, survival requires a gentle push forward. Even in a queue.

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