How the West Was Masala’d

By Rishi "Rick" Patel-Goldberg

It started innocently enough—with turmeric lattes in Brooklyn and yoga teachers named Sky. But now? Now they run Google, Microsoft, the spelling bee, and my HOA board. Yes, dear reader, the Indians have taken over. The West has officially been… masala’d.

I write this from my Brooklyn brownstone, which smells faintly of cumin ever since the Shah family moved in next door and started “lightly toasting their spices” at 6:00 a.m. daily. My children, who once enjoyed basic American pleasures like Lunchables and sugary cereal, now ask for “homemade chana masala with basmati rice.” I caught my son chanting “Om Namah Shivaya” before his Xbox game. I don't even know what that means—but it sounds suspiciously peaceful.

How did it happen, you ask? Quietly. Calculatedly. With Excel sheets.

First came the engineers. Armed with H-1B visas, they infiltrated Silicon Valley and, within two fiscal quarters, were “optimizing” everything. Then came the doctors. Your urgent care is now staffed exclusively by Patels, all of whom seem to know your cholesterol levels better than your own mother.

And the names! Gone are the Bobs and Susans of yesteryear. Now it’s Aarav, Diya, and Vihaan—names that sound like luxury skincare brands but are actually third graders coding in Python.

They brought their food, too. The American palate, once content with ketchup, now gulps mango pickle and calls it “bold.” Trader Joe’s sells frozen palak paneer. There’s a turmeric aisle at Whole Foods. Starbucks spells my name “Rishi” correctly. That’s when I knew it was over.

But perhaps the most sinister plot twist? They're *nice*. Infuriatingly polite. They bring laddoos during Diwali and Christmas cookies in December. They invite you to weddings that last five days and feature choreographed dances, elephants (or Teslas), and enough glitter to blind an aircraft.

Even politics isn’t safe. Vivek, Nikki, Kamala—how long before the Capitol is turned into a mandir with a rotating prime minister system based on astrology?

I confronted my own complicity in this takeover. My Spotify Wrapped featured three Bollywood tracks. I own a kurta. My Golden Retriever responds to Hindi commands. Last week, I caught myself pronouncing “Gandhi” correctly. It’s happening to all of us.

And yet… I find myself oddly comforted. The West wasn’t destroyed—it was curried. Spiced. Improved. Like a bland chicken breast finally meeting a marinade. Maybe, just maybe, a little masala is what the West needed all along.

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**Rishi "Rick" Patel-Goldberg** is a freelance writer, reluctant tabla student, and co-founder of “Diaspora Dads Against Ghee Infiltration,” currently on indefinite hiatus.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5753398&forum_id=2#49122179)