Bangalore to Bratwurst to Barcelona: My Continental Drift

Over the last 10 years, I've been putting down roots in Europe—which sounds romantic until you realise it involves more paperwork than a cold war spy and more boxes than an Amazon warehouse.

It all started in 2015, when I packed my bags (read: 23 kg allowance and 47 kg of emotional baggage) and moved from Bangalore, India to Frankfurt, Germany, to pursue a Master in Finance. Because clearly, I thought the best way to learn about money was to live in one of the world’s most expensive countries.

After my degree, I took the scenic route north to Hamburg, Germany’s answer to "What if Berlin had a job and cleaned up after itself?" I became the first employee at a financial startup. That sounds impressive until you realise it just means I got the “startup founder panic calls” at 11 p.m.

In 2019, Hamburg gave me a promotion in life: my wife and our pet pug moved in. We formed a solid trio—she brought the sanity, I brought the ambition, and the pug brought... moral support and flatulence.

Seven years, a few life upgrades, and several thousand döner kebabs later, we decided it was time for sun, sangria, and siestas. So, naturally, we moved to Barcelona, Spain. I started my MBA while my wife successfully petitioned her very-German employer to let her work remotely—from specifically Spain. I'm still not sure how she pulled that off, but I suspect baked goods were involved.

Somewhere between lectures and tapas, we thought, “Hey, why not make this harder?” and decided to go house hunting. Fast forward to February 2025, and we were the proud owners of what can only be described as a “project house” in Castillon, Spain. It’s a charming little town if your idea of charming includes 1970s plumbing and a roof that considers rain optional.

We decided to renovate it over 3–5 years, mostly because that’s how long it’ll take us to understand the local permits office. We packed up our modest belongings from Hamburg—mostly IKEA furniture, espresso cups, and a small mountain of winter coats we can now burn ceremonially—and moved.

Somewhere in this Euro-saga, we also became officially German citizens. That’s right—we gave up our Indian passports to join the bureaucracy-loving, insurance-obsessed, rule-abiding brotherhood that is Deutschland. This was less a personal decision and more a lifelong audition for "Europe’s Next Top Immigrant."

But seriously—we’ve come to love this continent. Life in Europe is... different. In India, where I grew up, life is a competitive sport. Everything is fast, loud, chaotic, and saturated with ambition (and spice). In Europe, things are quieter. Slower. Here, the coffee is served in ceramic cups and the pressure to be a child prodigy is optional.

As part of my MBA’s “International Immersion Program”—which is MBA-speak for “Let’s spend tuition money somewhere with unachievable cost of living”—I travelled to Singapore with 40 classmates from around the world.

Now, I’ve done the business trip to New York thing. I’ve vacationed in Malaysia and Indonesia. So I thought, "Singapore? Easy. Like New York but hotter and with better wanton soup." I was not wrong—but also not right.

During the day, Singapore does look like New York put on a business suit and a humidity filter. The financial district is all glass and ambition. But unlike New York, which dies after dark except for that one pizza place near your Airbnb, Singapore comes alive. Not just “let’s grab a drink” alive—fully raving with chili crab and street food at 2 a.m. alive.

It felt bizarrely safe. Like “I can walk alone in a suit with my phone out and not die” safe. From the Maxwell Hawker Centre to the Marina Bay to late-night lepak sessions in the middle of the city—it was buzzing.

And here’s the thing: underneath all the urban sparkle, I found something I didn’t expect—hunger. Not food hunger (although, yes), but ambition. Purpose. Singapore may be rich per capita, but the people hustle like they still have rent due tomorrow. Kids are being trained for jobs that haven’t even been invented yet. The vibe was “Asia 2035,” not “Europe 1999.”

It reminded me of India. Growing up, we were fed on a steady diet of math, science, and guilt. We were hungry. The competition was fierce, the expectations were absurd, and we learned that success wasn’t handed out—it was fought for with entrance exams and stress rashes.

In Europe? Let’s just say the vibe is a little more... relaxed. German teens take gap years to “find themselves” in Peru. Public universities accept students like your grandma accepts biscuits. And people say things like “You don’t need to work yourself to death” with a straight face.

It felt like Europe had already made it. But the downside of making it? You stop trying so hard. There’s a soft, comfy complacency in the air. It smells faintly of sourdough.

So in Singapore, I was jolted awake again. It was the same electric current I felt growing up in India—the energy, the ambition, the vision of a country that refuses to coast.

And honestly? It made me think. Maybe the future belongs to those who are a little uncomfortable, a little scrappy, and very hungry.

Also, to countries where the food courts stay open past 9 p.m.

Over the last 10 years, I've been putting down roots in Europe—which sounds romantic until you realise it involves more paperwork than a cold war spy and more boxes than an Amazon warehouse.

It all started in 2015, when I packed my bags (read: 23 kg allowance and 47 kg of emotional baggage) and moved from Bangalore, India to Frankfurt, Germany, to pursue a Master in Finance. Because clearly, I thought the best way to learn about money was to live in one of the world’s most expensive countries.

After my degree, I took the scenic route north to Hamburg, Germany’s answer to "What if Berlin had a job and cleaned up after itself?" I became the first employee at a financial startup. That sounds impressive until you realise it just means I got the “startup founder panic calls” at 11 p.m.

In 2019, Hamburg gave me a promotion in life: my wife and our pet pug moved in. We formed a solid trio—she brought the sanity, I brought the ambition, and the pug brought... moral support and flatulence.

Seven years, a few life upgrades, and several thousand döner kebabs later, we decided it was time for sun, sangria, and siestas. So, naturally, we moved to Barcelona, Spain. I started my MBA while my wife successfully petitioned her very-German employer to let her work remotely—from specifically Spain. I'm still not sure how she pulled that off, but I suspect baked goods were involved.

Somewhere between lectures and tapas, we thought, “Hey, why not make this harder?” and decided to go house hunting. Fast forward to February 2025, and we were the proud owners of what can only be described as a “project house” in Castillon, Spain. It’s a charming little town if your idea of charming includes 1970s plumbing and a roof that considers rain optional.

We decided to renovate it over 3–5 years, mostly because that’s how long it’ll take us to understand the local permits office. We packed up our modest belongings from Hamburg—mostly IKEA furniture, espresso cups, and a small mountain of winter coats we can now burn ceremonially—and moved.

Somewhere in this Euro-saga, we also became officially German citizens. That’s right—we gave up our Indian passports to join the bureaucracy-loving, insurance-obsessed, rule-abiding brotherhood that is Deutschland. This was less a personal decision and more a lifelong audition for "Europe’s Next Top Immigrant."

But seriously—we’ve come to love this continent. Life in Europe is... different. In India, where I grew up, life is a competitive sport. Everything is fast, loud, chaotic, and saturated with ambition (and spice). In Europe, things are quieter. Slower. Here, the coffee is served in ceramic cups and the pressure to be a child prodigy is optional.

As part of my MBA’s “International Immersion Program”—which is MBA-speak for “Let’s spend tuition money somewhere with unachievable cost of living”—I travelled to Singapore with 40 classmates from around the world.

Now, I’ve done the business trip to New York thing. I’ve vacationed in Malaysia and Indonesia. So I thought, "Singapore? Easy. Like New York but hotter and with better wanton soup." I was not wrong—but also not right.

During the day, Singapore does look like New York put on a business suit and a humidity filter. The financial district is all glass and ambition. But unlike New York, which dies after dark except for that one pizza place near your Airbnb, Singapore comes alive. Not just “let’s grab a drink” alive—fully raving with chili crab and street food at 2 a.m. alive.

It felt bizarrely safe. Like “I can walk alone in a suit with my phone out and not die” safe. From the Maxwell Hawker Centre to the Marina Bay to late-night lepak sessions in the middle of the city—it was buzzing.

And here’s the thing: underneath all the urban sparkle, I found something I didn’t expect—hunger. Not food hunger (although, yes), but ambition. Purpose. Singapore may be rich per capita, but the people hustle like they still have rent due tomorrow. Kids are being trained for jobs that haven’t even been invented yet. The vibe was “Asia 2035,” not “Europe 1999.”

It reminded me of India. Growing up, we were fed on a steady diet of math, science, and guilt. We were hungry. The competition was fierce, the expectations were absurd, and we learned that success wasn’t handed out—it was fought for with entrance exams and stress rashes.

In Europe? Let’s just say the vibe is a little more... relaxed. German teens take gap years to “find themselves” in Peru. Public universities accept students like your grandma accepts biscuits. And people say things like “You don’t need to work yourself to death” with a straight face.

It felt like Europe had already made it. But the downside of making it? You stop trying so hard. There’s a soft, comfy complacency in the air. It smells faintly of sourdough.

So in Singapore, I was jolted awake again. It was the same electric current I felt growing up in India—the energy, the ambition, the vision of a country that refuses to coast.

And honestly? It made me think. Maybe the future belongs to those who are a little uncomfortable, a little scrappy, and very hungry.

Also, to countries where the food courts stay open past 9 p.m.