Dhruv Pathak
By Dhruv Pathak
Every November, I try to spend some time thinking about what I’m thankful for. This year, I’ve been thinking a lot about my relationship with being Indian American, particularly the old self-loathing habits I picked up growing up in the US. If you know me, you know I have plenty of criticisms of Indian culture, and I doubt that’ll change anytime soon. But as I get older, I’m finding more things about our culture that I’m genuinely grateful for. One of them is something I’ve experienced my entire life but never thought much about: how we welcome people into our homes.
If you’re reading this, maybe you’re South Asian, know someone who is, or are just curious. Either way, you probably know what comes next. When you visit a South Asian home, an auntie quickly offers chai or water, and an uncle brings out snacks. Soon, you’re staying for dinner. If you try to say no, you’ll get a gentle finger wag and a playful scolding as spicy as chili.
A white friend once told me he visited his Indian friend’s dorm and ate so much butter chicken he turned red — not just from the spice, but from the warmth and flavors in the room, since his host wouldn’t take no for an answer. Before anyone asks why you’re there, someone is already saying, “Khana garam karun?” Should I warm up the food? It only takes two minutes. And if you say you’ve already eaten, well, that’s never the right answer.
I always thought this was just a normal part of being Indian. But maybe it’s something deeper and older, a sense of duty rather than a habit.
When someone comes into our home, we feel responsible for their comfort, hunger, and sometimes even their safety. Whether we know our guests well or not, we believe they should be cared for under our roof.
For most of history, travelers had to rely on the kindness of strangers. When someone arrived in a new village, they had to put aside their fears and trust the locals to welcome them. Trade, migration, and connections between distant communities depended on a shared understanding of how to treat strangers, so kindness would be returned.
Early cultures developed various traditions to address this vulnerability. In South Asia, our ancestors made hospitality a sacred duty.
In the Taittiriya Upanishad, students getting ready for adult life learned Atithi Devo Bhava, which means “the guest is like God.” This teaching was listed as a duty to honor your mother, father, and teacher.
Welcoming a guest was seen as a moral obligation, not just a kind gesture. A good student would treat it as a core value, not just a “nice to have” skill.
The Ancient Greeks had their own tradition called xenia, or guest-friendship. In Homer’s Odyssey, travelers rely on the kindness of strangers, and hosts are judged by how they treat guests.
In one story, a poor swineherd named Eumaeus welcomes someone who is a beggar, sharing what little he has because Zeus protects strangers and beggars.
These traditions were different, and neither society treated everyone equally.
Greek guest-friendship often came with the expectation that the favor would be returned. Still, both cultures believed strangers deserved kindness, even without a prior relationship.
Why make hospitality sacred? Because the usual rules for friends and family were not enough. A stranger had no family ties, no history of loyalty, and sometimes nothing to offer in return. By placing guests under divine protection, these societies gave people a reason to care for someone whose well-being was left to the gods.
Here’s a more recent example. I once heard Chris Hedges, an American journalist for The New York Times, share a story from the 1991 Gulf War. While reporting from Iraq, he was captured and taken to Baghdad, where he was imprisoned, hungry, and unsure if he would survive. Looking out a window, he saw women baking bread on a nearby rooftop. In broken Arabic, he called out that he was an American journalist, a prisoner, and hadn’t eaten. One woman sent her young son across the rooftops to bring him bread.
Hedges was an American in a country at war with the United States. The woman didn’t know him or what he believed. Still, she heard a hungry man asking for food and chose to help.
I think that question gets to the heart of what gratitude really means. We often see gratitude as being thankful for what we’ve received. But what if gratitude also means showing that same generosity to a stranger?
For Indian Americans, this question probably feels familiar. Many of our families came to the United States knowing very few people.
My parents once welcomed a Sikh family who had just moved to America for work. They weren’t related to us or even from my mom’s city in Punjab, but that didn’t matter. My parents knew what it felt like to arrive somewhere new and need people who understood your situation. That bond is still strong today.
Our families went on vacations together; I attended their eldest daughter’s wedding, and they traveled from Charlotte to St. Louis for mine. I know my parents weren’t thinking about the Upanishads or ancient Greek philosophy when they welcomed them. It was simply something that we do.
We don’t always know where our traditions come from. Our parents, aunties, uncles, and neighbors make the pathway legible: we watch, mimic their gestures, and eventually make them our own.
I am glad to have inherited this tradition because it shows how hospitality is passed down from generation to generation. I’m also starting to see that being thankful for hospitality means recognizing how much our lives depend on the generosity of those who came before us, including the people who welcomed our families when we were the strangers.
Maybe that’s the bigger duty we’ve inherited: to welcome others as we were once welcomed. Someone — maybe our parents or grandparents — welcomed us before we belonged. Now we have the chance to offer that same welcome to others. That’s the deeper meaning of this tradition.
If we truly believe the guest should be treated like God, then that responsibility can’t stop with just our family, our religion, or people who look like us.
The next time an auntie insists you sit down and eat, remember what that gesture carries. It is the same inheritance that led my parents to welcome a Sikh family newly arrived in America—not as relatives or old friends, but as strangers who needed a place to belong.
We honor that inheritance by opening our doors as our parents and grandparents did, only wider, extending their welcome beyond what felt familiar or comfortable to them.
In a plate of food, a seat at the table, and a door held open to a stranger, an ancient duty becomes ordinary practice: Atithi Devo Bhava — the guest is God.
Dhruv Pathak is a writer based in St. Louis, originally from Charlotte. He writes to better understand human behavior — how it is formed and shaped by our world. Read more of his work over at athroughline.substack.com. Contact: pathak.d@icloud.com.
