The mind of a foreign content creator

In the long list of things India is a land of, we can now add “land of content” without a second thought. There’s a running joke on social media: if a westerner’s YouTube channel is struggling, he simply pivots to “Let’s make content about India.”

India is a land made for content. Where else will you find humans, animals, birds, and vehicles performing a cacophonous symphony all at once? The humble rickshaw becomes exotic. Street vendors fumbling through English turn into charming characters. Being stuck in traffic with horns blaring is suddenly an “authentic India experience”. Cows casually strolling down the middle of the road become viral stars. A yoga session, a tea seller balancing 10 cups at once, or a makeshift wedding pandal, suddenly, everything is content gold.

It wasn’t always like this. Earlier, documentaries focused only on the Taj Mahal or on poverty. Photographers won awards with images of forlorn children staring blankly into the camera. Then came social media, and with it arrived a flood of influencers. Suddenly, the mundane became fascinating. Monetisation changed everything. T-Series showed the world the power of one billion people, and content queued up to experience it for themselves. There are three levels to this. It depends on time, money, and convenience.

The first level is of the creators who land in Delhi, Mumbai, or Bengaluru because, of course, direct flights. Anything outside these three cities requires effort, planning, and the scary possibility of a layover. The adventurous ones add Agra and Jaipur to the itinerary, but only because it’s part of the Golden Triangle and can be neatly packaged into a single road tour. Anyone who decides to go anywhere beyond these brochure-approved cities is treated like a real adventurer. A single vlog from Chennai Central can earn them a hero status.

Some go a step further. They travel in trains even Indians try to avoid. They eat at eateries where the locals themselves say, “Please don’t, you’ll get Delhi Belly.” But bravery is a currency, and nothing fetches higher engagement than “I tried REAL Indian street food and survived.” They film narrow alleys as though they have uncovered a secret civilisation. Money and better camera angles can make anything photogenic.

The second level go to their local authentic Indian restaurant, the one that proudly declares “Serving Real Indian Food Since 2000” and plays Bollywood remixes from 2012. They sit cross-legged on the floor for the full experience and order butter chicken and garlic naan, then film themselves taking a reverent first bite, eyes widening as though they have discovered the secret of the universe. “This is so authentic,” they whisper as the regulars look and laugh secretly.

Sometimes they even make it to the Indian community’s Deepavali celebration. They get bindis or tilaks at the reception desk and film themselves trying to say namaste. Some even break into random dance moves near the buffet counter, convinced that Indians do that every time they see a plate of samosas. Sometimes some brave souls even get a henna tattoo from the pop-up artist outside.

The third-level creators don’t leave their house at all. Why face visas, flights, language barriers, or even weather when you can simply sit on your couch and record yourself reacting to Indian movie trailers? They lean forward dramatically during action scenes, widen their eyes during dance sequences, and gasp softly when the hero jumps off a cliff in slow motion. Eight minutes of nodding, grinning, and whispering “Wow… the colours!” now counts as cross-cultural understanding. Their entire relationship with India is a Wi-Fi connection and a ring light. For them, India is not a country, it is a playlist.

In this age of content, authenticity is measured in views and likes. Chaos is packaged as charm. India is a stage and it will always deliver what you crave: stories, visuals, and that sweet, sweet viral fame.`

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