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Planning a Trip to India to Marry My Indian Bride

Five years ago, if someone had told me I’d be planning my wedding in india, I would have called them crazy and walked away because back then, I was just another trucker hauling loads across the Midwest, eating at the rest stops and living life from one mile to another at a time. Fast forward to today, I’m booking my flight tickets to Chennai, learning how to tie a dhoti, excited to eat food from a Banana leaf and getting ready to marry the woman of my dreams.

We both met online; she’s indian, and I’m not. Believe me or not, we met through a mutual friend and a video call that wasn’t supposed to last more than ten minutes, but it did, and then one thing turned into another. Before we even knew it, we used to talk every day. Somewhere between conversations about family, food, culture and work, we found a strange and steady rhyme for ourselves, which was love.

Now we are officially getting married. And let me tell you, planning a wedding in India is a completely different scenario. In America, weddings are usually about the couple, but in India, it’s about the families. Aunties, Uncles, cousins I have never met, and everyone has an opinion. And somehow, I’m expected to remember all of the relations and their names!

I have been warned by my Indian friends about the heat, the noise of cows in traffic and nosy aunties who want to know how much I make. But I’ve also been told I’ll be treated like a king. They welcome me with all their love, feed me till I burst, and most probably drag me onto the dance floor many times than I’m comfortable with.

There is so much to plan: vacations, visas, gifts for the family, Indian clothes for the family, and of course, mentally preparing myself for the baraat, which is the groom processions which apparently involves dancing in front of a horse before getting welcomed into the wedding hall. All of this seems so exciting and overwhelming at the same time.

For me, this trip isn’t just about a wedding; it’s about stepping into the world of the woman I love, meeting her parents, eating dosas at roadside stalls and visiting ancient temples. It’s about showing up fully, completely—for the person I love, in her culture, on her terms.

It’s not really the kind of journey most truckers take, but Lfie has a very funny way of changing lanes when you least expect it to.

And sometimes, the best destination is love, even if it’s 8,000 miles away.

When Things Go Wrong: Accidents on the Road

There are very few jobs that scare you and keep you up every night, even after years. It’s one of the parts of my career as truckers we dislike and never want to encounter. I’m talking about accidents; every truck driver has a story or knows someone who has a story. And no matter how experienced or careful you are, the road doesn’t always play fair.

I have been a long haul driver for almost a decade now, logging more miles than I can count through rain, shine, snow, fog, you name it. It’s a routine in my life now. You check your rig, plan your route, and keep your head on a swivel. But all it takes is one moment, one mistake, yours or somebody else’s, for everything to change.

My first real scare was outside Amarillo, Texas. I was doing a full load haul; everything was by the books, but then a car cut me off trying to make an exit they almost missed. I had to slam brakes, tyres screamed, and the trailer behind me was fishtailed. Somehow, by some miracle, everything was under control, and nobody was hurt. I sat in the cab for ten minutes after that incident, hands shaking and the scene replaying in my head over and over; not everybody gets that lucky, but I was the lucky one that day.

I have seen the destruction that has left me stunned for days, right in front of my eyes. I’ve pulled over to help other drivers and called 911 more times than I have ever wanted to. The worst kind of accidents usually happen during bad weather or narrow highways, where one wrong move means a big disaster.

What people don’t realize is how much weight we’re carrying. An 80,000-pound truck doesn’t stop on a dime. We can’t swerve like a car. We don’t have the luxury of quick reflexes when someone’s texting and drifting into our lane. And yet, when accidents happen, the blame often lands on the trucker.

After every near-death experience, there is paperwork, drug tests, incident reports, and so many other formalities before you can drive again. But there’s also a heavy emotional toll: the guilt, the ‘what ifs’, and the burden of responsibility. It’s a weight we carry, not just in our rigs but in our hearts.

But we keep driving, not just for ourselves, but for the goods we deliver and the communities we serve. We also know the risks, and we take our job very seriously. We double-check everything before we make a move and learn from every mistake we have made. And every time we start the engine, we hope that others sharing the road with us understand and acknowledge that we are not machines; we are also human, just like them. We hope for their understanding, their cooperation, and their commitment to making the roads safer for all of us.

Love on the Road

Dating isn’t easy when you live your life behind the wheel of an 18-wheeler.

Most people dont think that truckers would have a dating life. They imagine us eating alone every day, stopping at diners and sleeping in our cabs during the day, and to be very honest, sometimes that’s exactly how it goes. But just because I spend most of my time on the road driving doesn’t mean I have to give up on finding love; it means that I’ve to figure out a different way to see it.

And dating apps? Yeah, no, I have tried all of them. The biggest issue for me is that how do i explain to someone that I am 300 miles away after a great first conversation? “Sorry, I’m in Oklahoma for the week. Maybe coffee next Thursday?” That kind of schedule doesn’t always inspire confidence.

Then there is the question of how honest I should be. Do I tell someone right away that I will be unavailable for five or six days a week? That my hours are always unpredictable? That I will have trouble being at home for Valentine’s Day or birthday or a Sunday dinner? It weeds people out pretty fast, and mostly, people look for something to commit; while life is unpredictable in every aspect for me, how do I commit to anything?

But I have seen that the right kind of people get it. They appreciate the hustle; they respect our independence, and some even find the lifestyle kind of romantic, old-school love of someone working hard, crossing the country while the other hustles in another city, both looking forward to meeting each other once a week sort of thing.

I’ve had a few relationships that tried to work around my schedule. Some didn’t last; distance is hard, no matter how much you care. Others ended because life on the road doesn’t always leave room for consistent communication, let alone date nights. But I’ve also had moments sitting in my cab after a long haul, texting someone who genuinely wanted to hear how my day went—that reminded me the connection is still possible.

The truth is, I haven’t figured it all out yet. Dating as a trucker takes patience, understanding, and a lot of creative planning. But I have not given up because even when I cross state lines or chase tight deadlines, a part of me still hopes to find someone who does not mind the miles. Who is understanding enough to be okay with the kind of work I do and wants to make things work out between us?

Someone who’s okay with phone calls from truck stops and stories from the road.

Somebody who knows that I think about getting back home as soon as I hit the roads.

Making Friends on the road

When your life is behind the wheel on the road, driving a truck across the country week after week, you get used to being alone. It’s just you, your vehicle, some music playing in the background and hundreds of miles of highway. But we are also humans; we do miss the experiences of meeting our family every day, meeting friends, and having daily interactions. Once in a while, we do find people, at the most unexpected places, real people, the kind who turn a lonely job into something much warmer.

I’ve made friends in truck stop diners, in line at fuel stations, over CB radio channels, and even during breakdowns on the side of the road. There is something very different about being out here that strips away the small talk part. When you only have 30 minutes before you hit the road again, you skip the fluff. You get honest.

This one time, I struck up a random conversation with a fellow driver from Nebraska over who had the worst load that week. Turns out we were both hauling meat; his was leaking, and mine was running late for delivery. We just shared a laugh, quickly swapped numbers, and have been checking on each other ever since.

Another time, I helped a new driver back into a tight spot at a crowded rest area. He was stressed and sweating bullets. I talked him through it, and later, we shared a midnight breakfast and talked about family, burnout, and the weird joy of catching a good sunset from your cab.

Friendships on the road are different; they are fleeting sometimes; just one random conversation, a cup of coffee, and you’re both going your own ways. Other times they last, I still text a few people I have just once. Though we dont see each other that often, we are on the same map, living parallel lives, just with a different route every time

And it’s just that my friends are only other truckers; I’ve chatted with farms at the gas station, night shift waitresses who work two jobs to support their family, the occasional curious traveller and many of these sorts. The road brings together a strange mix of people you’d never meet in a normal 9-5 job life.

These connections don’t fill the same space as being home with family, but they help. They remind you that you aren’t the only one out there. Even between all the empty roads and alone travel, there is scope for human connection.

So, most of the time, I am alone, but not lonely, not out here on the road.

The Road Is Home: A Trucker’s Life You Don’t See

I drive a truck for my living, and I have hauled everything from frozen chicken to steel beams, coast to coast, in storms and heat waves. You dont see my name in the limelight, and that’s fine; I’m not here for the fame; I’m in this because I know what it means to keep things moving, and I love this job.

Most of my days start even before the sun rises. I wake up in my cab parked behind a love’s or a pilot’s, brush my teeth in a truck stop bathroom, and hit the road with coffee, which tastes very much like burnt hopes. My life runs on DOT clocks, GPS routes, weigh stations, and the constant hum of the engine beneath my seat. Sometimes, I’ll find a decent sandwich and a clean shower before I rack up another 600 miles.

To most folks, I’m just another semi on the road. Maybe even a nuisance. But here’s the truth: nearly everything in your life got to you on a truck. The food you eat, the clothes you wear, and even the smartphone that you are reading this on come from a truck. I might’ve delivered it to a warehouse three states away, and you never saw me, but I am the reason why you had these things in the first place. I’m not trying to brag or act as if I am the only one responsible, but I make things happen by delivering them and taking care of the goods behind my truck is what matters to me on the road.

This job is never easy; you’re alone a lot of times. The road gets quiet, and you miss birthdays, people, being home for dinner, weekends, and so many other essential things. But slowly, the cab becomes home. The highway becomes familiar. You learn to live in motion.

And I carry a lot of pride in it. Pride in knowing that you’re reliable, you showed up on time, and that you didn’t let bad weather or traffic stop you. Out there, nobody hands you anything; you earn every mile.

We talk a lot in this country about essential workers. During COVID, we were called “heroes.” That faded fast, but we’re still here. Still hauling. Still moving goods across thousands of miles while most people sleep.

I am not looking for thanks; I just want people to know we are out here, men and women, young and old, experienced or newbie; we keep the engine of America running, one highway at a time. This is more than a job; it’s a way of life for us.

And for me, it’s still worth everything.

2,000 Miles of Quiet: Life as a Truck Driver in America

You’ve probably passed me on the interstate; maybe I was in the slow lane, or perhaps I was parked at a rest stop with the engine humming; it’s totally fine if you hadn’t noticed me; I’m used to being invisible.

I am a long-haul truck driver, and I’ve been crisscrossing America for the last 17 years; I’m writing this anonymously not because I have secrets but because I can speak for thousands of lives on the road, just out of sight, but not out of mind.

A lot of times, people think my job is just to drive, but it’s more than that. It’s a lifestyle, I sleep in a cab the size of a closet, I shower at random truck stops, I eat more gas station burritos than I want to admit, and my days are measured by miles, not hours. 700, 800 miles, then sleep, then repeat.

There’s peace to it. Out here, you’ve got time to think. I’ve watched the sunrise in Texas and set in Wyoming all on the same day. I’ve driven through blizzards in Colorado, tornado warnings in Kansas, and the kind of silence you only find at 3 a.m. in the Nevada desert.

But it’s not all freedom; it’s hard on the body and harder on the mind. I have missed so many birthdays, weddings, funerals, and many more. My back aches more than it used to be, and my kids have grown up with FaceTime calls during rest areas. The job pays the bills, but it takes a larger toll on our lives.

What gets to me is how little respect we get; people dont see the work put behind the wheels. They dont realize their groceries, amazon orders, or their furniture got them because someone like me put up with 11 hours behind the wheel, dodging traffic and sleep deprivation.

I’m not a hero. I don’t need a parade. But I wish people understood that this country runs on wheels. On diesel. On routes and rest stops and logbooks and lonely highways.

So the next time you see any truck on the road, dont cut it off. Dont get mad while we slow down a little uphill; just remember that we are out here keeping the shelves full, one mile at a time. We are here to help you have all the grocery lists that you’ve ordered.

And for some of us, this road is all we’ve ever known.