Civility and the Chill Factor

 Civility and the Chill Factor

I stepped out of my Airbnb at 6:15 a.m., boldly ignoring every dire warning that Glasgow’s wind would freeze, flatten, or otherwise erase me. The weather here clearly has a flair for theatrics. Still, my morning cigarette awaited me.. it’s been my loyal, toxic companion, my daily act of rebellion, my perfectly legal slow-motion suicide. I know it serves no purpose, yet like certain relationships, I refuse to let it go.

The moment I turned onto Maxwell Street, the wind sliced through my jacket with the tenderness of a dentist operating without anaesthesia. At nine degrees, the cold didn’t merely touch me, it negotiated directly with my bones. I’ve been a trekker and a soldier; I’ve known cold that makes you question your life choices. But this was cold with confidence. Cold that greets you eye-to-eye and says, “Welcome to Scotland. Let’s see what you’re made of.” Then, as the first curl of smoke escaped, something softened. The world felt warm, not in temperature, but in temperament. Glasgow, I discovered, is a city where the people produce more warmth than the sun manages on most days.

This is my first time in Scotland, a place I previously knew only through travel documentaries and calendars. But the reality is far richer: Highlands stretching into forever, lochs holding the reflections of moody skies, the scent of ancient forests after rain. It’s a landscape that inspires and humbles simultaneously. Threaded through it is the famous Scottish “chill”—not just in the air, but in the attitude. Calm, unhurried, matter-of-fact. People here seem to “chill” as a way of life, something I’ve attempted for years with spectacular lack of success.

Let me be clear, I am not criticising India. Far from it. India is one of the world’s greatest civilizations. I grew up reciting “unity in diversity” like scripture. We are the land of ancient wisdom, timeless art, and people who can argue passionately about everything from metaphysics to cricket to who stole the last biscuit. Our cultural depth is unmatched. Yet as I walked through Glasgow’s quiet, damp streets, I felt something undeniably different. It wasn’t superior, simply different in a way that slows the pulse without meditation apps.

It begins with the smallest gestures. I barely understand the Scottish accent, yet the warmth behind the words is unmistakable. People smile on buses. They nod. They thank you as though gratitude were a reflex. When I ask for directions, they guide me gently, repeating themselves with a patience usually reserved for speaking to pets or toddlers. Back home in Bangalore, simplicity is elusive. Our mornings may be cool, but our public spaces are pressure cookers, the heat, crowds, traffic, and ceaseless urgency. Courtesy becomes optional and survival mode takes over.

Glasgow makes me question whether this is fate or merely habit. Because here, a bus driver’s “cheers,” a held door, a queue that remains a queue, all these tiny courtesies create an inner quiet I seldom experience in urban India. I don’t feel rushed. I don’t feel judged. I simply… function. And that feels miraculous.

So whom do we blame? History, climate, population? Perhaps the answer isn’t in blaming anyone at all. What I do know is this. Civility matters. Politeness has power. Restraint has elegance. And respect for space is an art worth cultivating. Indians are not strangers to kindness. We are champions of hospitality, but our warmth becomes selective in public. Maybe the solution isn’t a revolution, but tiny daily choices: a smile, a calmer tone, a moment of patience. And yes, perhaps, the cold is Scotland’s secret weapon, since any misbehaviour would simply require too much body heat. Back home, we lack the chill factor. But we do have the human factor..and that, thankfully, travels well.