While in Ho Chi Minh City two years ago on New Year's Eve, I was hugely taken in by how Bùi Viện Walking Street—the city’s iconic backpacker hub—transformed into a high-energy, chaotic party zone through the night, filled with loud thumping electronic dance music blasting from bars, crowds spilling into the pedestrian-only street, dancers on tabletops, neon lights flashing everywhere, and an overall infectious, free-for-all vibe that lasted until dawn. What my Indian eyes also noticed were the numerous Indian restaurants lining just one street. One called Spice India, run by an Indian Muslim, matter-of-factly offered halal food for those who seek it, Jain cuisine for those who avoid onions and garlic, and the usual Indian vegetarian and non-vegetarian spread for everyone else. Many South Asians, including families across the religious divide, visiting as tourists and seemingly unable or uninterested in enjoying the uninhibited hedonism on the street, made a beeline for these Indian eateries—a comfort zone within a familiar cultural bubble, serving the familiar curries, naan, biryani, and halal food.

Bùi Viện Street is a study in contrasts: electronic dance music outside and curries inside—I watched from the street. What looks like a fleeting street scene—the revelry outside and the quiet coexistence inside—is not the cause of Vietnam’s success but a telling microcosm of its ethos. These everyday realities, replicated across countless spaces in the city, are parables of economic and social cohesion. They........

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