Two months ago, when final-year students graduated into the real world, this newspaper told them they hadn't a hope in hell of getting a job. This week, it emerged that 150,000 young people won't even get into university. Some bright person came up with the idea of sending lots of these unfortunates off to foreign countries on a gap year, purportedly so they can learn new skills and improve their employability – oh, and learn about other cultures and stuff.

Many of these gappers will end up in bars on Brunswick Street, Melbourne. Some will populate the hostels of Barcelona and Amsterdam and Tallinn, trading drinking games for syphilis. Still others will bathe Argentinean lepers or irrigate fields in Malawi. And then there are those poor, misguided souls who will arrive in India, bringing with them enthusiasm and naivete.

I remember the first gapper I met in Mumbai. He was a skinny 17-year-old who sat motionless at the edge of an iron bench in my friend's garden, too terrified to say anything other than a grateful "yes, please" when somebody offered him a beer. I can see why. Too many of the visitors I've met came to India expecting a spiritual, magical land filled with wonder and wisdom and yoga – always yoga. All of this exists. But to the general dismay of all concerned, you can only fly into the major cities, which means negotiating an overpopulated third-world metropolis before venturing into the elephant- and cliche-filled rural heartlands.

I never saw that terrified tourist again. But if he was anything like the other young gappers who grace our shores, his trajectory probably went something like this: terror, regret, drunkenness, acceptance, optimism, drunkenness, self-discovery, drunkenness, drunkenness, smug satisfaction at having had the courage to discover the real India, which nobody else ever has or ever will, drunkenness, Heathrow. I should probably mention how cheap alcohol is in India. Very.

It's not just the increased quantities of vomit on our streets that is of concern (considering that half the population of Mumbai doesn't have access to sanitation, a little extra human waste is the least of our worries). What is most annoying is the attitude of those who claim to have been there, seen that and really, really understood all of it.

When we see you bargaining with a hawker over a 50-rupee (70p) trinket that you think is worth only half as much, we know you've spent between £3,000 and £5,000 for a few months off – more than even most middle-aged, middle-class Indians make in a year. When you act like you understand what's going on just because you've travelled around the country for three months, we know you've failed to notice the special treatment you've been getting at, for example, hostels that won't let Indians in because we might disturb your lot. When you get into a bar in sandals while we've been informed of a "strict dress code", we notice that, too. When you talk about spirituality and helping the poor, we know you have to do some suitably noble tasks between weeks spent smoking pot on Anjuna beach so the admissions committee at your university of choice doesn't think you're a complete wastrel.

So come on over. Ride some elephants, feed the poor, feel enriched and go home with great stories. Tell your friends, tell the dons, tell the HR managers who interview you one day. We'll drink with you, introduce you to our friends, invite you home and feed you. We actually quite like you. But please, don't pretend you're here on anything but a glorified holiday.