First Day in Sverige

The picture was taken sometime in March, 2010. A house in our 'gali' (alley). All the houses on this side look the same. Although the traditional color of houses in rural areas is still 'swedish red', one can now find all colors. Often pastels, but just as often bright!! Still not as bright as Fiji colors though!!

First Day in Sweden.

I think this might become sort of a series, of discovering scandinavia, through stories, images and experience!!

I have had this written since March, but many events kept me from posting this. Time being the least significant of it. Anyhow, here I start chronicling experiences of Scandinavia. Although I have had much experience in adjusting to cultures and always being an outsider. So far, being here has been a great learning experience!

Jan 22, 2010

Friday: Temperature, - Minus 8 Centigrade (in Karlstad, Sweden)

I leave India again, like so many times before. Like two times before in the last six months.

This time I headed to Sweden.

Beyond my imagination. Beyond any plans.

How could I not believe in destiny?

Unlike before there is no crowd at home this time to wish me good-bye. I do not mind, since this time I have much to attend to. I am still disorganized because unlike flying to North America, I am allowed only 20 Kilos!

Europe!

Europe?

Europe!!!

I might be running around packing, taking care of last minute things, inside I am absolutely quiet. Calm.

It is a new journey.

I am silent within so that I can experience the depth of the fact that this will be the fifth continent I will be living on. Except India (Asia), every where else I have moved and lived on my own.

Though not wanting to brag, I quietly tell myself this is a feat in itself. Not a victory but a realization, of the wealth that this life of uncertainty has allowed me to accumulate. In terms of people, experience both education and emotional, of having lived in different climates and different hemispheres. Truly experiencing no community that is well knit and long running, I have had to build my own community. Some day I hope to make a country of all those people who have shown me affection and love.

I smile to myself.

I make up in courage and an adventurous spirit for what I lack otherwise.

Mom is sad as always at the airport. I lure her into smiling with Airport coffee. She gently pushes me away, like she always does. I hug her tightly and tell her that I will call her in a few hours.

Thanks to technology, I can actually do that. I remember the first time I left home for Botswana, it was two days before I called home. We got a small amount of money for our expenses and I spent nearly all of it on calling home from a pay phone.

A week later I got a letter from my parents telling me how grateful they were that I called. Breaking that umbilical cord, at that tender age, has allowed me to fly so far away and for so long, without landing anywhere. I have no roots really.

But I have just recently realized that I have wings. I do like the latter.

At the airport, I am asked to mail a few kilos or pay a heavy price for taking them with me. I rush to the post office at the airport, grumbling all the time. Yet, knowing fully well the reason for these rules.

The first flight from Delhi to Helsinki is short compared to what I have done before. Even shorter than Tokyo-Delhi.

And so I miss on the things I used to look forward to. Airplane food, guilt-free sleeping and guilt-free movie watching!!

I know some consider airplane food disgusting. But I ‘looooave’ it, as a British friend had once said.

But on my way to Helsinki we get only one lunch and one cold sandwich.

I notice a toddler with beautiful curly brown hair wobbling up and down in the plane. I introduce myself to the young mother at Helsinki airport. “Do you need any help?” as I see her trying to undo the carry-bag in which the adorable child hangs on her back.

“Mein German institute me kaam karti thi” the girl demonstrates her Hindi skills as she tells me that she worked in a German institute in India.

She was visiting friends and her little son loved it. “So much attention”

I can easily believe it. For children, India is heaven. They are carried everywhere and everyone talks to them, gives them 15 nicknames. And it is great for parents who can feel free for short periods in between--from the pressure of carrying the baby all the time.

No wonder people in India continue to have babies because the help is all-abound. Live-in maids, both set of grand parents and many sets of Uncles and Aunts. Unlike the developed countries, and despite trends towards ‘global movement’, people in India stay in the same area for generations. While, it can sound boring, and may be, it also allows a sense of “owning” the place they live, and cuts out on much restlessness of “being somewhere else”. Holidays usually mean less than a hour’s drive to the relatives. Often shorter.

She tells me that she lives in Berlin, a city I absolutely loved, even more than Paris. I tell her so.

She agrees.

But German people complain a lot she says. I smile.

She takes my email promising to contact me soon.

I then start talking to the guy standing behind me in the queue. He is from Andhra Pradesh, India. I can tell. He can barely speak Hindi so converses with me in English.

Rakesh, he introduces himself. Here to study Computers, at Stockholm. Close to Borlinger. I know of that institute.

I look out the window, nothing but white as far as the eye can see.

I have not seen snow in four and a half years. I am not sure how I will take it, much as I always loved snow. Rakesh has seen it for the first time. He tries to comment on it.

“Five minutes out there and …..”

“Oh, no, you can last longer than that” I give him some hope, “say twenty minutes….” I smile cheekily

He giggles, and flaps his hands, “and after that its good bye”

I nod, “Probably”.

He shares his first experience in Delhi, the capital of India, and the city I grew up in.

Craziest city I have known, and yet, the most intriguing with the most interesting history.

Rakesh states that after Sweden he would like to move to the States.

So familiar.

Even today the US is considered the ultimate destination.

The country of 24/7 stores.

Maybe it is movies, maybe technology that inspires that notion. For me, it is still the love of Barnes and Nobles, and those long-term-interest-free loan on electronics!!

I buy a sandwich at the airport. Travel has become difficult, we are not allowed to carry any liquids.

Unless of course, you have a champagne bottle I am told. Maybe I should start drinking and then sue the airline industry for forcing me to drink alcoholic beverages.

On the flight from Helsinki to Stockholm, there is no one sitting beside me. But a chair away is silver haired man, absorbed in newspaper.

Stockholm is an hour behind Helsinki. There is still some daylight left when we arrive. I must pick up my bag and recheck them again.

I am already feeling the jet lag. There is an announcement for me.

I run to the plane. The person at the counter is a bit peeved with me. I don’t blame her, I have delayed the plane by five minutes. But I am beginning to see how important the language is.

On my flight to Karlstad, I am allowed to sit wherever I want. I choose to sit next to this tall blonde. Her hair is long and she is reading a book. At one point she smiles at me. And starts talking.

“Charlotte”. Despite the fact that she says that Swedes and Nordic people in general are not very chatty, she is warm. We discuss living places in Karlstad.

“So long as you stay away from the countryside you have no fear of wolves?”

Wolves?

“Yes, we have them.”

The conversation reminds me of my favorite TV show, Northern Exposure. I am both amused and a bit afraid. Although I do not show it, the space behind my pupils which is closer to the back of my skull, shudders a bit.

“People are not that chatty here” I am sort of sad looking at the darkness. And what I say is influenced by my mood. Am worried if this decision is right.

But then I felt the same way when I arrived in Botswana, which I loved, the US, which despite all the troubles and complaints, I am still nostalgic about and of course Fiji, where I cried for weeks before I left it.

I have a feeling that despite the initial concern, I will feel the same way about Sweden.

Charlotte takes my email. I am glad that I chose to sit next to her and hope that she writes to me.

There is a string of cab drivers waiting. I wonder which one is for me.

I wait for my bag. By the time I look up, the only cab driver left is holding my name tag.

He looks like a combination of Chinese scholars and one of the three wise men on nativity cards. In fact he resembles very much the first cab driver who brought me to the guest house in Thailand. Long white mustache and a thin dropping beard.

He is kind and runs to get my bag. I feel bad, that at his age he has to pick something this heavy, but I simply cannot lift my bag.

We exchange a few grunts. Not only do I realize that he speaks English with deliberation but also because I am really sleepy I can barely understand what he says. It is about twenty minutes to the place where I am staying.

I am renting a room in a house. I have done this before, in Washington DC.

I was connected to my landlord in Sweden via an email.

I arrive safely. The cab driver drops my bags and takes his leave.

I ring the bell. And a young man opens the door.

“Erik?”

“Yes” he says very gently and helps me in.

We talk for a few minutes and then he shows me to the room.

The room is bare but has everything. Bed, chest of drawers, a wardrobe, table and chair.

He hands me a few more basics. I notice the blood red towels. These must be the ones he mentioned in the email, as his purchase from IKEA.

I am exhausted. We chat for a short while. And I already feel that this kid, who is my landlord is very thoughtful.

“I got this for you” he says handing me to two one-way bus tickets into town.

Tomorrow we can go grocery shopping so that you find your way to the important places around.

I come back to my room and stare a few minutes out the window. Quiet, cold, dark, and snow-white. I am too tired to think. I wish myself sweet dreams and close my eyes…..but wait before that I do something that my Hungarian friend Vera taught me. “Whenever you sleep in a room for the first time, count the corners of the room and make a wish.”

Because of this little game, I have often paid attention to the shapes of roofs of many a room!! Hexagonal, L-shaped, Octagonal --yes they exist, T-shaped.

Vera and I went to Clarion. I saw her last in 2006, when I went to Budapest. We still email.

I count the corners of the room, but am too tired to make a wish. Instead I remind myself to drop Vera a note.