After the Snow

So, after the snow fall, the work starts. You must make sure that the snow is taken off the buildings or there is a grave danger to the security of the buildings.

Early this year when I arrived, there were several times when people from other departments told us that they had reported to the authorities to take care of the snow on the open area on our side of the building. These places are not used during winter and if ignored can accumulate much snow. All on our side were grateful for that. Now, we know the reason for roofs with slopes. People often rely on young relatives, children or hire people to take care of this.

These above two were easy to maintain, but still need to be taken care of, for the fear of weakening the wooden structure.

Ulf, who works at the university. He mentioned that he has noticed my joy at the snow. I usually stop and take pictures. Oh yeah, I am used to snow, I shared. uh, Ulf, its a common Swedish name. What does it mean? I always ask people that. 'Wolf he stated.'

Ah, royal!! When I first came to the country and overheard a conversation in the lunch room about hunting wolves, I interrupted asking 'So, you each person is allowed to kill 26 wolves a year?*

Nej, screamed the person sitting next to me. '26 per year' 'How many Wolves do you think we have?' He asked, 'I dont know I had shrugged' But the fact that I had never had these conversations, not even Pennsylvania, did not go unnoticed. At some other point I will talk about the conversations related to mosquitoes and avalanches. Only in Sweden!!

Akhil Chopra

I wrote this back in April, but for many reasons did not want to put this up. By the permission of Akhil’s sister, I am sharing this with you. Hoping that wherever he is, he will know, that he lives with us

Akhil Chopra

April 6, 2010

It has been while since I wrote a real piece for my journal. I have about 15 pages written, many old articles that could easily be put up, and yet I have been dealing with something else.

The idea of a blog.

Asking myself, that from the very beginning my intention was not to share much personal stuff but may be my interaction with the world around me and how it brings me to understand some universal issues. How that interaction also allows me to understand myself, and how I fumble and stumble through all the information and experiences to arrive at some understanding of our common lived experience.

But something happened this March. When I called home I was told that my cousin sister’s 23 year old son Akhil had been in a car accident and that the whole family and the extended family had stopped their lives and were just focussed on praying, hoping, and wishing that he would just wake up. I, like many people, have this belief that young people are invincible and that they are not supposed to leave before the older ones.

Silly and untrue. I know.

But that is where faith and hope coincide.

I just believed in my heart that nothing was wrong. But I knew that something was not right, when I called his parents. We call and simply ask from afar, so how is he, how are you?

And we can do nothing. Of course, it is better to be there ‘in voice’ rather than not. And may be this constant checking adds to the nervous energy. But one fears, one stumbles again, and starts to look for light. Light and hope in connection, in giving the support to those affected by this, that they are not alone. That their grief is and will not be borne alone.

But when I heard my Jijaji’s (Brother-in-law) voice, I just broke inside. To hear this man, who I had known for all my life, tall handsome, commanding, in a weak voice gave me a whiff of what fear, and pain does to us.

In Art of Living Guruji (Sri Sri RaviShankar) says, Pain is inevitable, Suffering is optional.

How to separate the two?

A few days later when I called Jijaji again. In a voice that seemed lost, and too heavy to feel anything, too numb with pain, he told me, that Akhil had left us all. That everyone had gone to get his body from the hospital. That people were calling to check on him but no one knew yet, that he had left us. I listened more out of shock and disbelief and then muttered an apology.

The whole day and days after that and even now, I kept trying to pull up memories of Akhil. He must have been barely a couple years old when I left home. I remember how ecstatic his were when he was born--a boy after three girls!!

I remember how I loved his name. Akhil --meaning complete, or universal. Akhil was just a joy to be around. I have less than ten memories of the boy. I remember him at barely few years and then about eight when I was visiting India. He was talkative then and kept asking me about painting and I promised him that I will send him colors from the US. I am not sure if I did, all I know is that life got too busy for me and I simply could not follow up on anything.

Then my last and the most beautiful memory of Akhil is December 2009. I visited my cousin, Akhil’s family at their new house. They were celebrating their new apartment, which though outside Delhi and much further away from us was really spacious. The young man was now old enough to help his father--any father’s dream to see his son wear the same size shoes that he wears. I was exhausted from my travels. But I have missed so many family functions that I make extra effort to attend any event that I can. So, despite a long list of things to do, and other arrangements to make for my new move, I decided to attend the function. My brother in law kindly agreed to drive us from Haryana to Uttar Pradesh, via Delhi ofcourse. That meant going through three states and back in one day. Rather one evening. We left around 5 pm and were back by 2 am.

As I approached the building where the Jagrata (Jaga --to keep awake or stay awake, rata, all night), which is a all night prayer and song ceremony that people engage in. It can be loud for those who do not understand the reason. The volume basically shakes the feelings deep inside of us. And even though it sounds like cacophony on the outside, after a few hours of it, you reach a different state of mind. At least that is how it used to work for me.

Soon as we got there, we were surrounded by loud, happy greetings, young and old dressed in their finest running up and down the stairs. And there came two boys running towards me, helped with the bag I was holding and swooped down to touch my feet--a way of greeting the elders. I just have been away so long that I am still a bit surprised when that happens. While I was touched, I patted their backs and tried to recognize them. Akhil was easily recognizable because of his wide smile and mischievous eyes. ‘That is Akhil,’I said hugging him. The other one was his cousin, his mama (maternal uncle’s son).

But I had a very obvious question for the boys. “How did you recognize me?”

“You look like Seema didi (a reference to my sister)”.

Oh, and then there were scores of laughter, dancing, joking around, and poking loving fun at each other. The jagrata sounds kept getting louder and louder and I saw Akhil, with his usual smile and friendliness always chatting with someone (despite the loud music) or helping someone.

We had a long way back and so we left before the program ended but I had a great feeling of meeting my cousins after ages. Seeing relatives I had not seen in years.

A few weeks later I had to move again and I got busy. When I first heard the news of Akhil, I believed he will just wake up and give us his usual smile and tell us that he was just playing.

Like so many of us do when faced with dire situations. We either wish it were not true or we want to believe that we are dreaming.

Time and again I have thought of this. I started writing this in April and had to stop many time. It is the middle of August now. I have had to tell myself that there is no closure on a thing like this.

I had asked a friend who has helped me much with what I consider abstract matters. And he had said, whenever in pain, try to help out someone else who is in more pain. Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. It sounds cruel to give these words of advice to those who are going through this process. It is not something gets resolved in a day or in a lifetime. It is an acknowledgment that we are still here and we need to go on, with the dreams that we had for the life that left us, may be we can bring the joy that planned to share with them to someone else.

No it is not the same, but we live in a world that gives us no answers. Every questions bring up more.

May be in the deep recesses of our hearts and minds, we can connect with all those who suffer any sort of loss, and know that regardless of differences we remain united in this human condition.

As for the young boy, who was just beginning to experience the world, well, that spirit, that smile and all the intangibles attached with a person cannot ever leave us, everytime we think of him or those who have left us, we must, instead of being sad, bow in gratitude for the time we had together.

Stark, Sometimes dark, Sverige

Following pics were taken this past week. Mostly during the time you expect it to be daytime. Mostly!!

Recognize this? A few listings ago, this was covered in reds and yellows. Now it is white. Does it not look like a Christmas card already?

On campus, the trees that were covered with yellow and red leaves a week ago are now getting ready for a long slumber under the blanket of snow!! Nov. 10, 2010

Ah, here starts the real stuff. The picture was taken on 9th of November, at 3:45 pm. This darkness which comes even earlier, lasts about 6 to eight weeks.

3:45 pm, campus--snow sighting!!

Getting ready for Christmas, 8th Nov, getting ready for Christmas.

Let there be light!!

Garbage Gatherer in Gay Garb!!

The picture was taken in Karol Bagh, New Delhi, 2009. A bustling shopping area. You can buy everything from sewing needles to the latest models of flat screen TV, eat road side bhelpuri or enjoy a more sterilized version of food in upscale eateries. Although it is best known for 'Roshan di Kulfi', Roshan being the name of the person who started the shop, and Kulfi is the home made ice-cream made of evaporated or condensed milk, with nuts and condiments added.

I was particularly interested in this image because the woman in red is a garbage collector. She picks up bits of plastic pieces, tin, and other metals, to hopefully sell it to those who deal either in plastic recycling or scrap metal business. A gazillion uses for scrap metal can be cited in old Delhi. What she is wearing is not just colorful but also convenient for the September heat of Delhi. In comparison, the young man ahead of her, dressed for an interview looks drab both in his outfit and expression. And that necktie...ah so useless....in the heat. The picture also reveals how different elements come together in big cities.

LapDog in Lapland (or close)!!

Ah, the royal dog!! Notice the elegance with which he holds his spine!1

A woman carrying her pet at an IKEA sale.

Evening Sun Reflected in Windows Panes

When the windows reflect the soul of the sky....

A board at Singapore Airport!

Wanna guess this picture was taken? Singapore Airport!! So you never have to leave and spend an entire lifetime there. They have hotels, botanical gardens, a play area for children, baggage storage areas right there. Ofcourse, let me not forget that they run shuttles from airport to town and back so you can get the 'taste' of the city-country so you will 'think' about coming back!! Ah, gives us much to think about ...countries, shopping, tourism, and rules.

But foremost, the fact that all this feeds on our own need to 'travel as consumers. And brag about, 'Yes, I have been there.'

Third Day in Sverige

Silver Snow in Late January. How often I thought I was walking in the North Pole, looking for Santa and Sleigh!!

Sunday Jan 24, 2010. -15 degree Centigrade.

I have to get used to the 24 hr format for time that people use here.

I still do the math in my head. Meeting at 14:15 means 2:15 p.m..

It is beautiful outside. I like the comfort of the fact that I can run around in a T-shirt inside the house and yet stare at milk-white snow that graces the roads outside and makes everything seem bright in a time when all nature seems to be dead.

I must go for another round of grocery shopping so that I do not have to worry about the next few days. I will need the time at school to arrange for things.

This time I go alone to the grocery store and I choose to go to the international grocery store.

I can barely feel my upper lip, and can sense the cold seeping into my teeth. No wonder people take to smoking and drinking in these climates.

So far my ginger tea has done me good.

I look around and a board says “Suicide Center”.

Wait, that can’t be right, I look again, the board says, “Studie Center”

Better. The cold is affecting me, I think.

At the international grocery store I spot a young Indian couple. I can understand what they are saying. And even though they do not know that I walk away to respect their privacy and ‘a idea of security’ that they cannot be understood, as they discuss what to buy.

This time I look at the spice section.

They all look like “demo size” 100 gms packets.

Man, I am an Indian. What will I do with 100 gm packet of Haldi (turmeric?)?

Sniff and hope to get high?

I must ask around if they have stores with better selection and bigger packets in Stockholm.

They still do not have a good Indian restaurant here. So far, I have been told there is one, but not that great. There are a few Greek, Thai, Middle-Eastern restaurants and takeaways though.

On my way back home, I loose track. After all, there is snow everywhere. I start looking around and despite the cold my mind wanders. I think of all the places where I lugged groceries. Not once in Fiji though. Cabs were always around and cheap. I would call one of the three cabbies whose numbers I had saved. And the first one available would be right outside the grocery store waiting for me when I was done.

As I turn around in snow, with two bags of groceries, I come upon a name plate “Hedstrom”. MH-Morris Hedstrom the biggest grocery store chain in Fiji.

“Hedstrom was Swedish? What was Hedstrom doing in Fiji?

“Stop free associating woman!!” and look for the right path.

After a few turns I find I am closer than I think. Always been that way.

At home I ask Erik if he can feel his teeth are going cold when he goes out too.

“No” he says calmly.

I smile. I won’t ask that question again.

After a quick lunch I take the bus to town, hoping this time I have enough time to actually buy things.

I do buy shoes this time, I really need them. Black and white, walking shoes.

I am wary of buying too much. Knowing my life, I have to move every so often and I must learn to cut down on what I own to facilitate the movement.

I can better say “Stora Torget” But I still stutter when I say that.

I must come tomorrow.

In the evening Erik and I sit down for a chat.

He talks about Bofors.

Bofors was Swedish.

It was a major scandal in India in the 80s where the then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi was accused of taking kickbacks for purchasing faulty arms and ammunition.

I smile again. Did I ever think I would be discussing Bofors with a Swede in Sweden?

Life!! Its so mysterious!!

So unpredictable.

Then we discuss Obama and his Nobel Prize.

“Oh that” says Erik waving his hand, “But that is the Norwegians. We say the same about Norwegians that Australians say about the Kiwis and Americans about the Canadians. They are not quite there!!”

Erik’s eyes go wide as he hears my boisterous laughter and watches me thump the floor.

I laugh not at what he says, but at the prevalence of this “feeling good” of one community by putting other community, preferably a similar one, down.

During the coming week, I will hear a lot about how Norwegians and Swedes make fun of each other by telling the same jokes, only switching nationalities of the characters to suit their view point.

Erik tells me that he lived in Germany and was an exchange student in New Zealand (lived in

Aotearoa). We talk a bit about Auckland, which I enjoyed.

When I tell him I always encounter more Germans when I travel, than people from any other country, Erik adds his wisdom again...

“Well, it is hard to ignore Germans. They are large.” Erik says matter-of-factly. And adds, “German is a good language to shout at children in or to train dogs in.”

I think he means the language sounds rough.

I am laughing again. Wondering what jokes Germans have about Scandinavia.

The only one that I have heard of in the US is Garrison Keillor’s regular joke about Norwegian bachelor farmers.

“A Norwegian farmer who was headed towards the US was told by his parents to be careful of all the spicy food that Americans ate.”

“What spicy foods” he asked, with a concern.

“Like Ketchup!!”

Second day in Sverige

Benches on campus (for sunny days ofcourse!!)

Didn't I say that snow can pile up here!! But doesn't it look like a painting at places and like a sculpture at other places!!

Jan 23, 2010 Saturday: Temperature -13 Centigrade

Saturday, I wake up around 3:30 am. I do not mind. I like my quiet mornings and hope that I can continue with this schedule.

I look outside the window. The house across from mine still has a string of yellow lights from Christmas hanging outside. They look like little gold balls.

I try using the wireless Internet. But it doesn’t work. So I read a bit.

Erik is kind enough to offer me some breakfast. I really like the bread and ask him if this is regular bread that they eat in Sweden.

The bread is chocolate brown, and quite moist, almost like a cake but with higher density and without sugar.

Erik suggests that we should go grocery shopping an hour later, so that he can show me the path to the store. I get ready with a Kilo of things on me.

Hat, scarf, gloves, shoes, long coat.

It takes me only a few minutes to realize that I must get new shoes. The ones I have wont do much good.

On the way to the store I notice snow, intently. The untouched and unwalked-on snow, the well tread snow path which makes the roads look white, the snow where children have made snow angels, and then the snow that rests on all the swings outside a play school. “Not fair to the kids” I think in my traditional way, when I hear joyful shrieks of two toddlers, who accompanied by their parents, are sliding on their snow boards.

“Couldn’t be more wrong.” I tell myself.

I marvel at the human spirit that finds ways to add joy to every place, every event,

As we walk to the store, Erik points out, “School, Centrum (Center), a middle eastern restaurant Nawroz and a store.

The store is not very big but has pretty much what I need. Erik suggests that I buy my rice from the international store next door which has much variety.

I point at the bananas bunches with different prices on them, and ask Erik the reason. *Oh, these, the most expensive ones are the ‘fair-trade’ ones.”

“OOOK”, I pat my heart and ask it to rest a while, as I choose the cheaper ones. I whisper to my heart, that I will listen to it, the next month---or so.

Ah, I already miss soft and sweet bananas that I could buy for 2 FJD per bunch. In fact I begged the vendors to reduce the amount because they always went bad in Fiji heat, before I could eat them.

Then I ask with curiosity and anticipation when he picks a shriveled purple fruit, ”And what special fruit is that? Swedish?”

“I think its called a Passion fruit:”

Yikes!! I squirm. You want to know what a passion fruit is, GO TO FIJI….

I remember the first time I saw the fruit. My neighbor Kirti, knocked at my door and handed me this bright, light yellow colored round fruit. ‘Here’

What is this?

Passion fruit, she said.

Really, I have heard about these. And then she carefully taught me how to cut it into half, and then simply spoon the pulp out.

I remember the first time I looked at the inside of a Passion fruit and those tiny little black seeds.

The Aha moment!! So that is what those seeds are ...in the passion fruit ice-cream.

I fell in love with the light weight fruit… may be because we could buy a dozen for one Fijian Dollar!!

Does the past really exist I wonder? It all seems like a dream that I ever lived in Fiji, as I look at the sad-looking passion fruits, as if they are gasping for oxygen.

Coming back to the present, I hurry up with the grocery shopping so Erik can show me the way back home.

On the way home I point at things and ask him what they are. Then I spot, a sign of life, amid the death that lovely snow creates. “Aaah, the nest? Already here?” I point at a rounded structure resting in the bare branches.

“No, they are there from the last season.”

Ok, so remnants of life, and yet, a hope in the remains.

After a quick lunch, I rush to town to see if I can purchase shoes and outfits.

I see two teenagers at the bus stop. One of them, with darker hair speaks English, with an accent. He is of Kurdish descent has grown up in Sweden. Speaks 3-4 languages. He tells me that he wants to be an aeronautical engineer. I tell him my nephew is studying the same in India.

The kid is very polite and helps me with the bus stop. “the center I say.” I still cannot pronounce “Stora Torget” (wait another few days, and I am there man…..the power of willingness to learn!!)

Unlike the US, stores are not open beyond 8 on weekdays, and beyond 5 on the weekends. Working late or after hours means double pay and costs the employers double money. Good. Because no one works on weekends for very long. I am surprised at the number of people outdoors despite below freezing temperature.

Not just adults but children of all ages. Wrapped in their snow suits, they seem to be constantly balancing themselves, but they look happy. I see just as many men as women with strollers. When I see a man with a stroller I look for a woman around, and usually there is none. It is just the daddy and the baby. And their time alone-together.

Later that week I will be told that this is because both parents are allowed time off to be with the children. So more than anything else, it is great for the children, because they grow up knowing both their parents.

I come home without any great buys because I arrived only half hour before the shops were closing.

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.

Memories R Us?

Aug 2, 2010

Got back about three days ago.

There has been a break of about eight weeks. But I have about 20 or more stories to put up.

Some of them have been ready since April and I have not had the time to upload.

Things happened in March and April that made me think and question many things. I went silent for a while. It was personal and affected my family. I did not know how much of that I wanted to share. But I have something written on it. And will put it up soon. Along with my first experiences of Sweden, which although not as regularly as I would like, I have actually documented pretty well.

I will put them up, all -- one by one.

Spoke with Liz today. (Aug 2)

Liz.

For obvious reasons I won’t write the full name here. She is the resident director of the last building I stayed at in the US.

I try to call her once a year but this time there was a lapse of three years, if I remember correctly.

She said that two days ago she was listening to an old tape (answering machine) and recognized my voice on the tape. Must be from 2003 or something. Then a stray junk mail showed up with my name on it.

And so, as Liz stated, it was meant to happen that we connect today.

Made me think of all those terms, synchronicity and meaningful coincidences!!

I connected with Liz from the very first time I met her. She has a lovely personality and we spent quite a few hours discussing life, America and September 11--sometimes in her office, sometime in my apartment and sometimes in the parking lot.

There was also V, at the building who did all the maintenance jobs in the building.

These were two people were a big part of my time in State College, (the second time around). They saw me a few times a week, knew when I was traveling, helped me with odd jobs and always greeted me with a smile.

This is my life. I live in these simple experiences, in the memories that are mostly mine, or one or two other people, I share them with. Often I have felt sad about the fact that with all the travel I pack, my memories are mine. After the first few years of traveling and acknowledging that I do not have a base, I stopped buying souvenirs.

Where would I keep them? So my way to keeping track of places and experiences is usually my journals, or small pieces of things I can use, postcards for my walls, earrings as art, or bookmarks as reminders. My memories remain secure in my journals, in my heart and in the smiles that I exchanged with many. Smiles that light up my soul, no matter what part of the world I am in!!

But ofcourse the most effort requiring, time consuming and yet the most rewarding way of making sense of this gypsy life style is to keep in touch with those who made it to the core of my heart and experience. In that connection, I get a sense of continuation in my life. Ofcourse, I have realized that most of the people will just become a faint memory, sometimes because of time, lack of access to new technology, and sometimes just because our connection did not go beyond the land and the circumstances that connected us. With time, those that have made that connection simply emerge as glittering pearls bouncing on the ocean of our life experience, reminding us of our own depths and the grandiosity --width and depth--of our own souls….and we simply bow….in gratitude!!

For now, just this, and a picture of end of summer flowers from Sverge, hanging in a private garden a few meters away from the Lake Alster!!

Back Now!!

A House in the Neighborhood

Hello Friends:

I have been missing for the last two months, but may be even longer because my last note was very short.

I will be coming back with much material and much to share. But for now, I have updated something on my other blog, Bollywood Banter.

I had started that in March but never got to write anything decent about it. But will be working on updating these as news from this side and share my musings with you.

Thanks for visiting all those who do.

Be back soon!!

LiveScribe and new Learning

Tea Served in Kullar

Pattals : bowls and plates made of dry leaves
Food Served in Pattals

Smart Pen






So something new on my journal, on my blog.

Apologies I have little time to make it flowery or nice or poetic. This is what is. And time is rare, but thanks for reading.

Well, first, I must say that when I first came here they talked an awful lot about wolves, now they are talking about mosquitoes.

Mosquitoes in Sweden?

Yes, and apparently they are so small that you cannot see them but be rest assured that they see you.

Since there is not tradition of using mosquito nets, be careful when opening windows. None of these critters takes no for an answer, and depending on the heat they multiply fast. And make no mistake, they may be cute, but they are too small to have a heart. They bite.

Plain and simple.

On a brighter note, the daylight is about 17 hrs and more. I walk home at 10 pm and it is bright daylight. I know that by the time I hit my bed, which is close to 11 or so, the night would just be coming around.

And since I have no time to write long drawn out notes on what is going on in Sweden and the changes that I have already noticed here, I most definitely write about my interaction with a student on Thursday, May 6.

A Norwegian student, one of the most polite and quite brilliant came in to talk about his project. And finally I commented on something in his hand that I had noted for the whole semester.

What do you do with that during my teaching? Listen to music?¨ I pointed at headphones plugged into a pen.

These days you have so many of these inventions that it is no surprise that a fax, VCR, phone and a music player can come in one compact gadget. I had seen him use that during the class and never said anything because I am always too caught up in the lectures. I love this class, I can lecture non-stop but also the presentations from the students are just so interesting.

Once during the class I tapped at his head and said, are you listening to me?

“I have it on pen,” he said, mildly defensive, as if I understood what he said.

So, now in my office as I curiously looked at this contraption, he gently extended the earplugs from the headphones towards me. Plugged the headphones into the back of the pen.

I recorded your lecture¨, he said.

I gasped as I heard my voice coming of what seemed like a pen.

He then went onto explain to me, that this pen came with a camera and could recognize handwritings. When I talk about something that he specifically wants to remember, he writes it down on this computerized notebook that comes with this pen. Well, not really computerized but has certain dots and information in the notebook. He simply clicks on that and the recorded lecture goes on to the place where I uttered that word, website, or a comment.

My eye-sockets were hurting because my eyeballs had grown three-size big. And then he showed me this little plate at the end of the notebook that looked like the symbols on a recorder. Record, play, stop, jump forward or backward. First, two pages of each of these notebooks come with instructions so that students/users can refer to them. But just like anything else once it becomes a common practice they just know it.

You can find more about it, he said, on Live Scribe.

A pen can cost up to 150 USD.

I was reminded of a higher education seminar we had in our department. This researcher is actually an economist but was always interested in pictures, art and culture. So about a decade ago he started taking pictures of what he calls *abandoned places¨. The huge buildings that were built, hardly used and abandoned because they were no longer viable, affordable, feasible, or simply out of fashion. Massive multistory hotels, places designed for personal leisure by businessmen who simply went out of business and sometimes factories and warehouses. What amazed me was that the only option left was to tear them down. Often times, the longer these structures were kept without being used the less chance they had of being sold again. Because, the architecture, the wiring, the design got too outdated. It was cheaper to abandon them rather than reuse them. He also noted something that I kept going back to in this discussion with my Norwegian student.

That the first computer that was made in the 60s had less programming than our everyday gadgets today. We are generating so much more waste today than ever before. What will we do?

And in countries like India they replaced ‘kullars’ and ‘pattals’ with plastic cups and plastic and paper plates. Although in parts they still exist. Kullars are quickly baked clay cups that were used for selling tea on tea stalls, mostly on the railway platforms. Pattals are bowls and plates made from dry leaves. Both kullars and pattals are biodegradable.

What are we doing, why can’t we slow down, come up with simpler ways of living?

May be, may be my landlord Erik has the answer. He is a chemical engineer who is researching making packaging from natural materials so that it decomposes soon and is reclaimed by nature.

But will we really have recyclable computers? As was promised a while ago?

All of this philosophy did not reduce my fascination with the “smart pen”.

I did think about copyright and other issues. But having expressed all my concerns. I must admit, this is an amazing invention, albeit another distraction.

Must end with what my multimedia teacher had on his syllabus.

“Technology has nothing to say, so you better do” meaning it is always the man/woman behind the technology that decides its best potential. No computer can make a man, it is always, and I know that at least in my lifetime it will always be the other way around.