I can’t believe it’s been 4 months in Copenhagen. It feels like only yesterday when the beautiful CBS exchange crew girls were welcoming us at the airport. Time really did fly in Denmark faster than the local Metro train. Looking back, as I always do, there was definitely something which made my stay in this city of unisexual toilets remind me of my birth place New Delhi. Though still struggling to eat an open Danish sandwich, I feel at home here. I enjoyed Texas but even with chicken tandoori dinners I never felt at home. I wondered why.
I was in awe of America. Blame it on CNN. Blame it on silly Bollywood movies shot in rapturous California. Blame it on stories of Indians who made fortunes in US. Blame me. I think I was more curious to meet the Texans than otherwise. Indians in US are as common as cycles in Copenhagen. We are everywhere. Would a Dane jump with joy meeting a Swede in the LA bar? Nah. Going by how much the Danes drink beer and party, I thought they would be as aware and curious about ‘those- IT-outsourcing-Indians’ as I’m about Henrik’s major: nanotechnology. None. I was amazed by the spectacle of half-drunk Danes wanting to know about India in Danish parties. I was amazed to hear how many of them had actually traveled to India. Indians in Denmark are as like Danes in India. Novelty.
I noticed Texans stepped back, if for a relative stranger, you get within a couple of inches of them. They didn’t share rooms either. They valued their privacy. I was brought up watching guys or girls walking hands-in-hands without ever any sexual preferential connotations. Our privacy radius is comparatively small. So is for the Danes. When sober, you can get pretty close to them and talk. They seem confident while touching. Without any sexual preferential connotations. Anyways, the privacy radius goes for a smoke whether in New Delhi, Bombay, Texas, Chicago or Copenhagen after Saturday 2 AM.
India is colors. Danes love colors. Pink, yellow, green, blue, black and red. Young and old Danes carry off stark red colored shoes, blue framed sunglasses and yellow helmets with élan. Even the little grocery shops strutting fruits and vegetables on sidewalks unknowingly pour colors to the eyes. It feels like an Indian wedding all day long. Show me three adjacent houses painted brown, yellow and red in Texas and you can have all my Indian spices.
Danes and Indian students (in India) are messy. We just don’t clear our tables after eating. See Solbjerg Plads’ canteen at 2 PM: mess. Dishes, tissue papers, cutlery and beer glasses are thrown all over the place like there’s no tomorrow. Texans had picture perfect trash bins. You leave dirty dishes on the table and next moment you are called on “Sir, you have stuff to take care of”. Americans liked it clean.
Or maybe it was Henrik’s parents’ invitation for a family dinner which eventually made me feel at home in Denmark. I met his mom, dad, brother with his girl friend, grandpa and uncle. They all had gathered to meet me. I dined everything traditional Danish: Flæskesteg, Tortelletter, Kartfoler, Brun sovs, Gele, Asier, Rødbeder. I also won the almond while savoring ris a’la monde med kirseber, got gifts and correctly pronounced ‘Rødgrød med fløde’ as jocularly told to. Grandpa was talking to me in Danish, Henrik translated it in English to which I replied in English and he translated back in Danish to his grandpa.
There are some things money can’t buy. It really can’t.
What a beautiful world.
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