Snow




The other day I saw a sketch that showed a girl walking in the woods. Above the trees, tracing the outlines of the highest branches, were three words: WAITING FOR SPRING.

I’ve been waiting for spring for a while now. If one was to believe the radio, everyone in this region has been waiting for spring for a while now. Two months ago when I returned from India, I assumed, based on the experience of nine winters, that I had escaped the most severe part. But Nature mocks our confident notions of having understood her, overturns what we take for granted: I soon learned I had landed in the middle of a harsh and extended winter. Eight weeks hence there are traces of snow on the sidewalks, the car windscreens need to scraped free of ice each morning, and the grey countryside feels like a frame from a science fiction movie portraying an apocalyptic landscape.

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A rubbery excursion




On the drive back from the hills of Vayannad, where we’d spent four restful days at a homestay, our vehicle – a Toyota Qualis – broke down. Someone passing by noticed smoke below our car; we stopped immediately. After a cursory look behind the wheels followed by a lengthy consultation on his mobile phone, our driver announced it was a “bearing problem in the brake system”. A replacement was on its way from Calicut, the nearest city. It would take an hour to reach the spot we were stranded in. Continue reading “A rubbery excursion” →

Indians at work


The Indian Drifter: A common feature of the urban Indian landscape, the Drifter is someone who is simply hanging around, doing nothing apart from wandering idly from one place to the next. Predominantly male, the Indian Drifter is easy to spot: standing listlessly on the street-side, squatting in front of a shop, installed next to a street peddler, snoozing in a park – you get the idea. The Indian Drifter is not to be confused with the homeless: he does not carry with him all his belongings, and gives the impression of someone ready to move on, quite unlike the homeless we see lodged permanently on the footpaths and subways in the West. Continue reading “Indians at work” →

Back from India




Last week, when I returned to Frankfurt airport after a five week trip to India, it seemed as though I had never left this place. Terminal 2, where I had boarded from, looked just as it had that day in early December: the same billboard ads hanging from the ceiling, the same cars on display, the same blonde behind the information desk. Where had all those weeks in India gone? If life simply moved on from this point, how should I make sense of this period that seems – at this moment – almost non-existent but for a bundle of memories? They are only in my mind now, so was it all an illusion? What if I’d spent these weeks inhabiting worlds described in books? Would that have left a lesser impression within? Would those memories – those arrangement of electrons in the brain – be in some way inferior to my memories now? Continue reading “Back from India” →

The Girl from Finland

On the ICE 17 I have an aisle seat in front of a table. Diagonally across, facing me, is a young man speaking on a phone – an iPhone – with a British accent. A copy of the International Herald Tribune lies on the table, crisp and unopened. The seat next to mine is vacant; the sign above it indicates a reservation, like mine, from Brussels to Frankfurt.

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Notes from a recent India trip


1. Arrival

At the Bengaluru International Airport everything seems new and shining. The modern interiors, polished and spacious; the immigration officials, courteous and efficient; the H1N1 desk, sophisticated (with high-tech equipment measuring, from a distance, the average temperature of passengers in a queue) and orderly; the exit gate, sparse (no swarm of taxi-wallahs waiting to assault you) and organized (a handful of drivers carrying placards, Volvo buses to the city). Is all this only a facade? Or has change renewed other dimensions of life in Bangalore? I’m eager to find out.
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Random jottings on a Sunday afternoon

Neighbourhood




In August, when she visited Europe with her family, S, a friend from my college days, was delighted to see “so many elderly people” in the town I live. Back in Dubai, where she lives, one hardly saw the old: the city, continually renewing itself, was full of people who worked and tourists who came shopping.  “This is so nice,” she said, after a walk through town the day after they arrived.
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What happened on Saturday

On this particular Saturday, the 25th of July 2009, I woke up from the right side of the bed, as usual. (This may seem like an irrelevant detail, but it tells you how things all began normally: there were no signs of what was to come later that day.) The light through the half-shuttered window suggested a sunny day ahead – perfect, I thought, for spending the afternoon outside. After a late breakfast I drove to Heidelberg, taking the B291. There was nothing unusual about the drive; traffic was moderate, there were cyclists on the road, and Radio Regenbogen played its usual mix of popular numbers. Now that I think again about it, perhaps there was something different: I do not remember stopping on the way, so all traffic lights must have been green. Merely a low probability event, you may say; nonetheless, given how events played out in the end, there may be something to this after all. Continue reading “What happened on Saturday” →