I am Cold (and Other Things)
This blog has been in hibernation for so long and for no reason except for prolonged bouts of laziness that has had an iron grip over me for the past 10 years. It isn't that I did not have the time! Oh boy, I did and I have and just wasted it like an expired coupon for free ice cream. Awakened from dark slumber by a deep-seated guilt and aggressive admonitions by friends, I am here to talk about...nothing. I figured I have been postponing this for so long, that if I wait for that perfect topic and the perfect write up, the aforementioned laziness will come and drag me down the dungeons of hell and I will never recover. So here goes nothing!
A lot has changed since the last blog post. Some(a lot actually) hair has turned grey. And existence has shifted to a new continent altogether. Living in a small European country, that can be barely located on the world map, has made life very interesting. Different interesting. So in no particular order, here are some changes that have me shooketh.
1) Cold Cold Hands
And feet. And nose. And cheeks. Basically I am cold a lot. No, I don't mean to say I possess a frozen heart (my friends would deny my claim here), but I do get cold very fast and have shivered even during Indian winters. Indian winters look like a summery salty mirage when compared to the monster that I witnessed here. Even after dressing like a snow mummy(thermals, sweater,jacket,muffler,cap,gloves,boots), the cold hits you where it hurts and you start doubting your desire to live. True story, I once waited for 2 minutes to give directions to a nice lady who just wanted to know if she should go left or right to reach her destination. Only because it was so damn cold that I almost cried; I mentally calculated if being nice is worth taking my hands out of my pocket to check Google maps and eventually did it anyway. Another true story, kids here love me till they hate me because my touch is like an icy dagger.
2) Bonjour or Something Like That
For as long as I can remember, I had wanted to learn French. I even enrolled in Alliance Française when I was working in Pune. Only for them to announce that they were closing shop because "students hi nahin hain". And so I returned the books and my dreams and forgot about it. So imagine my surprise when fate brought me to Luxembourg City. But to my surprise and disgust, my language learning gene had ejected itself out of my body. Logically, I should have learnt the basics by now because I am jobless and have loads of time. But nope...my systems are in a random but stubborn 'No! Thank You' mode. Though I am surprisingly good with accents and that creates a unique problem set. I can correctly pronounce the few words I know, convincing the other person that I am fluent in their language, making me look like a doofus when I am unable to continue the "conversation". Even more hilarious is the task of grocery shopping.
Is this butter? -> All these things are butter? -> Which butter is what? -> Do I really need butter?
3) DIY Revelations
India allows you many luxuries. Paani Puri, home delivery for everything and of course the house help. So when you have to do the day to day cleaning, certain things come to your attention:
a) Dusting the floor is just an exercise to determine the health of your hair.
b) There are days when the only kachra you get is your hair.
c) Your hair strands are the only thing standing between you and a clean house.
d) Do bald people even feel the need to clean their houses?
4) TRS Zindabad
It takes only a few days for all the missing to happen. First is the chaat...oh dear paani puri and aaloo tikki and paapdi chaat and ...(*stops typing to wipe the drool off the keyboard). Indian food is the best and you realize it only when you have reduced access to it. Indian stores here are well stocked with the essentials, which means all the stuff TRS* thought an Indian outside India needs. So you have spicy curry masala, mild spicy curry masala, normal curry masala, all in varying shades of orangy red. What the store wale bhaiyyas don't anticipate well enough is the copious amount of bhujia sev required by an average Indian, which is roughly 1 kg per month. They keep stacking the thin hollow 250 gms packets and do not understand your need for more.
5) Come back later
There is relaxed and then there is European relaxed. No opening of stores beyond the working hours. No opening of stores on Sundays. No working on weekends. No work call on personal numbers. Douglas Adams surely must have written his 'Don't Panic' line here.
Phew. So there's that. I hope to write better and more frequently because I surely will go crazy otherwise. So here's to many more sordid tales from my end about random things.
*Taherally Rehmanji Suterwalla food brand from the Birminghams (burrrhaaah)
A lot has changed since the last blog post. Some(a lot actually) hair has turned grey. And existence has shifted to a new continent altogether. Living in a small European country, that can be barely located on the world map, has made life very interesting. Different interesting. So in no particular order, here are some changes that have me shooketh.
1) Cold Cold Hands
And feet. And nose. And cheeks. Basically I am cold a lot. No, I don't mean to say I possess a frozen heart (my friends would deny my claim here), but I do get cold very fast and have shivered even during Indian winters. Indian winters look like a summery salty mirage when compared to the monster that I witnessed here. Even after dressing like a snow mummy(thermals, sweater,jacket,muffler,cap,gloves,boots), the cold hits you where it hurts and you start doubting your desire to live. True story, I once waited for 2 minutes to give directions to a nice lady who just wanted to know if she should go left or right to reach her destination. Only because it was so damn cold that I almost cried; I mentally calculated if being nice is worth taking my hands out of my pocket to check Google maps and eventually did it anyway. Another true story, kids here love me till they hate me because my touch is like an icy dagger.
2) Bonjour or Something Like That
For as long as I can remember, I had wanted to learn French. I even enrolled in Alliance Française when I was working in Pune. Only for them to announce that they were closing shop because "students hi nahin hain". And so I returned the books and my dreams and forgot about it. So imagine my surprise when fate brought me to Luxembourg City. But to my surprise and disgust, my language learning gene had ejected itself out of my body. Logically, I should have learnt the basics by now because I am jobless and have loads of time. But nope...my systems are in a random but stubborn 'No! Thank You' mode. Though I am surprisingly good with accents and that creates a unique problem set. I can correctly pronounce the few words I know, convincing the other person that I am fluent in their language, making me look like a doofus when I am unable to continue the "conversation". Even more hilarious is the task of grocery shopping.
Is this butter? -> All these things are butter? -> Which butter is what? -> Do I really need butter?
3) DIY Revelations
India allows you many luxuries. Paani Puri, home delivery for everything and of course the house help. So when you have to do the day to day cleaning, certain things come to your attention:
a) Dusting the floor is just an exercise to determine the health of your hair.
b) There are days when the only kachra you get is your hair.
c) Your hair strands are the only thing standing between you and a clean house.
d) Do bald people even feel the need to clean their houses?
4) TRS Zindabad
It takes only a few days for all the missing to happen. First is the chaat...oh dear paani puri and aaloo tikki and paapdi chaat and ...(*stops typing to wipe the drool off the keyboard). Indian food is the best and you realize it only when you have reduced access to it. Indian stores here are well stocked with the essentials, which means all the stuff TRS* thought an Indian outside India needs. So you have spicy curry masala, mild spicy curry masala, normal curry masala, all in varying shades of orangy red. What the store wale bhaiyyas don't anticipate well enough is the copious amount of bhujia sev required by an average Indian, which is roughly 1 kg per month. They keep stacking the thin hollow 250 gms packets and do not understand your need for more.
5) Come back later
There is relaxed and then there is European relaxed. No opening of stores beyond the working hours. No opening of stores on Sundays. No working on weekends. No work call on personal numbers. Douglas Adams surely must have written his 'Don't Panic' line here.
Phew. So there's that. I hope to write better and more frequently because I surely will go crazy otherwise. So here's to many more sordid tales from my end about random things.
*Taherally Rehmanji Suterwalla food brand from the Birminghams (burrrhaaah)
Those words literally took me down the memory lane where I started living my initial year in those 5minutes of this amazing read! Keep writing dear! #morebhujiyayourway
ReplyDeleteYou are always so sweet Prachi. Thanks a lot 😊
DeleteHi Sonal
ReplyDeleteHope you remember me from Bajaj.
I am in Michigan right now and I totally relate to most of stuff you have experienced.
Keep writing.
I still remember you beating all of us hands down in “guess the logo” game.
Hey Kartik. Of course I remember you and the logo games. Nice to hear from you and glad that you could relate😊
DeleteI enjoyed reading it!! keep writing!!
ReplyDeleteThank you Ankita 😊
DeleteInteresting Sonal ! Keep it up :)
ReplyDeleteHey Nishad. Thank you 😊
Delete