Shaadi in Karol Bagh

On our way to the wedding of a co-worker. Being seven people in a rickshaw turned out to be a very effective way to combat the cold. This is Jesi keeping me warm.

The venue. I figured this could be an inspiration for Larkins A/S next season. Norwegian weddings are so... white!

And then we waited. For about three hours.

Some people were getting hungry.

Sindhu aur unka sundar Alex.

Finally, here comes the bride!

Then my camera batteries went out, so I am not able to share with you the electric fire that caused people to throw themselves over tables filled with food, or the guys from my office getting drunk, or the frenetic dancing, or the groom arriving on a white horse. But I've been invited to another wedding on Friday. My batteries will be fully charged.

Feminisation?

Today, a question: Two months ago I fell in love with a bag. Yes. Luv. With a bag. The fist time I saw the bag I just admired it in the store for a while. It was a quite expencive bag and so it didn't feel right to go ahead and buy it just like that. I told myself, and my friend who was there with me, that I needed to think it over. But even as I left the store, I knew that I wanted it. There was no doubt. Finally, using my birthday as a rationale, I bought the bag a week back, after searching for it through significant parts of urban North India. I had no idea I was capable of loving a bag. Rather the former me used to pride herself in not caring much about clothes, and especially not about accessories. But now, since I arrived in India in July, I've bought eight (!) clutches/purses/bags, five of them for myself. What the **** happened?

1. My stubborn personality finally caved in to the massive pressure of the market forces, who have been telling me since childhood that I need accessories in order to be happy.

2. Turning 27, my body released "purse-hormones", assuming that these nice accessories will significantly improve my chances for reproduction.

3. I was corrupted by the presence of a friend who is not ashamed to say that a good purse makes life worth living (ICWM).

4. It is the result of the natural process of feminisation, turning the androgyne girl child into a full-fledged woman, and this process is a little delayed on my part.

5. It's the influence of Mayawati (funny only for the initiated).

6. My identity is faltering as I realize that I will probably never get a job, even if I ever finish my education. Better look good.

7. It's all about the bag.

Vote here and feel free to add alternatives that are felt to be missing. Oh, and I just recalled purse number nine in five months. Jeez. Here's the loved one:



Lovely?

Climate change!

The weather in Delhi is changing. Suddenly, "winter" is here! That is, the temperature has fallen, from a stable 28-35 degrees celsius to just above 20. When I left Delhi for a roundtrip of the South on the 2nd of October, the heat was still making it difficult to sleep at night. We were sweating sitting still, and in spite of open doors and fan on full speed, the air in our Greater Kailash was stifling.

When I came back to Delhi from the breezy coast three weeks later people were already wearing sweaters. The last couple of weeks have been very pleasant, with sunny days and cool evenings. Since yesterday, though, I think fall is definitively over. According to the newspapers the temperatur today is 23 degrees at the highest and 17 at the lowest, at night. In Norway 17 degrees at night is close to being counted as a "tropical night". Here, it feels more like seven. The marble floors are cold, the water in the faucet is cold, and the mist lays thick in the mornings. I've taken up sleeping with the rasai, a kind of "dyne", and yesterday I wore socks and shoes. Feels very exotic!

That's an update for all you people in Norway who love talking about the weather. And a piece of khas information for my Uncle Arild: 13/5 West Patel Nagar, New Delhi. Can you find me on Google earth?

Lucknow Cent.Rlw.St.

When I was there, I found it quite beautiful. Now, in the photos, it makes me think of cream cake and meringue. It looks like something out of a fairground, like it's not really real. And the signs in Hindi and Urdu? They read "Lakhnau", too.

Manual destruction

Some time back, I could observe the house across the street from where I lived being teared down. The wiry, dark-skinned men who worked there did not take the aid of machines, but used shovels and spears and sledge-hammers to crush the three storey brick building to pieces. At times their work was very precarious. As when this man was sawing off the wires (not the branch) he was sitting on.