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.

And I, born to be a carrier of carrion, am now

the lowly one to whom the Brahmans come

And lowly bow. They seek

the shelter of my name, Servant of the Sun

Whose service is the service of the Lord.


~Ravi Das~

Chandni Chowk revisited

On Thursday, Torunn and I went back to Chandni Chowk to pick up our glasses. And to eat. I'm beginning to think that Torunn's appetite for Indian food might actually rival mine, although she doesn't look it at all. We found this nice pure veg place, ordered our Thalis, and as soon as we got our food she declared it her new favourite restaurant. Swadisht!


I was in for a disappointment when I got my customized sunglasses - they'd lost or confused the frame I'd chosen, and gave me one that I'd never seen before! The shopowner was very service-minded though, and let me choose a new frame for the same price, as the one I originally wanted was nowhere to be seen. The new ones will be delivered on my door tomorrow afternoon. And this time I took no chances but made sure to document my choice. Nice?

Kollokvie i Paharganj

I met up with my classmates from Oslo, whom have now generously let me stay with them in their flat in Greater Kailash. We had to celebrate.

Chandni Chowk

Last Sunday, we went shopping in Chandni Chowk, which used to be the prominent shopping street in Old Delhi in the pre-mall era. Some of my friends bought specs, and I ordered a pair of sunglasses with prescription - my first!

Employees of the Royal Norwegian Embassy


This is probably where I'll buy all the christmas gifts this year.


"AC, DC, current, electromagneticism, electron, galvanism, heat, hot stuff, ignition, light, magneticism, service, spark, tension, utilities, voltage."


To round off the day, Torunn and I took a bus to Paharganj, and ordered some very special tea on one of the rooftops there. It was not very cold, and not very tasty either, but it looks like it did it for Torunn.

Mango season

There are several reasons why one should not go to Delhi in July and August. The heat and the humidity are among the prominent ones. But then there's at least one reason why one should!




And where did I learn to cut this exotic fruit so nicely? From the marvellous Hercules Poirot, of course!

Leaving Kathmandu

On Monday July 27th, I left Kathmandu, going back to Delhi (This blog is not in real time - yet). Until then, the monsoon rains had been scarce, limited to a few showers now and then. Waking up on Monday, it rained. Seriously. As most of the roads in Kathmandu are comparable only to the dirt road leading up to our cabin in the mountains back home (before they improved it), I figured it was a good idea to allow plenty of time to get to the airport. But my taxidriver knew what he was doing, and we got there without major difficulties. And then the queuing began. For three hours straigh, I waited in approximately ten different lines: To enter the terminal building, to have all of my luggage checked (twice), to enter the inner part of the terminal building, to check in my luggage, to have my hand luggage checked (thrice), to hand in a health certificate, to have my passport stamped, and so on. The woman didn't even look at my health certificate, although it stated that yes, I'd had both a fever and a cough during the last week. Who cares about H1N1? I guess the queuing was the main point.

During these hours, my only respite was observing a group of about 70 Korean teenagers, wearing similar pink t-shirts, who milled about and were way more confused than I was. The flight was quite turbulent because of the bad weather, and when I landed in Delhi, it was 34 degrees and raining. Still, the efficiency and the clean and neat interiors of Indira Gandhi Int. Airport made me feel like coming back to civilization. In the evening the rainfall got heavier, and I had fun wading in the street with water above my ancles from the flat in Nizamuddin to the corner dhaba to get some dinner. The day after, newspapers reported that in addition to the floodings in Delhi, stalling all traffic for more than 24 hrs in some areas, the situation had been bad at the airport. Many flights had been redirected as they could only keep one runway open. Water had also leaked into the arrival hall, reaching the level of the luggage conveyor belt (that's knee high!), leaving passengers to wade around with their belongings. In addition, the jams in the city led to a shortage of taxis at the airport, and there's really no other way to get to the city from there, so people were stuck for hours. Ah, Delhi... But my own timing was impeccable, this time.

Pictures from Kathmandu

We went back to the Boudha, this time earlier in the day.


I was going to get Miriam a new french press (coffee maker), as I broke the one she had brought with her from Norway. She had seen a cafe selling those here previously, so we went, only to find that the cafe was closed. It was a Saturday, and in Nepal Saturday is Sunday and Sunday Monday. In other words, the week ends on Saturday and starts on Sunday. No french press.

Then what to do? We stumbled over a great cafe, feeling very authentically French. Or Italian. There we ate greek salad and tried to finish off their water tank, seen in the back of the picture. Here, serving water was not a very popular task, and everytime we asked, the waiter would try to make everyone else do it.




Later we went fishing - Nepali style!




Varmrøkt?


Me Tarzan, you Francisca.


In Kathmandu, they also have many bars, with nice people, many pillows, cheap drinks, and the very, very loud music.

Swayambhunath (pics)

Swayambhunath stupa and temples. I went there to see the statues, the monkeys, and the city from above.





My self-appointed guide










Descending


Finally some peace

Boudhnath

The first weekend, Miriam and I took a day trip across town to Boudhnath, one of the great buddhist stupas in Kathmandu. We got there in the afternoon (probably after a humongous breakfast), and the gathering clouds made for a dramatic backdrop.








I saw a tiny monk


the wind started blowing


but when the rains came we were already inside, enjoying perhaps the best Chinese food I ever had! Smatt!