alice's peephole

“How was India?” “It was so great, the perfect holiday!” “What did you do?” Well, where do I start? Let’s begin with the end of the journey. In India, this is when you collect your bags from the conveyer belt, and drag it onto the trolley. Because outside the airport, most likely there is someone to receive you. This someone most likely owns a car, and you are saved the hassle of taking the train. To the train, to the other train that would take you home in Deutschland. So I did collect my bags from the conveyer belt and drag it onto the trolley. And I had arrived! It was like magic! Literally, since unlike #studentlifeInGermany, everything seemed to get done on its own. My coffee cups got picked up from all over the house, awesome food appeared on the table, my clothes washed themselves and even the groceries walked themselves into the fridge! Ok maybe someone did those things for me (thanks Mommy!), but that’s what is great about India! There’s a “wala” for everythi

I didn’t think it would take that long or the moment would be so dramatic. I didn’t realise that I had been waiting 10 months for it to happen or that I would be able to pinpoint the exact spot where it did. I finally fell in love with Köln. I look now not only at souvenirs of the Dom in pride but also ones about the typical ‘Kölsche Tag’ with Halber Hahn, der FC and Karneval. Living, working and studying far away from the city centre, nestled in my own bubble of sports and dorm-mates, it had so far been a SpoHo experience and a German one, but not one to make me appreciate the light, slightly lazy Kölsch. What Kölsch did not manage on its own, that summer evening, in combination with “internationalised” Germans at Brüsseler Platz I was easy prey. Grabbing a beer at Le Kiosk with friends, and friends of friends, carrying out conversations in a drunken combination of Deutsch and English, the sudden summer showers and rushing into a pub just like the ones in Bangalore – I finally rea

“If travel was free, you would never see me again!” To all those that shared this juvenile status on various social media I say this - “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”   - Proust I waited until Cologne felt like home before travelling. My trip to Frankfurt did not count I think, because I was somehow very India-sick then, and went to visit a familiar face. I did like the city, a strange mix between fast paced financial capital and measured German lifestyle. The ‘Alte Oper’ and the ‘Hauptwache’ right in the middle of the financial district, surrounded by high rises is a great example of this country’s ability to restore the past to blend it into the future. I must admit though, I enjoyed the smell of Indian spices, the comfort of a big sofa and a bigger TV, the bathtub and conversation more. Paris is a different story. To begin with, my ‘chaddi buddy’ was there. Even if it was the Sahara desert it would be

I suppose it is a little strange that when people ask me what I miss the most about home the first answer that comes to my mind is food! My dad amongst his many sermons and monologues once said something indeed wise while encouraging a certain Hungarian-German to try Indian food: When you really want to enjoy the food you must use all your senses. See the colours, smell the flavours, taste the emotions and finally, feel the warmth. I do truly believe that some foods taste so much better when eaten with the fingers. Its not only the taste of the food that I miss (don’t get me wrong, that’s a major part of it). It’s the memories that are attached to it. I believe everything we eat has a story attached. Whether it was celebrating my parents 25 th wedding anniversary, college drinking parties, cooking with my cousin for the first time and most recently lazy Sundays in Bangalore – the various types of Biryani were always the feature of the story. It’s my happy food. When Sundays roll

They sprung up like mushrooms in the monsoon, the Christmas markets all over the city. Everyone was excited to visit them, the pretty lights enticed us poor students to forget our poverty woes and to make our way to these little commercialised cribs of food and festivity. It wasn’t to my taste. Too many people pushing me while I try to eat my overpriced pommes and worry about spilling my “Glühwein” (a wine served warm that is very similar to port wine courtesy Goa). My first ever  actual homely Christmas awaited me. I had picked out presents many days ago, but put off wrapping. On the very last day, I made my way to the supermarket, expecting the over-organised Germans to have stopped selling Xmas wrapping paper and moved on to selling sunglasses for the summer by now. I was relieved to see many other last-minute wrappers like me, lined up at the counter. But I was at a greater disadvantage to complete this task on time! My mommy wasn’t there to do it for me. Since the inve