alice's peephole

I agreed to be a volunteer at a conference today, as I had some time on my hands and I got the conference tickets for free. I awoke at 5 am on a cold winter morning, to travel from Cologne to Duesseldorf to be there at 7.30 at the welcome desk. I was surprised to see that there was no organiser to greet or brief me, nor did I see one for the next hour or so. Now I didn’t really mind, and I asked the others what to do and just fell in. However, after nearly 3 hours of standing and handing out registration batches, I decided that no one was coming to release us from our duties, so we gave up our “posts” and joined the conference. I was annoyed to find that I had to buy myself a coffee, received zero thanks from any organiser. Sadly, this isn’t very rare at all. I fail to understand why event organisers take the work of volunteers for granted. My very first job was as a Volunteer Manager for the Games in Delhi. My boss was not overbearingly bossy, but he insisted on certain ways of

The report on how each medal won by UK cost 5.5 million pounds is doing the rounds on the internet. Of course our newspapers pick up Abhinav Bindra’s tweet about it and set off to write their own theories about it. Reporting and writing from ignorance seem to have become so inherent in Indian press that I no longer let myself be angered by the things I read. I let it go when ‘insightful reports’ surfaced discussing BCCI’s release about the huge economic impact that the IPL creates. Not a single article did I come across, that even mentioned the flaws on this method, that is regarded by economists the world over as unreliable. If only investing (pouring money) into a few athletes and finding a few numbers to describe the success of a single league was enough to paint an accurate picture of the sports scene in India. But just this once, I'm not letting it go without adding my own 2 bit opinions on the subject. A few months ago I started wondering about why the Indian hockey tea

Continuing on the theme from my last post on fitting in – takes me back to school – to the source of that feeling of being an outsider. My parents had always said to me, “No one can demand your respect, they have to earn it”. And that applied for everyone, from elders to teachers. Now this is shocking and the exact anti-thesis of good Indian upbringing, but I heard it often enough at home, and I believed in it. The problem wasn’t the believing, it was the execution and the repercussions. I remember the first ever incident I faced in school, when the disillusionment of a perfect kindergarten experience shattered before my (back-then) innocent eyes. After my first day in Grade 1, I came home cribbing to my dad that the desk I was assigned in class was unsteady. It shook when I wrote, effectively making an already difficult task for a 5 year old almost impossible. My dad suggested that I tell the teacher about it, like any normal parent might do. Unfortunately, I still remember

Integration.  That thing on everyone’s mind when they move to a new country. It’s even more important when you move to Europe, with its deep cultural roots and the language barrier. You either decide to integrate, or you take your world with you, wherever you go. And if you decide for the former, well, its definitely not a one-step process, or a wall you have to climb, after which its over. And lo and behold! You fit in. No, its more like walking across a minefield, where every step is measured and every averted disaster fills you with relief. You are regularly pleasantly surprised, sometimes you are grateful, sometimes frustrated and very often you doubt yourself. Every now and then it makes you want to give up. Give up and go home to where everything is familiar, where everyone can say your name and understand you. Where every time you meet an asshole, you don’t have to wonder if they are just an asshole, or whether its because You. Are. Different. Sometimes home comes to you

I cry for my lost loves For career For principles I left them behind Cities People Friends Lovers All memories Fading slowly Until they are only a shadow That looms large At the brightest hours But you're too busy to notice That you left a part of you behind That you lose yourself every time you go Only to find a new you

"Alles wird perfekt" I didn't expect the start of my trip to immediately give me the opportunity to check off things from my bucket list. As I entered Frankfurt airport the day after the Brussels attack, a TV reporter accosted me and asked me some questions about how I felt about flying that day. Of course being Indian and finding direct refusal awkward and a situation best avoided, I went along with the "interview". In German, unfortunately, Im not sure Im able to convincingly expound on my feelings on current affairs and world politics. Yet. I really didn't want to relive the embarrassment, so no, I don't know what channel it was on. But at least I was on TV.  The flight being overbooked presented an opportunity to me make up some of the expenses for the trip, by agreeing to be rerouted the next day via Hamburg. It gave me the chance to spend a night alone in a 5 star (another check), and explore a little bit of this beautiful city! Alster un

Who needs a significant other when you live in a dorm? A lot of people apparently. I hear them through my paper thin walls, but wait, that wasn’t the point. The great part about living in a dorm is that most often its that perfect sweet spot between being annoyed by the very breathing of other people and being lonely. The kitchen, underequipped though it is, is the proverbial water cooler, and there’s so many spontaneous jokes shared there while waiting around for the few lone working stoves to get free. Not to mention the chance to try authentic food from as far off places as you can imagine, from just about every continent. Why just the other day a guy from Georgia was boiling some eggs in a tin can and offered me one. You learn new styles of cooking from exotic lands – recently I saw my Korean friend cut his frozen pizza with a pair of scissors. He lost his knife a few months ago.   The shared loos are another place where one is exposed to various cultures. The long list