Confe-runs

Last year in Germany:

I am about to bunk one session of the conference to check out the city when a needy-looking student comes running and panting, looking for group 3 (I am group 3). We had to compile a PPT and our team had done 95% of the work. All this person had to do is put it all together and give a two-minute presentation. The person just got here and doesn't yet know me or what group I belong to.

“Hallo, entschuldigen Sie, have you seen someone from group 3? I need help with the presentation!”

I am all for helping people, but I know this student is going to take an hour of my time, the time I could be exploring a new city. PhD students are supposed to be independent anyway. Evil of me, I nod a “nein! nein!” to say that I have no idea who is in group 3. I pointed to the garden in the opposite direction of the exit to tell her that a bunch of people are there and she should check them out. She ran in that direction and I ran to my exit of freedom from needy students, laughing a loud, evil, Muhahahaha in my head.

Karma, however, is a B-I-T-C-H with a capital B! I take a tour of the city and come back to find that the student has found and followed me on Twitter. Fine, I was not going to see her again anyway, I reasoned to myself.

Goddammit, I was walking down my hotel stairs for dinner that night and found her again walking up the stairs. The one time in five days that I bunk one session of the conference, karma hits me like a ton of bricks. So glad for quick reflexes and hoodies that you can use to instantly hide your face, which is what I just did!

Please tell me we are not taking the same train to the airport tomorrow!

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Building on an abundance model

The first recommendation letter I ever wrote for someone was under extremely ironic circumstances. An international colleague I had briefly worked with wanted a letter of support for their green card/permanent residency application in the US. I was a postdoc in Germany then, trying very hard to find a faculty position in the US. I applied for innumerable positions, almost a few every week, got Skype-interviewed by some, but never heard back. I never got invited for campus interviews. It was one of the darker times in my career when I was constantly engulfed in worry, self-doubt, and fear that the situation would never change and I might run out of my postdoc time without a faculty position. To write a letter vouching for someone about why they should be able to stay and work in the US long-term was ironic.

I did write that letter, a stellar one too. My situation was independent of their situation, and as colleagues, we support each other in our careers. But this was not before I emailed them back asking why they were considering me as a potential referee. What I did not ask directly was, "Why should people reviewing your application believe me when I myself have been unable to find a faculty position in the US?" I asked if a letter of support coming from someone outside the US would be effective at all. What they said was eye-opening.

“Are you kidding me? You are an international scholar who has worked in both the US and Germany. A letter from you would be incredible.”

The revelation was eye-opening. As intuitive as it is, I was not viewing myself as an international researcher. I was viewing myself as a researcher who was struggling to find a position in the US, and was hence working in Germany. Rather than approaching my situation from a position of abundance, I was approaching it from a position of deficit.

In life, reality is subjective, not single, and there are often multiple perspectives to it. The fact that I was struggling to gain my foothold in the US was a reality (more real for me). And the fact that I had work experience in multiple countries as a result was also a reality (more real for my colleague).

It made me wonder how often had I undermined myself similarly. How often I had focused on the “don’t haves” and not on the “haves.” I grew up in a culture where highlighting one’s accomplishments was considered bragging or showing off. And I now work in a culture where it is not just necessary, but imperative to highlight one’s accomplishments. We do that in conferences and meetings. We create websites to show the expanse of the work that we have done. It’s a cultural shift that takes some time and experience getting used to.

I often tend to think, “Shit! I have no experience running structural equation models.”

However, I usually don’t think, “I have some good grant writing and collaborative experience now.”

This email exchange taught me to position myself from a perspective of abundance and NOT from a perspective of deficit. I started enlisting every achievement I should have highlighted earlier. The list wasn’t spectacular, but not bad either. Along with being my own critic, I also became my own champion.

My colleague eventually got their permanent residency. And I got my faculty position. The department told me how excited they are to have a colleague with international experience. People started viewing me in a certain way only after I started viewing myself in that way.    

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24 hours in Berlin

“Sushi on conveyor belts looks the prettiest. Colorfully decked up, as if going to a Halloween party,” I thought, sitting at a Japanese restaurant at the Hauptbahnhoff and eating an early dinner. I have just arrived in Berlin for my visa interview the following day. A little hungry, I wanted to finish off dinner before heading to my hotel. I saw the usual around me, a McDonald’s, Burger King, Turkish kebab place, and a coffee shop. None of them appealed to me. I was craving for something hot and soupy. That is how I found myself at Tokio, devouring a steaming hot bowl of udon noodles with seafood as my mind went in ten different directions.

“Berlin has always been a city of necessities for me,” I further reflected between mouthfuls of body parts of sea animals I did not recognize. I only visit the city when I needed something. Berlin never gave me a chance to woo her.

I sadly reminisced about my life in Germany for the last two years. This trip was like getting closure. I had first planned to visit Berlin in 2010. The trip never happened. I injured my leg on the streets of Sicily, pulled a muscle, and after covering a dozen different places in that first Europe trip, Berlin is the only place I did not visit. I went there for the first time last year, to get a US tourist visa. I had a whole lot of things on my mind then, including why I am visiting the US as a tourist. I did take an extra day and saw some of the usual suspects, but I never saw Berlin extensively. Over the next year, I went to Berlin many times, but every time to catch a train or plane to somewhere else- Budapest, Hamburg, Poland, Croatia. I never stepped outside the very coolly designed Hauptbahnhoff with four different floors of trains and restaurants. My ICE trains always arrived in the basement floor. The U-Bahn and the S-Bahn and the Regional Bahns (different kinds of trains) always left from other floors.

Post-dinner, I had to take the S-train and then a bus to get to my hotel. Déjà vu, I was not only in the same hotel, but also in the same room I stayed last time. I had an 8 am interview the next day, so I tried going to sleep early. I wasn’t even carrying a laptop or camera. I have been practicing living minimally and traveling light these days. Even without the internet distractions, it took me a long time to fall asleep. This never happens, I am usually asleep even before I hit the bed, and wake up much after it is time for me to wake up. But tonight was different. I had a hundred different things on my mind.

I went there armed with everything I had, my passport, every degree and accolade earned since high school, my 80-page long petition, a CV, and of course my knowledge. I was prepared to talk about anything. The future of research. Women in science. NGSS. NCLB. The training process in medical schools. Grant writing. My next five papers in the pipeline. Full form of ERIC. H-index. How tenure works. Why I think I deserve this job. The names of Native American tribes. The future of education globally. And a 5-minute synopsis of the history of the United States. I was going to rock this visa interview.

And the only question they asked me was, "Your tourist visa was in your stolen passport. Did you report it to the police?"

"Of course," I said, taken aback. How else would I get the new passport they were holding?

"Visa approved," they said rather impassively, momentarily throwing me off-guard. I kept standing there, expecting them to ask at least some questions from my HLM class.

"You can go home now," they said, their voice laced with impatience. "Next?"

Seems like my passport thief in Greece was more on their mind than understanding the intellectual mind of a budding faculty member.

And as for going home, of course I'll be going home now. A new home in a new city to start a brand new chapter of my life.

I was inclined to see a little bit of the city, since my train back was not until evening. However, I was carrying all important documents except my passport, and did not want to risk another robbery attempt. I have seen 16 new countries in the last two years, including 10 new ones in 2016 alone. I was kind of done traveling and sightseeing for now. I paid four times more for a new ticket and took an earlier train back home.

People have different favorite memories of a city. Berlin could mean a lot of things to a lot of people. To me, my personal little haven in Berlin will remain that triangle between my hotel, the US consulate, and the nearby metro station. Those are where I have most of my memories of Berlin, of getting visas, walking those streets, taking the bus, drinking coffee, or eating. In a strange way, this is where I got closure. This is where my journey began, and this is where it is ending after fighting a long battle of finding my way back to the US being exactly who I aspired to be.

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Ten random observations from Germany

1. Most shops are closed on Saturdays. All shops are closed on Sundays. Most stores are open between 9 am and 8 pm on the weekdays. Imagine, no grocery stores or shopping malls are open on Sundays. 

2. If you forgot your grocery bag, you need to pay to buy plastic bags.

3. I have seen green traffic lights change to orange and then red. Here, there is a one second of orange light before the red light changes back to green.

4. While filling visa forms (written in Deutsche, English, Arabic, and Russian), I had to write my parents' name for the first time in many years. In fact, I even had to write my mother's maiden name.

5. I is enunciated as E. So Ikea is Ee-kay-yah.  

6. J is enunciated as Y. And Y is also written as J. So "year" is written as Jahr (plural, Jahre), and "ya" is written as Ja.

7. The Cs as in cat and not chat are replaced by Ks. Klinik. Oktober. Kaffee with Karan. Kamera. Kanada (not Kannada). Kalkutta. Disko.

8. I haven't seen people hug so much here as a form of greeting. Instead, I have seen colleagues put their hands on my elbow sometimes when they speak. I must say, it startles me a little bit. 

9. Very few people take selfies here. They browse their phones all the time, but they seem to be far less obsessed with themselves.  

10. Long words in every day life. Andreasgaykstrasse. Auslanderangelegenheiten (foreign affairs). Begegnungszentrum (meeting center). Einbahnstrasse (one-way street).

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Less open borders

I am on a bus from Kraków to Berlin, and my reverie is suddenly interrupted when the bus stops in the middle of the lush green fields. This does not look like a bus station, I tell myself. I look out to see if the road signs are still in Polish or if we are in Germany by now. My line of thoughts is answered as soon as two uniformed policemen get on the bus and start speaking rapidly in Deutsche. "Passport" and "Photo ID" are the only two words I recognize. Quickly, I get both out of my backpack.

Sometime during the trip, this thought did cross my mind. Germany and Poland have open borders, so technically one need not show any documentation. But we live in different times now. This has happened on my way back from Brussels and Amsterdam too. The thing is, this ID checking happens only on the way back to Germany and not while the bus is leaving Germany.

The officers are quick and efficient. It is only when they check my documents that I realize that they are only trying to match my photo with my face. Whether or not I have the paperwork to live in Germany, they probably do not care about. But then, I could be wrong, since almost everyone except me looks German. Both these men are armed, I can clearly see their guns jutting out of their waists. This makes me nervous. They check everyone's photo ID and are gone in less than five minutes.

Later, I ask the coach attendant why the police were here (although I know that it is probably because of the refugee situation) to which, the man shrugs and tells me he understands no English. I am trying to understand social barriers here, but am caught in the web of linguistic barriers. So I keep quiet and go back to my contemplation. Sometime later, the attendant comes back and points me to go to the driver. He probably felt bad that he did not understand my question. So I do, and ask the driver the same question. The driver (whose English is only marginally better) shrugs and tells me that he does not know. I am not entirely convinced. So I ask him what would have happened if I had no photo id on me. Would I be asked to leave the bus? Leave the country? Which country? The driver tells me he has no idea. I am left with a lot of unanswered questions, but I leave him alone.

I am certainly witnessing very interesting times in Germany. The situation was not like this when I had arrived here two years ago. At least during the Amsterdam trip, the cops got on the bus with sniffer dogs to check if anyone was bringing back drugs. This time, I am not sure why they checked everyone's photo ID and why they had guns on them.

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Homelessness

This morning, I re-signed my rental lease, shortening it to the end of July. An immediate and familiar feeling of fear hit my stomach. My paperwork for the US visa is taking forever, and it might happen that by the time my documents arrive and I have to go to the US consulate in Germany, my German job contract is over and I might not have a place to live in anymore. Am I looking at potential homelessness post-July again? It has happened before. The first time was for 3 months when I was transitioning back to graduate school. For months, people in Seattle opened up their homes as I spent my time babysitting, cat sitting, even house sitting. The second time was right before moving to Germany when I had spent 4 weeks on the road. Every day, I slept in a new place, in supercomputer labs at universities, people's homes, seedy hotel rooms with names scribbled on distastefully done wall papers in the hinterlands of Wyoming, and even sometimes inside my car. Every time a major transition in my life happened, I became homeless, although momentarily. However, that was the US where I have hundreds of friends, where G will open up her home and kitchen indefinitely in return for digging up her garden, doing yard work, painting the walls, cleaning the garage, breaking coconuts, lugging heavy grocery from Cash n Carry, freezing myself while getting milk cans from the Costco freezer, and accompanying her to every temple within a 200-mile radius (I have done it all). Germany is different. I hardly know anyone in Germany, especially outside work. Without a cell phone, it will be even more fun.

However, these transition periods also open up possibilities of newer, unique experiences. With no paycheck and not much money to stay in hotels, I might go backpacking and sleep in overnight trains (some of those trains in Prague have showers too). I might start sleeping in my office and use the emergency shower in the biology lab. I might invest in a tent, backpack and sleeping bag. There are nice benches in the park right outside my home. If nothing, there is always Kolkata to go back to.

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German Visa

When I arrived in Germany, I had to go to the Rathaus (city hall) to register myself. There, they gave me a piece of paper that I took to another building called the Ausländerbehörde (Aliens Office) with other documents. There, they asked me to come back in three weeks to collect my residence permit after which I could go to any of the Schengen countries without a visa. And a tiny Sunny Deol voice inside my head shouted, "Tareeq pe tareeq, tareeq pe tareeq" (translated as, appointment after appointment, appointment after appointment, when will I get the permit?). 

My basic impressions of the visa system in Germany- There is a lot of paperwork and going back and forth involved. Even the Ausländerbehörde reminded me more of India- tons of files and paperwork stacked in their office. They actually sent me a letter at home, giving me an appointment date and time (compared to being able to make an appointment online). I have to be patient, knowing that they might ask for hundreds of documents and take weeks, and ask me to come back instead of mailing in my residence permit.

However, I absolutely do not feel uncomfortable, unlike my previous experiences in other countries where the security drove me crazy. No security check, no metal detectors, no one patting you or sniffing you. The officer will actually smile and not keep giving you suspicious glances. Things are more laid back and way more relaxed. 

I would love to know a system where once they see that work or studies is taking you to different countries, you will not need a visa anywhere in the world.

Until then, I love the fact that Germany exempts me from paying my visa fee, saving me some 100 euros every time.  

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Essen?

For many years in my workplace, I have always eaten my lunch alone, and so did the others sitting in the same room. It's like everyone putting headphones and listening to their own music, in isolation. When deadlines loomed, "eating" as a verb was substituted by other action verbs. "Grabbed" a bite."Downed" some juice. Gobbled and guzzled. Nibbled and munched. Alone. Staring at the computer screen, using one hand to run data analyses or write emails, or reading news when both hands were needed.

Not in Germany. Every day at noon, the entire department gathers in the hallway. Someone starts knocking on all the doors in the corridor, reminding people it is time for lunch. Then we walk together, a crowd of 10-15 people. Not to another room, no. We step out in the sun, and walk a bus stop to the mensa (cafeteria). There, thousands of students, staff, professors, and sometimes their family gather to eat lunch. There is usually a very good selection of everything- vegetables and meat and fish and salads, at subsidized prices. We choose our food, we pay, and we sit together at a large table. We eat. We talk. We laugh. We share stories. We learn. And we eat. Not gulping mouthfuls between checking Whatsapp messages or browsing Facebook on smart phones. When you have a large group to talk to, you do not need technology to keep you company. I am often notorious for eating the slowest. So while everyone is done and I am still finishing the last few bites, everyone waits for me to finish up. No one leaves without me. 

Then, we go back to the office together, but not right back to work. Not yet. We go back to the conference room. One of us is responsible every week to brew the coffee and boil water for tea. All of us sit and drink tea or coffee. Someone is on weekly duty to provide the cookies and crackers. Even people who do not drink tea or coffee sit for a while with the group. At this time, whoever needs to get back to work is welcome to do so. Some people linger and talk ideas. Others go back.

Here, I look forward to sharing my meal every day. Since we all need to eat, why not do it together? It makes me realize the importance of stepping back, taking a break, and interacting as a group. Food is not meant to be had in isolation, a hurried affair in between finishing deadlines. This 1-1.5 hour long break everyday is not a waste of work time. It is included within the work time, to make sure people talk, communicate, share, wait for one another, and do not forget their social skills. By the way, "essen" is the German word for eating.

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Lost in (Deutsche) Translation

I don’t know how you started your new year, but I can tell you how I started mine. By logging in to my German bank account, to see if they deposited my salary on time. Not that the Germans have ever been tardy. However, even after all these years, I get a kick out of seeing my bank balance slightly go up at the beginning of every month.

I typed in my user id and password, to get the following message in German (that I Google translated):

“Dear Customer,

Your account has been due to PIN input errors provisionally blocked for security reasons. However, you have the possibility to revoke the provisional ban by entering your valid PIN and using a valid TAN. Please enter the current PIN twice, and confirm on the following page to enter a transaction number (TAN). Please note that a final PIN lock is carried out by an erroneous entry of the PIN. The final PIN lock can then be lifted by your institution.”

Honestly, I have no idea what they are talking about. What PIN? What TAN? What institution?

You see, my entire banking happens in German. Despite claiming to have an “international” customer base, they do nothing for international customers who understand “Kein Deutsch oder nur ein bisschen Deutsch” (no German or very little German). The customer service representative speaks in German, and gets upset if I do not reply in German. The bank emails go out in German. Last month, they deducted some money, and I have no idea why they did, because they stated some random reason, all in German. So now, I will have to catch hold of someone bilingual at work, log in to my bank account, have them call my bank, and figure out why I cannot access my account, and what made the bank take my money without telling me about it. It’s a constant struggle, a constant uphill battle everyday. To understand, and be understood.

“This is how we do it. Sorry.”

“You should have spent more time learning German seriously.”

“Don’t worry. You will figure it out. You have a PhD.”

“It was your choice to move. Why complain now?”

These are just some of the many things I am told that do not make any sense to me. And this message from the bank, all written in German, has been the summary of my life in Germany so far. Get stumped by something totally mindless, like checking the bank account. Get stuck. Wait patiently, trying to figure it out. Ask for help. Wait to get help. Get help. Thank people after getting help. Move on, until the next roadblock.

What it results in is huge cognitive overload. Getting stuck to do even the simple things. Putting the more important things on hold as a result. And wasting a lot of time in the process. A perfect example of how a familiar language can be the elixir of your life, your connection to the world. And how an unfamiliar language can become the bane of your existence, isolating you from the more local experiences, the people, and create a schism between you and your social world.

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Unit(ed)

The unit conversion cells in my brain have never been more active until I moved to Deutschland. There are some I never adopted in the US in the first place, so it feels comforting to revert after all these years. For example, I always understood weather or temperature in Celsius and not Fahrenheit. So when you say that 32 is a cold day and 85 is a hot day, it does not make any sense to me. For me, 0 means cold and 100 means hot. The weather channel is always set to degree C. And although I weigh things in pounds at the grocery store, I always weigh myself in kilograms because that made more sense to me. 60 was great, 100 was fatal, and anything in between was a work in progress in either direction. Weighing babies or milk in ounces confuse me even more. 

Then, there are new things I learnt in the US, like driving. So buying gas in gallons, measuring distance in miles, or speed in miles/hour makes so much more sense to me. I just had to see the number 60 to know that I was fine, or 80 to know that I should really slow down. Now, the autobahn sometimes specifies a speed of 120 (km/hour). If I did not know the unit, it would freak me out. I am relearning what it means to measure distance in kilometers or area of rooms in square meters (and not square feet). After many years, I am buying milk in liters. And weighing vegetables in kilograms. 

The mm/dd/yy has gone back to dd/mm/yy, but I see that after the first few years of instinctively writing dd/mm in the US, I am now instinctively writing mm/dd in Germany. Earlier, I was converting USD to INR and back, but now, it is a mishmash of USD to Euro, Euro to INR, INR to USD, and what not. 

And time. Here in Germany, I have meetings at 14:30, dinner at 18:30, drink coffee at 16:30, and go to bed at 21:30. There is no concept of am and pm. Even the computers show the time from a scale of 00 to 24 hours. This is something very new to me. 

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Grocery Shopping in Germany

The first time I went grocery shopping in Germany, I came home and cried. That I could not do something as basic as buying food because of language barrier was a concept so foreign to me. At the stores, which are smaller and way crowded than your average American grocery stores, I felt lost and disoriented, as if people were randomly bumping into me because I did not exist. The truth is, I was overwhelmed because I saw hundreds of words around me and understood nothing.

You will never understand this feeling unless you have been in a similar situation. The arrangement of food and the way food is packed is not very intuitive, even for someone of my age and basic intelligence. Too often, we rely on understanding key words, but when you do not understand words, pictures and color is not enough. I identified some fruits and vegetables alright. But milk and cheese and meat and laundry detergent and other things came in hundreds of varieties. That day, I was not able to identify something as basic as a packet of salt and sugar. Navigating the workplace was easy, because everyone speaks to me in English, papers are written in English, etc. But the world outside the workplace seemed like a battlefield. 

The second time, I wrote down some keywords using Google translator, and stopped unsuspecting customers to ask them for help. I ended up buying a dozen carrots, something I do not even like, because I could at least identify it. For example, if you want to buy mushroom soup, you would expect to see a packet with the picture of mushrooms on it. Instead, what I saw was a sexy, half-naked woman smiling promiscuously and holding a steaming bowl. Who would know what magic potion the steaming bowl contained, unless you could read it? 

Then, my friend suggested downloading the German to English version of the app called Word Lens, and it changed my life. When I went grocery stopping next, I once again spent a long time browsing the aisles, but this time, for a different reason. You download the app, hold your camera in front of German text, and it translates things for you in English. It doesn't even need wi-fi. The translations are not 100% accurate, but that only added to the fun experience. I suddenly felt like I had secret powers. I could understand almost everything. Flat beans. Snow peas. Celery. Lemon grass. Mildly flavored garlic cheese. Onion soup. Baking section. I went aisle after aisle, just holding my phone and translating things for fun and giggling away, even things I did not need to buy. I felt the excitement of a child inside a toy store, and ended up spending even more time than I usually do inside a grocery store. The app is free, but I would happily pay a price for its value. 

On a different note, I think that I have finally figured out why you need to insert a 1 euro coin to unlock the grocery carts (which you get back once you place back the cart in the right place). It could not be for making money, since you get back the coin when you lock your cart with the previous cart. I think that it is to make sure that you put back the cart in the right place, and only then you can get your coin back.

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Train, no, bus of thoughts

It gets me a while to start my engines in the morning. I wake up early and all, but I have never understood how so many people work out in the morning. Between my home and the bus stop is some stretch of water, a bridge (like the foot bridge between Lake Town and Salt Lake), and a garden. When I am still walking (and waking) to catch the bus, I see so many people running and always wonder how they manage to have so much energy in the morning. 

I was thinking the same today, rubbing my eyes on my way to work. I had just started going up the bridge when I saw my bus at a distance. Being at a height gave me a vantage point to see the bus stopped at a red light. I thought no more. I sprinted at electrifying speed, running the length of the bridge and the garden, and not stopping until the driver had seen me and I was inside the bus. I got on the bus to see the entire bus staring at me. People involuntarily do that when they see someone run to catch the bus. At least I do, thinking in my head, "Will they make it? Will they make it?" So I did, and the bus started. I had no reason to run all the distance like a crazy woman. I could have taken the next one. But when you see a bus, you instinctively run. I think something is wrong if you are fit but do not feel the urge to run. My probability of getting my bus was 1/2 (since two out of four buses go to my workplace and I could not see the number from a distance). But it would have sucked to not take that chance.

I do not remember the last time I had chased a bus. The last few years in the US, I always drove to work, and never looked at bus timings or waited at bus stops. Now I do. Now, I know that buses run only once every thirty minutes after peak hours, so I organize my time accordingly. Newer habits have replaced old habits. I haven't driven in 20 months. I haven't useda cell phone in 19 months. I don’t get to eat at Chipotle unless I am in the US. A few years ago, I couldn't have imagined a life without car and cell phone, or not looking for wifi networks frantically wherever I went. Now, I am doing just fine. I am not making a judgment about "that" life versus "this" life. That life was great, and this life is great too. All I am saying is it is perfectly possible to break old habits, and transition from "that" life to "this" life without missing it much. 

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Life of a visitor

In this unbearable summer heat where people are falling sick, my grandma, who is in her seventies now, goes down five flights of stairs without an elevator, gets out of the house with a folding chair, a paper fan, and some water, stands in line, and casts her vote. Whereas I spend a freezing weekend at my home in Germany reflecting on my life choices. Where I live, I cannot vote and where I can vote, I do not live anymore. It seems like I have voluntarily chosen the life of a visitor. I travel to the US on a visitor visa, I live in Germany as a visitor, and every time I visit Calcutta, I feel like a visitor as well. Sure, I can wake up in the morning, hop on a train, and I will be in Switzerland by evening. But my way of living comes with the condition of never belonging anywhere. Jhumpa Lahiri might have even written a novel or two out of it and won prizes. I don't even know how to do that.

Everything in life comes at a price. Living the noisy, action-packed life in Calcutta where there is never a dull moment, where the smell of your neighbor's cooking suffuses the air when you wake up and there are always people visiting home unannounced, this huge social cushion comes at a price. Just like there is also a price I am paying for cleaner air, beautiful views, space, privacy, safety, and a whole lot of silence.

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Not drinking problem

In my German learning sessions today, they dedicated an entire 30-minute unit to teaching how to say only three words (wine, beer, and restaurant), and the different variants of it. 

"Do you want to drink something? Yes, I will have a beer at your place. Or I will have a beer later, at so and so restaurant. But what will you drink? I will have wine. No, no. I will have a beer with you at that restaurant located in that street and that square. Would you also like to eat something? No, I only want to drink a beer. Excuse me. I want two beers please. Thank you." And so on ......

The thing is, I neither drink beer, nor wine. Maybe I should just learn how to say coconut water in German instead.

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A post from the post office

The last time I went to the post office, the gentleman almost barked at me, since I spoke no Deutsche. Of course why I was at the post office is a rant for a different day altogether. This time, I was prepared, armed with my knowledge from unit 1, chapter 1 of my lessons.

"Excuse me? I understand no German. Do you understand English?"

You have no idea how many times I chanted these lines in my head. My last time at Potsdam was bad. I had learned how to say simple sentences while ordering food, but when I went to the restaurant, I blanked out, and all that came out of my mouth were just keywords, "Hähnchenfleisch, essen, bitte, löffel" (Chicken, flesh, eat, please, spoon). My linguistic skills had made me want to die of shame. 

But this time, I did not want to embarrass myself. During the 20 minute bus ride, I chanted these sentences like a mantra. At the post office, I went to the lady at the counter and said, albeit in a rote fahion,

"Entschuldigen Sie. Ich verstehe kien Deutsch. Verstehen sie Englisch?"

I even said "Ainglisch", and not "English", because that is the German way of saying it. The lady smiled sweetly, and spoke to me for the rest of the time in perfect English. She did not bark or fumble or confuse me with her German-English (where the verbs are all messed up, and people ask me to "remember" them instead of "remind" them).

I need not have spoken in German at all. But the effort that went into making myself understood in the local language, and successfully so, made my day. Because on one hand, I design large-scale studies and analyze complex data for a living. But on the other hand, my language skills are no better than that of a two year old. On one hand, I write journal papers with little effort. On the other hand, I struggle to speak two lines in German. 

I might be slow, but I am working hard. I am trying to fit in.

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Deutsch doesn’t go Dutch

If you grew up in India in the seventies or eighties and watched Doordarshan, you would remember the song, "Padhna likhna seekho, o mehnat karne waalo, padhna likhna seekho, o bhookh se marne waalo." (Be literate o hard workers, be literate o hungry people). I have been looking for the song, and last I remember, it was a song with a social message. Yet my efforts were unsuccessful and all I got were hits to webpages asking me to download hot and sexy wallpapers, or look for other singles in town. Safdar Hashmi, the writer of the song, would die once again if he saw that.

Anyway, this song plays in a loop in my head sometimes, especially on days when I check my mail (letterbox). I get plenty of mails, but none from friends or family. All of them are official mails, in German. Letters from the bank, from the immigration office, from the health insurance. Bills I have to pay and money I have to deposit, official invitation letters for events, and so on. I open the letters, and understand nothing. So I fold them back neatly, and take them to my departmental secretary.

When she is free, we sit down together, and she reads out and translates those mails for me (sometimes, she uses her translation websites as well). And inevitably, she expresses frustration over how Germany is rude to foreigners because people do not type mails in English. And I sit with a pen and jot down the important things I need to do, the amount I need to pay, the documents I need to take to the visa office, and the time and place and dates when I need to show up somewhere. I neatly write down the information I need to know in English in those German letters. Nothing important or fancy, just information like debit card pins and security passwords and my health insurance clauses. 

And while I do that, this song always plays in my head. I remember the movies I grew up watching, where poor people who did not know how to read and write would take their letters to the post office, where a Samaritan would read out those letters for them. Sometimes, the bad guys would get their thumb imprints on documents and steal all their money. I am not illiterate, I know that. But never in all these years had I imagined that I would get important, official letters in a language I do not understand, and sit down with a translator while I write down the information I need. Something like, "Hey, this is your social security number. Write it down. And by the way, this is your bank pin number, and this is your password, don't share it with anyone. And this is where you need to take your passport, and show up at this time. And by the way, this letter from your health insurance says that they do not cover cosmetic surgeries, so don't get a nose job."

Sometimes, learning something new requires some degree of unlearning. So I am unlearning the sense of comfort and security that comes from something as basic as being able to read, write and follow a language, and instead, learning to be okay about that momentary "eff! What will I do now?" panicky feeling I get every time I open a mail, and then trust others to tell me correctly what I need to know to navigate my way around. You might be reading this and nodding as if you know what I mean, but you will not understand it until you live this experience. I live in a country where I witness strong linguistic identities every day. From good news to bad news, scholarship letters to grant rejection letters, bank statements to invitation letters, rental contracts, etc., everything comes to me in German. It is my responsibility to translate it. My house lease is in German (that I signed), the English version being a mere translation for my benefit and not necessarily a legal document or contract (which means I signed something assuming that the translation of it that I read was correct; there is no way to know).

However, I am not complaining. Far from it. It is my choice, whether or not I want to live in Germany, whether or not I want to learn the language, whether or not I want to live as an outsider, insulating myself from the more local experiences. Some people might talk to you in English (mostly in the academia and out of kindness, but not outside it), some signs might be vaguely written in English.

So as always, I continue to experience something new every day.

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Television and my friend’s vision

Sometime soon after my move to Germany, I received a € 27.00 monthly bill from Deutschlandradio and freaked out. This is a monthly bill for using a TV and radio connection. The thing is I do not even have a TV or radio at home. I took it to the departmental secretary for translation (remember, all important mails are in German), and she had that knowing look on her face. Seems like this is a bill that everyone in the country has to pay, whether they have a TV/radio or not. These channels have no ads and hence there is no other way for them to make money. Since I did not believe it, I asked around a bit. Seems like it is true. It is like paying tax, it is compulsory.

The good news is this bill is included in my rent, so I do not need to pay anything extra.

When I went to my Korean friend for venting out, she looked at me all surprised. Then, she retrieved her crumpled bill from the trash can. When I asked why she trashed the bill, she shrugged and told me that since it was in German, she threw it away. She assumed that it is some company asking for a donation. She said, "Since I did not understand what is written, I assumed that it is not important. If they want my money, they should tell me in English."

I love her carefree attitude, and the basic difference in the way we see life. I, on one hand, get hyper every time I see a letter in German, and show it to at least three different people to make sure I got all the information right. I even meticulously translate all the useful information in English and write it down. And my friend simply assumes that if she cannot read something, it is not meant for her to know.

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Flying to my German home

Even after all this while, two things always stand out when I land in Germany, or my part of Germany at least. One, how fast and efficient the immigration (or everything for that matter) is, and two, how White this part of Germany is. It was past 7:30 am, and still dark by the time I landed. The airport is so familiar that it has slowly started to feel like home now. It took me a while to get there though. The immigration took a little less than three minutes, and this I know because I timed it. Sometimes, the immigration line for foreigners like me is much shorter than that for the citizens. Last month this time, I was navigating a 45-minute long and grueling immigration at the Liberty International Airport, checking forms, showing documents, and answering dozens of questions. It's amazing the amount of security checks that happen while going from Germany to the US, and the total lack of it while coming back. I love Germany that way. Not one form filled. Not one question asked. 

Everything from there was just the way it always is- timely, efficient, and hassle-free. The luggage arrived on time. The bus left on time. No bad surprises. The good surprise was, our bus driver actually spoke English for a change, and was very happy talking to me in English. When he looked at my luggage tag and said, "Welcome to Germany. Your first time?", I actually replied, "No, I live here." If language and the lack of social company was not so much of a barrier, I could actually see myself living here long-term. Germany grows on you that way. 

I saw some authentic signs of winter during the 1.5 hour long bus ride next. What I experienced in Seattle this time was balmy weather. As our bus sped through the autobahn, it started to snow. Flurries that turned into thicker flurries floating towards me, caught in the beam of bright lights from the bus. Miles of countryside covered in white, like a pretty coconut cake, with picketed fences and horse barns decorated on the cake. I even saw a dozen handsome horses and a few deer run in the snow. The homes look different, and more European, for lack of a better word (not only prettier, smaller, and non-cookie-cutter, but something more). I saw no sun though. Everything looked grey. The bus ride was followed by a shorter cab ride where I spoke exactly half a dozen words in German- Good morning. My address. Right. Left. Thank you. Eight. Good bye. And I was home. Flying halfway across the world, from one home to another, after a car ride, two flights, a bus ride, and a cab ride. G had painstakingly packed me a lot of homemade food that will last me for many days. She kept making excuses about cooking for the upcoming Hindu festivities, which is only partially true. And of all the things that I could buy from Seattle, I got very excited during a certain Costco visit, and while lecturing G about going minimalist and consuming less, ended up buying 16 packets of weed. Seaweed actually. The green stuff that covers the rice on your sushi. 

There was a time when I would return from a trip Monday morning and show up directly at work. Not anymore. I am glad I came home Saturday morning, which gives me two whole days to recover. I soon fell into an 8-hour long, deep, dreamless, comatose kind of sleep, only to wake up in the evening and wonder where the kids are and why is it so silent. For a change, I did not wake up to the sound of something breaking, or someone shouting- "Drink your milk! Get ready soon!" Jet lag will afflict me tonight. And tomorrow night. For company, I will have the comfort of home cooked food (one of the many things she made me is Cholay, because she wrongly heard me talking about Sholay and thought that I'm craving Cholay). In fact, I even sneaked in a goat from Seattle, in the form of some goat biryani.

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‘Coz Europe is not just about its summer

Europe gets a lot of tourists in summer. But December is a fantastic time to visit as well. The Christmas lights are up, the Christmas Market is up and running, tiny lights and decorative snowflakes are on every street, every shop, every home, and every corner. Even the cold air feels rather magical. Everyone is so well-dressed and happy, even while doing their groceries and mundane chores. 

Most things for me have a three-point reference- India, US, and Germany. Christmas decorations in Kolkata are nice, but nostalgia and old memories have a lot to do with it. Christmas in the US is nice too, but there is an obvious element of commercialism to it- the same big giants selling you stuff, promising huge deals as you walk in the giant shopping malls that are lit from head to toe. Huge Christmas trees, a few floors high. Downtowns and residential neighborhoods lit up. Everything in the US is huge scale-wise. 

But Germany is different. Smaller. More local. More crowded. Way prettier. More culturally diverse. Cobbled streets and pretty churches. Quaint cafes. Gluhwein and Bratwurst by the streets. Almost no disposable cups and plates. People walking and taking the public transport way more. I could travel in trains and buses and just look at people all day. I used to think that where I live is predominantly White, and there is no diversity, but even if it were true, I see Germans with all shades of natural hair color, from complete blonde to a few shades lighter than mine. 

It feels good just to walk around the lit up streets and listen to people talk. No one is in a hurry. Everyone takes their time to eat, drink, and make merry. I don't know much German, but these days, I know enough German to know if someone is not speaking in German, if that makes sense. And I hear that quite a bit, other languages that I do not understand. Perhaps Polish. Danish. Swedish. A lot of Scandinavian sellers show up at the Christmas Markets to sell all kinds of locally made stuff- artwork, chocolates, alcohol, and what not. Restaurants are packed, streets are swarming with people, and there is an undeniable magic on the streets this time of the year. If you do not mind the cold, Europe is THE place to visit late November/December. 

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The Visa Officer

Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.

My day did not start well. I got a letter (in German) from the visa officer, asking me to collect my new residence permit on a particular date of the month. Only, I would not be in the country that day, and would not be able to re-enter Germany without the new residence permit. The permit exactly looks like an EAD card or a driver's license. 

Let me back up a little bit. My old permit had expired two days ago, and I needed a new one to travel outside the EU zone. When I had told my visa officer last month, she had taken note of my travel dates and assured me that she will give me a permit before I leave. For safety, she had written down something in German on an official piece of paper and stamped it. I could show that paper at the airport, and they would let me in. Just that I would feel more comfortable showing them a proper plastic laminated permit, and not something scribbled on a paper in a language I do not understand that could be accidentally chewed on by a cow. Unlike in the US, my visa is not stamped in my passport, and my permit is the only evidence that I live legally and should be allowed to re-enter Germany. Also, unlike in the US, you are assigned to a specific visa officer who handles your documents and keeps track of your whereabouts. 

I had to take help of my department head's secretary to understand the letter. After that, she had to call their office, asking for a new appointment date before I left Germany end of next week. It was a long conversation in German, that included spelling my full name at least twice. Another instance when I silently ask dad what was he thinking when he named me, and wish my name was something super short, like Tan Sen instead. Although the secretary could not get hold of the visa officer, someone else told her that they would see what they could do. It was utter chaos. My discomfort continued.

True to the German reputation for speed and efficiency, I got an email an hour later. Just one line, written in German. "Visa interview Monday, at 11 am." The ways of the Germans amuse me. Fast, efficient, but utterly German. They know I do not speak the language, yet they email me just one line, in German. Sometimes, I email them in English and they reply back in German. Anyway, I was hugely relieved that I would have my interview in 3 days. As usual, the secretary wrote down on my appointment letter using a pencil what all documents I need to bring for Monday. 

I leave work early, and go to the grocery store. Tomorrow is a public holiday, and everything would be closed. Armed with bags full of chicken, vegetables, and fruits, I wait for the bus back home. I look at someone standing in front of me at the bus stop and she looks back. We frown, and then, both of us burst out laughing. It is my visa officer waiting for the same bus.

My officer, although German, is not White. She is not Turkish either, and I have wondered for a year what she is (I still don't know). To me, she looks hardcore Malayali, although given her name and last name, it is not possible. We are so amused to see one another, especially since morning, I have been making frantic phone calls and she has been emailing me. We board the bus together and find a seat. We still cannot stop laughing. She asks me about my upcoming international trips, and when I would be back in the country. It is just like making small talk with the random Sharma uncle or Sen mashima in the bus. I take out my appointment letter from my bag and ask her once more what documents I need to bring. She simplifies things and asks me to bring just my passport and old residence permit. We wish each other a happy weekend. She tells me, "See you Monday". I get off the bus and walk home, armed with my grocery, a wide grin on my face. What are the odds, I wonder, that in a city with a population of a quarter million people, I bump into my visa officer out of the blue?

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