Wanted - a short bride!

I came over this while scanning the net for Bollywood music lyrics earlier :) (I purchased "Best Bollywood Hits Collection 9" when in Singapore last summer)

I really enjoyed it! very well written.
From: Ravi Ghoois Blog

Wanted- A Short Bride! by: Ravi Ghooi on May 13 2004 12:00AM in Romance

I never thought of myself as a short man. With my new high-heeled shoes, I stand about 5 ft and 5 inches tall. This, in my opinion, is the right height for a man. Most nice looking girls are less than 5'3”, and a person of 5'5” has a wide choice. But then, I went to Germany.

The vital statistics are somewhat lopsided in Europe and a majority of girls are over 5'8”, with quite a number above even 6 feet. A man of my height would have had better prospects in the University of Tokyo or Shanghai, but I had committed the blunder of choosing the University of Göttingen for my studies.
When this realization grew, I began to eye every girl with calibrated eyesight. After a long and laborious research into this vital statistic of girls, my eyes fell on Heiderung from the department of physiology. Heiderung (Heidi for short) was the answer to my prayers. My guardian angel seemed to guard me even beyond the shores of good old Bharat Mata.
Most un-Germanic in her looks, Heidi had black eyes and black hair (my favourite colour), but more important was that she stood around 5'2” in her pumps. I don't know what she weighed, but suffice it to say that weight was not a major concern. Luckily for me, she was quite an open and friendly girl, and she invited me for coffee after work at our first meeting.
I entered the cafeteria to find Heidi sitting alone at a corner table. Thanking my luck and my guardian angel, I made my way to her table and sat down.
"And, how are you?" I asked, immediately followed by, "What can I get you?"
"Don't worry," she said. "I have already ordered coffee and cakes for all of us."
I guessed that she was not good at English grammar and hence said "all of us" rather than "both of us". But then, one does not make a song and dance about grammar, especially when one is with a girl like Heidi.
She continued, "I am keen that you should meet Karl, my fiancé. He has a lot of interest in Indian culture and arts."
At this, a seventeen-foot giant appeared with three cups of coffee and a plate of cakes on a tray. My anger boiled over at this giant. He could choose almost any girl in the institute or the city. Did he have to choose the only one that fitted my specifications so snugly?
I do not recall another occasion when a slice of Black Forrest cake tasted like a lump of coal coated with a thin layer of chocolate.
Till today, I have not got over my dislike for people who are seventeen-feet tall. Heidi insisted that I attend her wedding and dance along with the rest of the guests. I did all that, all the while telling my guardian angel what I really thought of him, in choicest Punjabi.
Life continued in a lonely fashion, till one day I saw her in Hertie. Hertie is a supermarket, where I used to shop for my groceries and other needs. As I went down the aisle in search of pickles, I was pleasantly surprised to see this salesgirl hanging around in that area. She was short, may be just about 5'1” and trim. I thought she was very beautiful, but that was beside the point. Any girl less than 5'4” inches looked beautiful to me.
I wanted many Indian spices so that I could add taste to the otherwise tasteless German food. In order to visit this store and see the salesgirl again and again, I decided to pick up one spice every day.
"Excuse me, miss," I said to her.
She looked at me, her deep blue eyes showing a gamut of emotions and her mouth working up a steam to whisper something wonderful to me.
"She speak no English, only German," answered a tall, Teutonic beauty that hurried down to help us communicate. This is the trouble with Germany. When you are not searching for someone to translate for you, you will find hordes of translators around. Interpreters are scarce only when you search for them or really need them. Not only in Germany, I found the same problem in Denmark, Sweden, France and Italy.
The deal was conducted without the aid of the spoken word. After all, there are not many clarifications required when buying a pack of salt. Having established the commercial relationship, I withdrew, promising myself like General McArthur, "I will be back."
I was back the next day, and the next and the next. Buying chilly powder, pepper, turmeric powder, cumin seeds, cinnamon, cardamom, bay leaves, tamarind and nutmeg. Yes, I even bought nutmeg when I could think of nothing else. Every time I would ask Ina the German equivalent of the English name, which she would not understand, then we would jointly search the shelves. The search was very enjoyable.
When I was overstocked with spices, deviously I made her search for cumin seeds in the sauces' section of the store. Obviously, we did not find it, but then that was not my intention either.
Between coriander and cardamom, I learnt her name was Ina. By this time, I had picked up a little German and she was picking up English. We could communicate in bastardized versions of either language. Unfortunately, neither I knew the German word for 'date', nor did she show a way out of the deadlock.
One day, in need of pickles, I found my goddess of spices missing. Luckily, the helpful Teutonic beauty was around. I asked her where Ina was. She answered that she had been shifted to the clothing counter and was selling shirts. Come to think of it, I did need a few shirts, so I went to the shirts counter. She gave me a big smile of welcome. Pickles could wait.
"Ein hemd?" she asked. (One shirt?)
"Ja," I said. "Ein hemd, bitte."(Yes. A shirt please.)
I began my collection of shirts. Somewhere between the 5th and the 6th shirt, I found the exact word for invitation and dinner. So we had a quiet dinner at a Greek restaurant. To add to the fun of the party, we had a waitress who spoke neither German nor English. I also gave her (I mean Ina) my first present, a German-English dictionary.
My collection of shirts grew steadily. Sometimes I purchased a tie, for she looked after ties too. I must say she had the weirdest choice in ties, though she seemed sound about boyfriends. Her transfer soon to the suits department cut down my collection of shirts and ties. This was the costliest item she was selling and I was about to call it a day by the time I became the proud owner of three suits. After which I found her totally missing.
A number of exploratory visits to Hertie failed to show Ina. I searched her among ladies' shoes, men's nightwear, ladies' undergarments, toys, stationery, sports goods, magazines, wines, cheese, cold meats, fruits and vegetables, kitchenware, garden equipment, cosmetics and even the pets' section. But no Ina.
Now Hertie is a real supermarket. You could get anything there, from a safety pin to a tractor. Indian Pickles, Spanish Saffron, Scotch Whiskey, Australian Cheese, French Wine, Hungarian Goulash were available. But if there was any item that was missing from the inventory, it was Ina.
As I made another round of the entire market, my aching feet led me to the cafeteria. A hot coffee was what the doctor ordered, but beer tastes better, so it was beer with Bratwurst. As I sipped my poison, I found the Teutonic beauty sitting a table away.
The Teutonic beauty winked at me, and we began the usual casual conversation, “Guten abend.”
“Schön Guten abend.”
“Wie geht es?”
“Gut. Danke, und Sie?”
"Ouch Gut. Schön Wetter, Na?"
"Ja sicher."
One has to observe the formalities of courteous talk.
"Ina gone on holiday?"
"How you call it, after marriage, girl and boy go?"
I said the dreaded word. "Honeymoon?"
"Ja, honeymoon. I knowed it was to do with bees at night."
"Honeymoon?" I gulped again.
"Ja," she said. "Her chief very happy with her work. She make customers happy. He marry her."
I then realized that my mother's dream was to come true. While leaving for Germany, my mother told me of her dream, that I would marry a nice Maharashtrian girl. That very Maharashtrian girl now often asks me from where I purchased all those funny ties. So far, I have not told her. For, if I do so, I might have to look for another bride."

Comments from his blog.

Very cute story :)

!Spring!

Spring, spring is closing in, this means lots of fun and 1st of May (we have this day off school and work to mark Workers union stuff) 17th of May (the day in 1814 when we got our constitution aka. "independence day" aka. ice cream day) and of course, more importantly, the russ. I will add to this as May comes closer.

Because right now, it's still April! And the weather in Oslo is depressing. March 28th was official first day of spring (the day when the temperature would be on an average above 0 C) but still the traces of spring have been few.

To brighten up the runny mud, the rests of the polluted black snow, the naked trees and the gray sky, I thought I'd list all the things that indicate spring in Norway.
- the first flowers! Hestehov, blåklokke, skilla, hvitveis and krokus
- dry pavements
- icecream stands on Aker Brygge
- the trees are sprouting tiny green leaves
- the days are longer, the sun appears!
- people are happier
- you don't have to put so much clothes on when you leave the house
- mild, spring breezes
- drinking outside, in the forest, by the river
- walking the streets at night, with friends and drinks (May 1st)
- "fuler, og blomstej, og fajgej og sol" (Quote: Liv Elin, thank you for your inspiration <3) It means "bijds, and flowejs, and coloujs and sun" (birds, and flowers, and colours and sun).

and lots of lots of LOVE! ..... erhm.. and the snow melts.


Happy spring!

Landmarks

Many places in the world have famous landmarks, preferably they'd be tall (like the Big Ben, Eiffel tower, tower of Pisa, statue of liberty, and so on).

So, the Norwegians decided to make one of their own! And as by so many others, we picked the height version.
Holmekollbakken in Oslo gets over a million visitors each year, which makes it one of Norways most visited tourist attractions. The top of the ski jump tower is a breath taking 60 meters above ground!!! And 417 meters above sea level! So compared with other "tower-like" attractions from other corners of the world (Eiffel tower 300 meters tall, Tower of Pisa 56 metres tall, Statue of liberty 46 metres tall) the Holmenkollen ski jump tower beats two out of three.


... oh, and lunch is over, so I'll be back later.. Back!

Still we have a lot to learn when it comes from entertainment value, customer service, placing our attractions somewhere central (and not up some hill with lots of fog). But it doesn't seem as if we've ever tried to learn from other countries in the ways of entertaining people.

This is because Norway has never had the need for tourism, it is not an important part of our economy, and if people stopped visiting Norway, the influence on our daily lives would be tiny.

Yes, because we rarely ever see tourists in Norway, and when we do, it's because they are lost, confused or bored (true story!). Tourists avoid seeking Norwegians as much as possible, simply because we are rude, speak bad english, we are unkind, not helpful and inpatient.

Why?
oh wouldn u like to kno? Well i have mroe impotrant tings to do then to anser yor stupid qestions or write blogss. Piss off.

"matpakke" when on "tur"

More lunch, obviously. This type of lunch (matpakke), is to be had when out on a "tur". Of course it is not the same type of matpakke as you would enjoy when at work or at school.
Skiing, a very important activity for the Norwegians, must be combined with other equally important things. Like, lunch (the matpakke of course) your family, the mountains, snow, fresh air, and most importantly, few people. As few people as possible, Norwegians don't like other people, especially not if they interfer with their skiing.

As a part of the matpakke, one brings other essential skiing accessories, like: Hot chocolate (kakao), the classical Norwegian fruit “appelsin”, orange (no, seriously, you have to bring oranges on your skiing trip, or you will be classified as the biggest ski-tard ever). Raisins of course, which is my personal favourite and a must, some also bring sausages in a hot water thermos, but that is only for the more experienced matpakkeneers.

Of course I have left out one very important detail, on purpose actually to give it a bit more of a dramatic effect.
The Kvikk lunsj. a dear product of the famous Norwegian chocolate fabricant Freia, recently (not that recently anymore) bought and now owned by Kraft foods, which is an American company.

The Kvikk lunsj consists of biscuits (similar to lady fingers, if you’ve ever had those) draped in a cover of fine, Norwegian, milk chocolate.

This must all be enjoyed carefully together with your normal matpakke (lunch), the kakao (cocoa/hot chocolate), the appelsin (oranges), the rosiner (raisins) and the “pølser” (sausages) (-if you happen to be so professional to bring those).

Exercise

There is a word in Norwegian for the term "Going together with your family as far away from other people as possible". It's called "tur" roughly translated to "tour/trip/go for a walk" etc. And is used probably several times a day, perhaps more then "matpakke".

The main purpose of "tur" is to get exercise, fresh air, preferably also some "time with the family" AND most important, something to brag about.

oooh yes, Norwegians love to show off the things they have done. The longer they walked that saturday, the fewer people they met, the better "matpakke" they ate, the more positive children they had, the more family members joining on the trip.. the better.

Of course is the walking distance very important, for every kilometre you add, the more hate you will get from other Norwegians. It is very weird that way, that nobody actually "likes" people that have walked longer than them, eaten more "matpakke" than them, but still. oh yes, one pushes it up other peoples faces.

Norwegians is a competative species, and lives mostly of other peoples disgust by their "tur" achievements. The only way to get back at them, yes, is to walk further, be further away from civilazation and smile broader.

A vicious circle, like those vicious circles one walk around the mountains for ages and ages, suffering from the consequenses of the compulsary disease that all Norwegian men catch when becoming fathers.

Unable to define distance.

"just around the corner"
"five more minutes"
"just over that hilltop"
"soon there now"

Fathers talking the truth of course, will suffer from crying children and a severe lack of morale.
This might cause him to lose face if he is to run into someone else (God forbid) perhaps, even worse, from work.

So, just a little tip to any one of you that might go for a walk in Norway, don't ever say "see that mountain over there? and that glacier just between to the left? beyond that, there's a mountain just behind that. Do you see it? yes that one.

That's not even halfway"

Lying, is a key here.

Lunch

So, here we are.
Starting on my newly themed blog I will now introduce you to the most important thing in a Norwegians life.

- Lunch, aka "matpakke" which means "foodpackage". This is though, precisely what it is. (our primitive language has certain benefits that way, we always mean what we say, and never use more words then necessary, a reason why we also suck at "small talk").

The lunch the way Norwegians see it, is very strange. For some odd reason, most Norwegians are very economic (greedy, cheap bastards) so we rarely buy luch at work or when out at all. It is only with impulses from the greater Europe we have achieved things as cafeterias and food services at work (and on a few number of schools).
The "matpakke" is a very fascinating phenomenon that comes from unknown branches of the Norwegian culinary traditions.

Wrapping food in paper, and bringing it wherever you might go can be done as this:
You will need "matpapir" (foodpaper)
brød (bread)
pålegg (på-legg, on-lay, something you put/lay on your bread, preferably other types of food.)

The way you wrap your matpakke is different from household to household and passed on from parents to children. Some also make up their own, which are not always as successful.

it is that simple. BUT, of course the "pålegg" must preferably be of a certain Norwegian standard, this puts brown cheese (brunost) and pig liver paté (leverpostei) on top of the list. The paté can be decorated with cucumber without breaching any matpakke laws.