Vielfalt / Diversity

Wow - Besucher aus aller Welt:
Madagaskar, Neuseeland, USA, Indien, Thailand, Saudia Arabien, Ungarn und natürlich Deutschland.
Da macht bloggen Spass!

Am amazed about the visitors from around the world:
Madagascar, New Zealand, USA, India, Thailand, Saudi Arabia, Hungary, and of course Germany.
Write on, write on...

Mopsfidel

Heute früh musste ich lachen. In der Zeitung stand auf Seite 1 ein lustiger Kommentar. Für alle, die nicht die MZ lesen:

Mopsfidel im Regelungswahn

Dinge, die die Welt nicht braucht: Maulkorbpflicht für kleine Hunde

VON Kai Gauselmann, 13.01.10

Halle/MZ. Immer auf die Kleinen. Anstatt, dass mal endlich einer den Winter verbietet, nehmen Berliner Bürokraten nun Möpse ins Visier.

Seit Jahresbeginn müssen alle Hunde in Berlin und Brandenburg in Bussen und Bahnen einen Maulkorb tragen - und damit eben auch Möpse, die vorne statt eines handelsüblichen Hundemauls eine Art Knautschzone haben. Aber das ist der Haken: Woran bindet man Tieren ohne richtiges Maul einen Maulkorb? Der Handel bietet für die knuffigen Knautschkes einfach nicht an, was von den Bürokraten bestimmt mopsfidel Beißverhinderungsvorrichtung genannt wird.

Anderswo soll es die Korbpflicht für Möpse auch geben, aber das tröstet die Berliner Mops-Freunde nicht. Mit Protesten haben sie aber immerhin die Berliner Verkehrsbetriebe zur Kulanz gezwungen. Die BVG will ihren Kontrolleuren nun lange Leine lassen. Möpse dürfen oben ohne fahren, solange sie niemanden zwacken - frei nach dem Motto: "Fahre glücklich, ohne Stuss wie der Mops im Linienbus." Ach, soviel Weltstadt-Liberalität macht doch warm ums Herz, gerade in diesen kalten Tagen. Aber, Berliner Bürokraten, lasst euch von der vermeintlichen Schlappe nicht entmutigen. Die Welt ist doch das reinste Chaos, es gibt noch soviel vergeblich zu regeln! Hilfreich im Sommer wäre ein Nachtflugverbot für Stechmücken. Und zu jeder Zeit für alle schön: Eine bußgeldbewehrte Nörgelbeschränkung für Chefs ("Wo bleibt die verdammte Ansichtssache?"), werktags von 9 bis 18 Uhr.

"3 Möpse in Rotterdam"

Balancing Act

Six days ago, I found myself in culture shock. In my search for peace and tranquility I had returned to our remote village in the middle of Germany. All the way from South India, I delighted my family with a surprise visit for the holidays. I arrived with a one-way ticket and the clear intention to return to India for travel purposes. My mood was cheerful, I enjoyed the difference in climate (from tropical plus 28 to snowy minus 18), happily shared oriental stories, got in touch with my friends from near and far, and constantly bubbled up with new ideas.

After less than two weeks my cheerfulness was shaken. Without really knowing what triggered it, I felt completely out of place. Knowing that this may well be part of a normal re-integration procedure, I tried to find ways of coping. But soon I realized it may be more of an identity shock.

A call for bringing together our high school graduates on the occasion of our 10-year reunion forced me to reflect on my life. During the past decade, I had done a lot (really, a lot!) around the world. But, at this very moment, I have no place to call my own, no job or project to commit my time, and no partner to conquer the world. I am at one of those crucial points in my life again. Whatever decision I take may have a lasting impact.

No pressure, but it is very clear that my family is eager for me to return to my country, after I was living abroad for five consecutive years, in four different countries. I have twenty boxes stored in the attic and tons of experience. It could all be so simple! I could rent a place, spread my stuff, do some research, get to know some people, and develop the rest of my life from there.

But what about my 'wild' ideas, what about the opportunities that I might miss out there, what about my backpack patiently awaiting me in Kerala to come back and finally discover India. Could I not explore before building up all of the above? What sense does it make to settle now and then be restless because a piece of me is still out there? What if I missed my exotic life?

Addiction

The other day, we had a power cut due to a problem with one of the fuses. With combined efforts, we did not manage to fix the problem ourselves. Of course, our phone system was dead. Two out of three mobiles were discharged; luckily mine had enough battery to call the electrician. Meanwhile, we lit some candles and decided it's much cosier without the lights on. Unfortunately, we did not have enough wood near the house to feed the chimney, in case the power cut would last. Our fridge and stove also did not function, but we could make minor adjustments. I thought of the daily power cuts back in India and smiled. I loved power cuts as they enforced a break in our daily routines!

Suddenly a loud knock on the door. Must be the electrician. Of course the door bell also did not work. When I opened the door, it was one of the neighbors asking if we had a power problem. 'How thoughtful of them to be concerned', I thought. "Because we have no TV", the man declared, explaining that the entire neighborhood could not watch their evening program as a crucial cable was located in our house! I politely explained that we were currently sitting in the dark, it was getting cold, and the electrician was on his way. "Do you think you will be able to fix it today?" I hoped so, but I could not bring up much understanding that the missing TV program was such a big deal. Read a book, I thought to myself, or perhaps talk to each other.

For the past 16 months I have lived without a TV and have not missed it even one minute. It can become such an addictive habit to switch it on and just let it wash over you. Instead, I was pre-occupied with the thought that no power also means no Internet. I was imagining all the mails piling up in my inbox and how I could not research on a particular topic today. But frankly this is just another habit: I currently spend too much of my time online, connecting to all of you, researching on the world out there. But this too can become an addiction. It's not the real world. Whereas you are real and so am I, our lives are still in the place we are sitting right now, with the people that surround us in this very moment.

Rooting

8th of January 2009 was a memorable day in my life. It marked the arrival date of most of 'my munyas' on campus. I had joined the team four months earlier. Over the holidays, I had backpacked through Kerala and recovered from the continuously high work pressure. Refreshed and completely up for the challenge, I stood at the airport, pumped with adrenaline, awaiting my protégés. I remember every little detail of those first moments. They were not hard to identify. Most of them equipped with white canes, the majority of them with black skin color. They looked tired, tense, and anxious to arrive after their long journeys. We greeted them with flower chains and water. So odd to meet them in person after having studied their pictures and life stories, having exchanged countless emails. They came with high expectations and some doubts about spending one whole year in India. Now they were here! No time to waste, though a whole year lay ahead of us.

11 months later...

Between 15th to 18th December 2009: Dramatic scenes at the same airport. Time to say our good-byes. Tears and tight hugs were exchanged with tender words and heartly wishes. The chaos around luggage and papers was the same as upon their arrival. Some things had not changed. But our hearts and minds had developed. We had built friendships, relationships, life-long connections. We had shared the same space to live and work over months, including every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We had seen each other laughing, crying, dancing, and screaming. We had experienced all imaginable heights and lows of some thirty people living in the same space for too long. Nevertheless, our good-byes were of a genuine nature. There was a special bond between us and with a little bit of nurturing it will forever be sustained.

Ich muss los!

Eben war mein dreijähriger Neffe zu Besuch. Er hatte nur 30 Minuten Zeit. Seine Mutter musste noch einkaufen und wollte den Berufsverkehr vermeiden. Wir konnten ihn dennoch überzeugen, seine Mütze und seine kleinen Handschuhe abzulegen, während er uns vom Schneemannbauen erzählte. Am Anfang immer etwas schüchtern, nachdem wir uns ein paar Tage nicht gesehen haben, stürzt er sich dann doch zielgerichtet auf seine Spielkiste. Er zieht ein Buch heraus und lässt mich schmunzeln. Obwohl er keine Geduld zum Zuhören der Geschichten hat, blättert er aufgeregt in dem Buch und beschreibt alle Bilder. Meine Mutter bittet mich, das neue Spiel aufzubauen. Mit kleinen Plasteangeln fischen wir Forellen und Seesterne aus einem winzigen Papp-Aquarium. Mein Neffe angelt die Schatztruhe und freut sich diebisch. Dann gibt seine Mutter ein Zeichen und er legt hastig die Angel auf den Tisch. Er murmelt "Ich muss los!" und stürzt aus dem Raum. Das ist ein Satz, den man sonst eher von geschäftigen Erwachsenen hört, die von einer Verpflichtung zur nächsten hasten, aber nicht von einem Dreijährigen.


Traurig stelle ich fest, dass selbst die Kinder unserer Gesellschaft unter dem Keine-Zeit-Syndrom leiden, beeinflusst durch ihr engstes Umfeld. Für meinen kleinen Neffen wünsche ich mir ausreichend Ruhe und Zeit zum Entdecken, Lernen, Begreifen.