It was a cold winter morning when I first arrived in Denmark, dressed up in the warmest clothes that had been known to me then.<\/p>\n
I looked almost child-like while I giggled and had a snow fight with my landlord\u2019s lovely little boys. Who would\u2019ve thought that the same snow could make me almost bawl like a baby a couple of years later and hate it with a vengeance? And that wasn’t the only thing that changed.<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t always snowball fights and fluffy coats. When I first moved here, I rebelled against almost anything and everything that was a Danish custom.<\/p>\n
I mentally vowed never to eat rugbr\u00f8d (rye bread, ed.), which not only then tasted disgusting but also reminded me of my doggie\u2019s poo. <\/p>\n
I fought my way through the metro station, the bus station and the train station, refusing to bike. <\/p>\n
I hated carrots and I never got the point of them. <\/p>\n
Due to my brown \u2013 or what the Danes call my \u2018tanned skin\u2019 \u2013 I was taught to wear colours such as blue, yellow and green; you name it. It was an unwritten rule that black and white was for the dull and boring. <\/p>\n
And, like the French, Indians caught on to being fashionably late. <\/p>\n
I can\u2019t say the same for work or school, however. Strict time schedules were mostly adhered to, but when it came to socialising, we often gave punctuality the slip. <\/p>\n
Today I got on to the metro and I cursed DSB for messing up my schedule for the day. The metro was four minutes late and I knew I would be late to class. Blasphemous! <\/p>\n
I quickly took out my little black book (Don\u2019t get ideas) and I wrote down dates for assignments, parties, work etc. I snapped it shut and I wondered when I had started loving things that were synonymous to schedule, routine, discipline. <\/p>\n
I schedule parties two to three weeks in advance and I hastily told my best friend that I was very busy and we could only schedule our dinner on week 42. <\/p>\n
I was appalled at what I was wearing! Could it be? I was wearing black tights, a big scarf bunched around my neck, my hair tied in a bun with funny clips and a white top: Nothing with the least amount of colour. <\/p>\n
Occasionally, like the Danes, when I felt daring enough, I would cross over to the land of neon orange tops and flowery or polka dotted tights. <\/p>\n
In class, I took out my lunch pack, it consisted of those bright orange devils that I used to previously hate but have since gotten around to accepting. <\/p>\n
Yes, the infamous carrots. I made conversation while I munched on them. <\/p>\n
What really took the cake however was the fact that after class I forced my tired legs to bike against the wind! <\/p>\n
At the risk of completely digressing from the topic, the wind is a constant source of pain to every biker in the city. <\/p>\n
Before I get on to my bike every morning, I say a little prayer along the lines of \u00bbDear God, may the wind be with me and not against me, Amen\u00ab. <\/p>\n
I got home and slapped some butter and cheese on my rugbr\u00f8d (What I earlier dismissed as poo-like substance) and lit up some candles to make the place cozy. <\/p>\n
I knew right then, that I had been Dan-ified. <\/p>\n
It was a slow and complicated process, but it had stealthily creeped up: Rugbrod, my little black book, the schedules, the lack of colourful clothes, the carrots, everything. <\/p>\n
It had been well laid out, a time-consuming process. I shifted uncomfortably thinking of who I became, but I reasoned to myself that maybe the change isn\u2019t all that bad.<\/p>\n
Perhaps my loving mother will be happy about the addition of carrots to my diet. My father, a staunch believer of discipline, will surely be pleased. <\/p>\n
Perhaps I had accepted and found solace in this cold but cozy place. After all, like they always say, when in Rome, behave like a Roman. Well, I\u2019m in Denmark now, and it\u2019s about time I behave like a Dane. Now all that\u2019s left is a forced affinity for Lakrids\u2026 (liquorice, ed.)<\/p>\n
Uni-avis@adm.ku.dk<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
At first she loved the snow and hated rye bread. But then she became Dane-ified. Ananya Roy writes about her immersion into Danish culture, climate and carrots<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":12,"featured_media":21911,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[47],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21910","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-opinion","expression-news_article"],"acf":[],"aioseo_notices":[],"yoast_head":"\n