Stories of a confused desi.
After three decades of saying “namastey” (greetings in Hindi), I moved to Aarhus, Denmark, last year and learned to say “tak” (thank you). The second largest Danish city after Copenhagen—with a population of 301,000—it’s about one-fifth the size of my hometown, Gurgaon, India. In my chart of wish-listed cities, Aarhus wasn’t a name that ever popped up. I never had any reason to Google it before 2022.
The pandemic thwarted my plans to move to New Zealand. I denied the reality until two years ago when the Pacific nation refused to open its borders in time for my study program. Heartbroken, I filled in the application for the Erasmus Mundus Master’s in Journalism, which set its foundational year in Denmark and the specialization year in four other European cities—I picked the University of Amsterdam.
On August 16, 2023, I arrived in Europe, six years after the last time I had visited.
In a class of almost 80 non-Danes, in a sea of 38,000 international students in the city, I didn’t stick out with my brown skin and Indian accent.
Outside of school, it was a different story.
For those who may be strangers to this Scandinavian city, like I was, it rains a lot. So much so that there’s an Aarhus-based brand called Rains that makes trendy clothes, bags, and accessories—I own much of its merchandise as a loyal customer. The sky starts leaking unstoppably in October and for months, dark gray clouds hang over the city. The vitamin D levels plummet, as does the collective mood.
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In the last year, I have asked myself multiple times why I did this to myself. The first time I questioned the choice happened after I got sick; the second time after I was harassed; and then came a series of second guesses every time I missed my friends, my mom, my idlis, my Bollywood culture. Without conscious effort, I was getting another kind of education apart from my master’s degree.
I’m a light-skinned brown person. I don’t ignore the fact that I’m considered white-skinned in my society, which considers it a virtue; a woman’s value in India increases with the fairness of her skin tone. And while I’m oppressed as a woman in India, I’m also upper caste, middle class, and educated, so I have some power back home—not as much as a man, but still a lot of privilege.
In Europe, I’m not white enough to walk through life in really nice shoes.
At first, I didn’t think of it as racism as much as being “the other.” Different processes apply to different people. As a non-E.U. student, I pay more tuition. I have a weaker passport, which means more paperwork. You get used to remnants of colonialism, and you don’t dwell too much on it.
But then I traveled.
In the years after the pandemic, I primarily traveled throughout Asia, so I had a hard landing when I traveled within the Schengen area. I made the naive mistake of forgetting.
Racial profiling is a shock to the system. You don’t understand why you’re the only one being asked for a random check, and then you realize everyone else on the flight is white. You don’t know why people refuse to answer to you in Spain, but then they speak to your Mexican friend in Spanish and you have your “ah” moment.
These are, of course, educated guesses. You absolutely cannot challenge it, especially when it’s coming from an authority. You can never know for sure and you’re left befuddled most times. Like when someone gets angry at you at a supermarket out of nowhere–and you question the encounter over and over, wondering whether you were at fault, he was an asshole, or you had another rendezvous with discrimination.
It’s everyday life as a non-European/non-white person.
Related: I’ve Lived in Four Countries Around the World. Here’s Why I Don’t See Myself Moving Back to the U.S.
In my experience, women are taught to be less. Less intense, less emotional, less noisy. Europe gave me more freedom, but it also found ways to remind me that I may have to be less conspicuous. In this part of the world, where some people look like me but most don’t, I am always aware of my color, that I don’t belong, that I’m on borrowed time on foreign land. That a far-right movement and anger with immigration is warring with progressive thinking.
Unfortunately, now that I have learned this, I cannot unlearn it. I’m constantly debating with myself if an incident was a random encounter, racism, sexism, general discontent, or an overthinker’s anxious manifestations.
I’m more insecure now when people treat me differently. They know I’m not made of their fabric and my roots are entangled hundreds of miles away. I may like BMO (Bolle med Ost, the Danish version of a bun with cheese and butter), and I may give my right arm for a pistachio croissant, but I’m still someone who’ll cook chicken curry to find comfort on lonely days. (Truth: the “curry powder” you get in supermarkets is not a real thing. And butter chicken shouldn’t be THAT sweet.)
I might always be someone whose floral perfume has a garam masala hint and it may not be everyone’s favorite scent.
Related: How to Use Travel as a Tool to Talk to Your Kids About Race
Don’t get me wrong, I have loved Denmark. People are reserved but kind. The international community is welcoming and thriving. The trust culture is a cornerstone of the society: Honesty is a part of the culture in Denmark and everyone is expected to behave honorably. So much so that Danes leave their babies outside restaurants and shops sleeping in their prams. You often find sellers leaving their clothes or produce on the street with price tags and phone numbers to pay them digitally (or old-fashioned jars to drop bills into) when you “buy” something.
Thankfully, I’m doing this at a time when the world is more sensitive toward microagressions and subtle biases. I’m not asked questions about curries and snake charmers and elephants (well, not too many anyway).
Funnily, I also fit in. I enjoy the independence. I appreciate the outdoorsy culture and the work-life balance. The cities are walkable, have efficient public transportation systems, and are more equitable. Where I’m from, these things are unimaginable. Plus, Holi and yoga have become cool, and by association, I have, too! Europe has toughened me up—just look at my calf muscles.
Both the good and the bad can exist in parallels and the dichotomy is where I’m standing. Identity is a core part of our existence—no matter where you go, you can’t change where you’ve come from. Not that I want to, but as I learn about European identity in class, I’m also exploring what my Indian identity signifies, for me and the world.
Living in Europe is hard, daunting, heart-breaking, fun, exciting, educational, and life-changing. I highly recommend it.