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In 2013 I wrote a story about the Swedish-Indian girl Sara whose Swedish father Bo Andersson is murdered by Islamists in Stockholm in 2020. She goes to his funeral in Uppsala Cathedral and then meets his best friend, Professor Karlsson, who has devised a plan for her future.
Chapter Four
When the Uppsala train reaches Stockholm, professor Eric Karlsson stands on the platform. They hug quickly as Swedes seem to do easily and walk straight to the Hötorget market square close by, crowded and bustling with people, flower stalls and merchandise.
“This is almost like Delhi,” Sara smiles, so many stalls and people.
“Yes, but the rest of Sweden is unpopulated. We need more people here actually. Indians for example.”
She laughs as they enter the escalator taking them to the underground food bazaar Hötorgshallen. Sara has never seen so many nice well-ordered booths and market shops for sea food, cheese, spices, fruits, cold meats.
Eric Karlsson explains what they sell as they pass eager sales clerks from all over the world in funny looking aprons and headgear. He has booked a table for them at Kajsas Fisk restaurant, a dark but clean place to enjoy seafood. Sara gets a bowl of hot fish soup and Eric fried herring with mashed potatoes and parsley.
“Now I want you to listen,” he starts. “You are 19, turning 20 this year right? Not yet in some university or college in Delhi?”
“Actually not. I have been trying for a couple but has not received the exam results yet. Mother thinks I should go to JNU like she did but I actually want to get out of Delhi.”60
“Excellent. Well, I am now on my last year at the Swedish Royal Institute of Technology, Kungliga Tekniska Högskolan. KTH everyone calls it. They want me to stay until I turn 75 but I decided last semester that it is enough now at 72.”
He tells her that the reason behind his and her father’s visit to India 2012 is actually why they sit here now at this restaurant. Sara is perplexed. She was 12 years old then, slightly scared of her father and anxious about her mother’s presence at the embassy. Professor Karlsson sees her reaction and gently touches her face.
“No no. Not personal. I and your father were on a delegation to set up a Swedish university for technology in India. He came from the Ministry of Labour and I was with a group of engineers and educationists from the Education Ministry. Sweden lacks engineers and we thought that India could provide some, especially if we set up a government funded higher education institution there. I am a mining engineer, actually professor in mining technology and know that if what we planned then in 2012 had come true, Sweden would have at least some batches of new mining engineers. But no.”
“What happened?” Sara is now curious.
“Well, ambassador Lars-Olov Lindgren was gracious and supportive to start with and all meetings went well. The fault laid with our countries’ leaders. India had barred all foreign higher education institutions to enter due to fear of competition with the Indian universities, and no one dared to break the political consensus on this silly academic protectionism. Sweden on the other hand did not want to acknowledge its lack of qualified people in engineering and science. National inferiority complex.”
“Fears were only in high places. In Delhi and Stockholm, engineers, experts and educationists found each other but the leading parliamentarians and high placed bureaucrats felt sidestepped in both countries. So now I just want to import one, not 500 mining engineers.”
Sara looks at him. He chews his fish pieces, spits out small white bones but they cling to his lips and beard, getting swallowed as well. She does not get it. Or does he mean her? Blushing she screams:
“But I am not a technical person!” she shouts, thinking her life is danger and yells.
“Swedes are mad! You want me to come here now? What will my mother say?”
Her head spins. The professor assures her with details of the excellence at KTH Institute mining program, the international student quarters, practicalities and the great career opportunities after exam in Sweden. She sits back and slowly tries to picture herself there.
“No Sir. This goes too fast for me. I just came here two days ago, and yesterday we buried my father whom I never really met and now you want me to move here for your impossible mad idea. You do not know me and you want me to follow your personal plan for me.”
“My own idea yes,” the professor replies calmly. ”But for yourself and our countries mutual benefits, you could contribute.”
She is not convinced at all by his reasoning. The idea to move suddenly for starting studies in an unknown country came unexpectedly which he agrees to, but not an unsound idea as such which she agrees to. A decision on a quick but possibly good idea cannot be made at the spur of a moment in a fish restaurant they both agree on. Sara is reluctant, but the professor can see that he has planted a seed growing in her mind. She explains to him what her career plans are.
“You are very kind to bother about my future. I am grateful but mines and cold and Sweden has nothing to do with me. I am a humanities scholar type, into metaphysics and ancient philosophy, not a scientist or engineer. I would be scared of being underground and around huge drills and red hot iron works.”
Professor Karlsson nods to her description, mentioning his appreciation for philosophy and says that she has around a month before the application process closes on April 15. What he managed to set up at KTH after the disappointing visit to India eight years ago was a program with teaching engineering in English instead of Swedish, which had attracted many bright foreign students but not enough, since it costs quite a lot for them to study while it is free for Swedish citizens.
“The fees will also apply to you since you are not a Swedish citizen, but I am sure your father’s estate will cover most of your costs. Lars Berg will tell you how much there is soon I hope.”
“Yes, we will meet Monday morning in Uppsala, Sara says. Seems like you two have talked about me.”
“We have but I have been the more hopeful one, “professor Karlsson says smiling. “I have had this idea ever since I saw you in India and your father supported me but he did not know what to do. He wanted to leave you alone. You were always on his mind but he never realized any plans for you as he thought your mother was the better parent and closer to you.”
Sara’s eyes water while they rise up from the lunch and walk into the food market. The professor takes her hand and guides her to the escalator. At street level her eyes almost freeze in the cold. The rest of the cold but sunny Saturday spring afternoon, they tour by foot the old areas of Gamla Stan, with its medieval alleys and impressive colourful brick 16th century houses still in use. They also walk through snow in the neighbouring area Södermalm, an urban island as well as Gamla Stan. Professor Karlsson was born on Södermalm and they walk as much as they can around red 18th – and 19th century cottages and cobblestoned streets. She is impressed by the neatness but he tells her that this district used to be the poorest in Stockholm.
“Do you come from a family with… small measures?” Sara asks.
“Yeah, indeed. We had one room and one kitchen for five children and my parents at Bergsprängargränd. Right there to your left, by the park Vita Bergen.”
Sara views a cute little red building by a hill with a huge church. Professor Karlsson says that the Swedish street name Bergsprängare is taken from the tough vocation to blasts rocks and mines, rock blaster, berg sprängare in his tounge. His later career as a mining engineer is by birth tied to the childhood address he explains jokingly.
She is impressed by his professional success and the professor looks proud. Yet there is nothing arrogant about him. Seeing his small beginnings makes Sara fond of the gentleman who wants to help her and his country by guiding her career from philosophy to engineering. From theory to practice.
Sara is accompanied to the Skanstull metro station where her new mentor bids her farewell.
“You do not have to make any decision now of course. Talk to your mother and get back to me.”
“I will. But all this is so strange and sudden,” she says. “Mining and Sweden. The funeral. Dad’s controversial views. I will understand later but now all these impressions do not make sense.”
She gives him a hug. Bo Andersson has always been Bo or father for her, never Dad. Meeting Eric Karlsson makes him come closer, though he is dead, in fact killed and was more than ten years younger than this grey haired generous and caring man. They wave as she enters a metro train headed for Hagsätra to visit her brother.
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