The following happened about two months ago. At the time I had just arrived in Delft and still hadn’t come out of the hard, and in my case, somewhat irritable, adjustment phase.
I still hadn’t bought a bicycle and used to walk to the university every day from my home in Roland Holstlaan.
To amuse myself along the way, I would sing to the tune of various Pakistani and Indian songs with an occasional light rain shower keeping time to my singing. I rather hoped that I would have a contagious effect on those walking and cycling around me, that they would come out of what seemed to me to be their utterly serious and rather glum moods, and possibly join me in singing or at least smile. Nobody did. But then that particular day it happened.
As I turned from Jaffalaan to Mekelweg, a middle-aged man cycled past me, whistling to the tune of a nice little ditty.
In my joy and surprise, I shouted after him: “At least someone is singing in the rain!” He stopped in his tracks, turned round and came back towards me. He asked me if I knew the song. I confessed I didn’t. It’s a famous old Dutch children’s song, he said, and then he narrated:
“Altijd is Kortjakje ziek, midden in de week maar zondag niet. Zondag gaat zij naar de kerk, met een bord vol zilverwerk. Altijd is Kortjakje ziek, midden in de week maar zondag niet.”
And then, with a twinkle in his eye, he went on to translate: “She stays in bed every day except for Sundays when she goes to Church.” He paused and looked at me with a mischievous smile and went on to say, “Now the song doesn’t say why she stays in bed the six days. We don’t know what she might be doing in bed. And we teach this song to our children. Can you believe that?”
I laughed out loud, brightening up instantly. “Do you teach here,” I asked.
“Yes, I teach…civil engineering.”
“Oh, civil engineering, I replied.”I don’t know much about it.”
“Well,” he said with a note of admonishment in his voice, “it’s all around you.” And then he went on to describe why the lampposts on the Mekelweg were all wrong and how they were dangerous and so on. “We Dutch are very inefficient,” he added with a wink.
Upon asking, he also informed me that the canals that one sees everywhere in Delft were part of the drainage system. Then he went on to inform me about his various meetings with Dutch government officials, during which he had tried to explain how different civil systems in the country were flawed. His ideas were eventually accepted, but then the relevant government minister was changed. “Ach, these politicians and their politics. We’re very inefficient that way,” he added
I told him that he should visit Pakistan to discover what inefficiency really was. This drew a slight chuckle from him. Before departing, I asked his name, “De Boer,” he replied and waved goodbye.
Needless to say Professor de Boer really inspired and impressed me with his candid and knowledgeable talk and most of all with his palpable passion and warmth. Conversations with such unexpectedly pleasant and warm people remain what Keats said about things of beauty: a joy forever.
Rameez Rahman, from Pakistan, is a first-year PhD student in computer science.
The following happened about two months ago. At the time I had just arrived in Delft and still hadn’t come out of the hard, and in my case, somewhat irritable, adjustment phase. I still hadn’t bought a bicycle and used to walk to the university every day from my home in Roland Holstlaan.
To amuse myself along the way, I would sing to the tune of various Pakistani and Indian songs with an occasional light rain shower keeping time to my singing. I rather hoped that I would have a contagious effect on those walking and cycling around me, that they would come out of what seemed to me to be their utterly serious and rather glum moods, and possibly join me in singing or at least smile. Nobody did. But then that particular day it happened.
As I turned from Jaffalaan to Mekelweg, a middle-aged man cycled past me, whistling to the tune of a nice little ditty.
In my joy and surprise, I shouted after him: “At least someone is singing in the rain!” He stopped in his tracks, turned round and came back towards me. He asked me if I knew the song. I confessed I didn’t. It’s a famous old Dutch children’s song, he said, and then he narrated:
“Altijd is Kortjakje ziek, midden in de week maar zondag niet. Zondag gaat zij naar de kerk, met een bord vol zilverwerk. Altijd is Kortjakje ziek, midden in de week maar zondag niet.”
And then, with a twinkle in his eye, he went on to translate: “She stays in bed every day except for Sundays when she goes to Church.” He paused and looked at me with a mischievous smile and went on to say, “Now the song doesn’t say why she stays in bed the six days. We don’t know what she might be doing in bed. And we teach this song to our children. Can you believe that?”
I laughed out loud, brightening up instantly. “Do you teach here,” I asked.
“Yes, I teach…civil engineering.”
“Oh, civil engineering, I replied.”I don’t know much about it.”
“Well,” he said with a note of admonishment in his voice, “it’s all around you.” And then he went on to describe why the lampposts on the Mekelweg were all wrong and how they were dangerous and so on. “We Dutch are very inefficient,” he added with a wink.
Upon asking, he also informed me that the canals that one sees everywhere in Delft were part of the drainage system. Then he went on to inform me about his various meetings with Dutch government officials, during which he had tried to explain how different civil systems in the country were flawed. His ideas were eventually accepted, but then the relevant government minister was changed. “Ach, these politicians and their politics. We’re very inefficient that way,” he added
I told him that he should visit Pakistan to discover what inefficiency really was. This drew a slight chuckle from him. Before departing, I asked his name, “De Boer,” he replied and waved goodbye.
Needless to say Professor de Boer really inspired and impressed me with his candid and knowledgeable talk and most of all with his palpable passion and warmth. Conversations with such unexpectedly pleasant and warm people remain what Keats said about things of beauty: a joy forever.
Rameez Rahman, from Pakistan, is a first-year PhD student in computer science.
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