Travel: Stories, Cookies, and Crossroads: Finding India in Denmark
Buying Danish butter cookie tins at the local grocery store was one of the small joys of my early years as an immigrant in the U.S. To me, they weren’t just cookies— they transported me back to the biscuit tins of the Indian company J.B. Mangharam, which my grandfather brought home every Diwali.
[Left] The cookie tin and the tales it evoked.
(All photos by author)
I’d open each tin to a sweet, crisp, buttery aroma and find neat rows of delicate biscuits nestled in paper cups—some dotted with jam, others edged with sweet cream. Their polished lids, adorned with cityscapes or festive motifs, became part of my childhood memories of Diwali.
I saved the paper cups to make pleated skirts for fingerpuppet dolls, staging scenes from my tiny collection of European fairy tale books. The haunting heartbreak of The Ugly Duckling stayed with me after I saw it as a ballet at NCPA in Mumbai. But The Princess and the Pea was my favorite— especially after watching its comedic version starring Liza Minnelli on Faerie Tale Theatre, when cable TV first arrived in India.
Before I knew it, I was expected to stop playing with dolls. After my grandfather’s passing, new biscuit tins never appeared, and my fairy tale books were given away.
[Right] The author at Nyborg Castle.
My fascination with faraway places
Some visceral interests never truly fade. Subconsciously, I chose college courses and graduate studies that nurtured my fascination with places and the stories they held. I was giving myself permission to let my imagination soar—to capture wonder.
That curiosity resurfaced when I wrote about the countryside of 19th-century Rajasthan and the bustle of 20th-century Bombay for my novel Ten Thousand Tongues (2017). When the book was complete, I feared I might never find that magic again.
But I was wrong.
[Left] Chasing childhood tales, visiting the birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen, in Odense, was a pilgrimage for the author.
A pilgrimage to the birthplace of my childhood fairy tales
This summer, I found myself tracing my childhood fairy tales back to their source—to the birthplace of one storyteller in particular— Hans Christian Andersen, in Odense, Denmark, a short train ride from Copenhagen.
The journey carried me through rolling landscapes patched with wheat and barley fields, over water bodies dotted with wind turbines that looked like giant pinwheels at a fair. Odense, on the island of Fyn, is home to UNESCO World Heritage sites from the Viking era and to Andersen himself, born on April 2, 1805, into a working-class family.
As I stepped into the tiny, cramped house where he was born, I wondered how several families could have fit without being trampled. Walking the cobblestone streets where he once played and visiting the school where he received a rudimentary education, I tried to imagine his childhood. By the slow, shallow river where his mother washed clothes, I sensed how hard life must have been.
His father read him Arabian Nights, built him a puppet theater, and taught him to work the strings—planting the seeds of storytelling that would one day make Andersen a legend.
[Right] Indulgent caramel in mango lassi—a Danish twist.
The legacy of a Danish dreamer sparks memories of classical Indian tales
Nearly 150 years after his death, Anderson, now popularly known as HCA, has become a brand, an icon, a legend. A new interactive museum in Odense celebrates him through immersive exhibits that blend whimsy and reflection. With an audio guide in hand, I explored curated displays that revealed his creativity, humor, and humanity.
My favorite was The Princess and the Pea, depicted in a cozy alcove. I laughed out loud, hearing what the famous pea had to say about the princess! I saw Andersen’s original paper cutouts, his letters and loves, and the delicate herbaria he created—pressed plants turned into miniature works of art.
Each August, Odense’s pedestrian streets transform into an open-air theater for the Hans Christian Andersen Festival. Watching per-formers captivate the crowds re-minded me of Mumbai’s Kala Ghoda Arts Festival. Oceans apart, the same human impulse thrives—the need to tell stories.
From India’s Ramleela, Kathakali, and Kathputali to Shakespeare’s Hamlet at Kronborg Castle, and from Danish fairy tales to Tamil Therukootu, the impulse to imagine and retell remains universal.
As with stories, so with food
Beneath the flaky layers of many Danish baked goods, I found traces of cardamom and cinnamon—neither native to Denmark, but likely remnants of the colonial era when Denmark held trading posts in coastal India from 1620 to 1869.
Perhaps that exchange explains why the Aebleskiver pan, beloved in Denmark, found its way into the kitchens of coastal Indian communities. Some recipes for Denmark’s national dish, pickled herring, even use vinegar infused with sandalwood!
In Copenhagen, I spotted jars of Indian simmer sauces in ordinary grocery stores and Indian eateries in every mall food court. Beyond that, I noticed young couples in traditional Indian attire hopping on and off trains, saree-clad women strolling with their families, and even a Hindi playlist at a souvenir shop.
[Right] Pedestrian street in Odense, celebrating the HCA festival.
A circle completed
On a ferry between Tåsinge and Svendborg, I watched a group of older Danish ladies share hot coffee from a thermos—a sight that instantly reminded me of Indian families sharing chai on ferry rides from the Gateway of India in Mumbai.
And when I saw white lotuses blooming in a canal near the Odense train station, I felt an unmistakable tug of recognition. For a fleeting moment, I could have been anywhere—in Mumbai, in Odense, or inside a fairy tale—where wonder, memory, and belonging merge effortlessly.
Nandita Godbole is an entrepreneur, cookbook author, and speaker on culinary topics. Masaleydaar: Classic Indian Spice Blends is her most recent award-winning cookbook.
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