tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31260283520972839212024-03-06T02:07:35.474+05:30Virtual In'k'sanityAs if the real me wasn't proof enough...Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.comBlogger559125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-75933381452674234172024-01-22T01:35:00.006+05:302024-01-22T01:54:40.981+05:30Of 'Maus' and Men<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtUQiE4fw5WZVZsK1GMYUa3rNelU0CXP3miwwWWqvsVxlouxPkR6H7gGseZKNYPfhqohIBLgeHZENW0uybQh9BUJO6tSlWSgv6xLIvfN1Cn5YRJVdFQUP6jjuEwv1h_w_KsvvgT0iSdEkKiM85zZniYCkVuyRCkpJ0Mqt2yoHXYOj5Cg4SgmGiE8r1Qb4/s1600/Maus%20-%20Cover.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtUQiE4fw5WZVZsK1GMYUa3rNelU0CXP3miwwWWqvsVxlouxPkR6H7gGseZKNYPfhqohIBLgeHZENW0uybQh9BUJO6tSlWSgv6xLIvfN1Cn5YRJVdFQUP6jjuEwv1h_w_KsvvgT0iSdEkKiM85zZniYCkVuyRCkpJ0Mqt2yoHXYOj5Cg4SgmGiE8r1Qb4/w300-h400/Maus%20-%20Cover.jpeg" width="300" /></a></span></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">If ever in doubt about how serious a graphic novel can be, pick up a copy of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maus" target="_blank">Art Spiegelman's "The Complete Maus"</a>. There have been many other visual creations which had much more profanity, violence and explicit acts (so-called adult content) and there will be many more such but none will be able to match the desperate darkness of this straightforwardly told tale of mice, pigs and cats. If the thought of reading yet another Holocaust story induces eye-rolls, still give it a thought because this portrayal of its madness is unlike anything else.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">To begin with, there is the author Art Spiegelman's personal trauma borne out of his father's strangeness. In a happy place in a happy time far away from the events, years and lands that scarred his father, it is difficult to comprehend the experiences that made him this way. Not being able to do so renders a distance between father and son which is a different kind of torture and perpetuation of sadness. Even as his father delves into the horrors of his memories, the son's sympathy for him is tempered with the practical realities of handling his Dad's insufferable behavioural quirks. The son understands (now) where they are coming from, that still does not make them easy to put up with.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcbPsRTjyv2JctzEn1wpB68uanJA3wlpTMU-D27JPdWuGGTLuBI7WVBYu3jFk0Cs5H3g4rh7q_TPHZuio87KlzI8f1Fzi31bn8oH4ebcOS14So54I9H3cQChQhbbi02Kw1X0XULfwrpg2Db5GLVq0twFU67MQ40op7e-LYvwTKLRHHyrSvtxpUNQLFseE/s1600/Maus%20-%20Content.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcbPsRTjyv2JctzEn1wpB68uanJA3wlpTMU-D27JPdWuGGTLuBI7WVBYu3jFk0Cs5H3g4rh7q_TPHZuio87KlzI8f1Fzi31bn8oH4ebcOS14So54I9H3cQChQhbbi02Kw1X0XULfwrpg2Db5GLVq0twFU67MQ40op7e-LYvwTKLRHHyrSvtxpUNQLFseE/w300-h400/Maus%20-%20Content.jpeg" width="300" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />That by itself is the genius of "Maus". It humanizes through allegories of animals, bats for understanding despite tremendous imperfections of the victim(s) and perpetrator(s). It tells of how easy it is to be manipulated to hate and how we understand this periodically only to forget it once again. Experiences of the desperation to survive whilst ensuring the same for those closest to you and the terror of failing to do so in the face of industrialized in-humaneness would have been too much to take if not told in the form of a 'comic book'. It offers the reader a </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">thin veneer of a story of fantastical </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">talking animals to hang on to, all the while knowing that the skeletons underneath are cold hard facts. Even so, "Maus" is not for the faint-hearted.<br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wars burn throughout the globe again - Russia-Ukraine, Israel-Palestine, Iran-Pakistan to name a few. A rising crescendo of identity politics based on race, ancestry, geography and/or religion encircles it with determination and speed. Innumerable are the number of occasions where history has shown the inevitable failures and tragedies that this leads to. Yet the illusion that all the ills of "I/we" can be blamed by fixing "You/them" continues to sell like hot cakes. In any circumstances, "Maus" is not a joyful read but always a necessary one.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2024/01/of-maus-and-men.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2024/01/of-maus-and-men.html</a>]<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><br /></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-45398543637241572372023-06-29T19:04:00.004+05:302023-06-29T19:11:57.483+05:30A Trip WIP<p style="text-align: left;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sEv0D1Lt4gxM2Va1_nWHC-4G1WITSHpJimSNvQdG2Ki-cSy8luIcQhsiaZw6je8b7M7zvVXDBe-yOrlLkOY53ZSXATGBg66_L866MeQ8Q4iei5cs56GFvtCUmd8Ou1Jzw0u7Eh8kOlpvh9fHX2eSACz7_MPxGGC9FERnNrpmm47gIyr6FZ9POAIfVGg/s4032/IMG_20210710_071943%20-%20RS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sEv0D1Lt4gxM2Va1_nWHC-4G1WITSHpJimSNvQdG2Ki-cSy8luIcQhsiaZw6je8b7M7zvVXDBe-yOrlLkOY53ZSXATGBg66_L866MeQ8Q4iei5cs56GFvtCUmd8Ou1Jzw0u7Eh8kOlpvh9fHX2eSACz7_MPxGGC9FERnNrpmm47gIyr6FZ9POAIfVGg/w400-h300/IMG_20210710_071943%20-%20RS.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><br /></b></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>29<sup>th</sup> June 2023</b></span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About 6 years into a major career switch, my journey can be
summarized as below.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Writing and a wish to take it up on a professional basis did
not happen on a whim. To me, making this transition was a logical next step. I
am a writer. In retrospect, I have always been.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I must stress that I did not move out of engineering because I
hated it. It is just that I liked writing more. I continue to be fond of engineering,
the many talented colleagues, and amazing friends that it brought my way. I am also
immensely grateful for the cross-cultural professional experiences, on-the-spot
problem solving opportunities and the financial stability that it offered me in
the midst of my daydreams of pursuing “something else”. All my travel around India,
the USA, Canada, and Cambodia, not to mention the complete transformation and deep-seated
confidence that (often solo) travel brings, I owe completely to my 11-year engineering
stint (2006-2017).</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Along the way, my national writing competition wins with the Indian
Express (2008), Outlook Traveller (2017), and the Wildlife Institute of India (2017)
gave me a little self-belief that I might be able to make a fist of it if I were
to try to write for a living. Turns out that I was able to talk myself into
taking that leap of faith.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I began with an editorial internship in May 2018 at the Wildlife
Institute of India, Dehradun where I was tasked to co-edit (with Dr. Sonali
Ghosh and Ms. Prerna Bindra) an anthology of nature writing “Wild Treasures”.
By the time it saw publication in April 2019, it had given me opportunities to
read through the best of naturalists and wordsmiths on nature spanning 200
years. Their words on wild places in the Asia Pacific were a fair reminder of
how much work remained if I were to REALLY call myself a writer. Coming across my
“Wild Treasures” parked next to Yuval Noah Harari’s “Sapiens” at a local bookstore
assured me that I had at least taken that tiniest of first steps.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">From August to December 2018, I was privileged to work as Program
Manager, Outreach, for the Centre for Wildlife Studies in Bangalore, a pioneering
conservation organization undergoing a rebuilding phase at that point of time.
With their legacy of historic conservation initiatives and a small driven team projecting
a start-up vibe, those few months were packed with intense activity with my
role spanning press releases for scientific papers; building up social media
presence and their website from scratch; book launches; donation drives all the
way to managing the nuts and bolts of office infrastructure as needed by our
beautiful bungalow turned office.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In January 2019, I was back at the foothills of the Himalayas
as the 30-km motorcycle ride that separated the Wildlife Institute of India in
Dehradun from the greatest mountain range in the world drew me back. As I found
myself in the role of World Heritage Assistant (March 2019 – Present) at the
UNESCO Category 2 Centre for World Natural Heritage Management, it was time for
a deeper immersion into the world of heritage which while editing “Wild Treasures”
I had already dipped my toes into.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In the process of shaping, promoting, and implementing the UNESCO
World Heritage Convention as the Centre is required to do, I found myself at
the wonderful intersection of history, conservation, politics, psychology, and
communication that the field of heritage conservation represents. “What is
heritage?” (valuable enough passed down to the next generation) is not a simple
question as follow-up subjective questions of who defines value and how many
others agree follow. Why indeed must anything be saved at all? Everything from
a school assembly song to millennia old ruins spread across hundreds of square
kilometres can fall under the ambit of heritage, as can snowy mountains distantly
seen and the deepest seas never swum alongside their denizens – all valuable in
their own manner and subject to the same grindstone of change that bears down
on us all. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In pursuit of answers, I have had the chance to co-parent an
inaugural MSc in Heritage Conservation & Management as Assistant Course
Director, walk the forests of Mt. Fuji learning of the nature-culture continuum
as it exists in Japan, cruise the narrower channels of the Sundarbans in search
of the creature that Bon Bibi protects us from in that transient world of sea
and land, work with forest department staff of some of the most stunning
wildscapes training and learning from them. From wildlife biologists and community
researchers with whom I share a wild and wonderful campus with, I now know of
cicadas that sound like gunning Yamaha engines and elephants that may (or may
not) be secretly using a beach island in the depths of the blue Andaman Sea.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Not to sugarcoat the challenges, conservation (or heritage
conservation) seems to be an incessantly uphill and lonely struggle for those
who are in it for the long run. Years of dedicated record keeping and meticulous
science often lead to blunt bureaucratic denials and political exclusion. Forests
long loved and taboo mountains worshipped can still vanish in a snap. That makes
passion for the objects of study an almost non-negotiable necessity. In the face
of shrinking funds, unstable career tracks and casually thrown accusations of “impracticality”,
it is only the truly dedicated that can soldier on, side-stepping cynicism, and
frequently embracing compromise as conservation makes you do.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">That said, the ceaseless energy that permeates life infects many
that walk this road. The chance to wander least trodden trails swapping stories,
as the gears of the brain whir merging all manner of skills – technical, soft,
and expedient – to craft a solution that works in these most challenging of circumstances
is the incentive that keeps on giving. Still rather new to this world, the
possibility of answer(s) being out there waiting to be found is what drives me
on. As a person with a deep interest in communication, I find it irresistible that
every artifact in this wonderfully under-explored field, from a map of the
world to the structure of a fig flower, has a story to tell.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/06/a-trip-wip.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/06/a-trip-wip.html</a>] </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDeziw1Ce6xzwbC3bXGuO_k_rOA87PS1gZHByqD8uLn1DQTaJztF36_cTn1LsXquBTEWMnlNQF-EvWxpf5DmNle3S_q5_Vhlm4ZtQyJVIo4-nZs0YuBwgLXRtkWiHDz7Z8su75zLN7leuF1OfdKuruCPwhp83L3jqsseiyw9C8LqHDA7pkcZKHHa7ZiA/s1024/Firefly%20an%20old%20red%20car%20on%20a%20road%20trip,%20mountains,%20forests,%20sea,%20villages,%20cafes,%203d%20render,%20cinemati.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDeziw1Ce6xzwbC3bXGuO_k_rOA87PS1gZHByqD8uLn1DQTaJztF36_cTn1LsXquBTEWMnlNQF-EvWxpf5DmNle3S_q5_Vhlm4ZtQyJVIo4-nZs0YuBwgLXRtkWiHDz7Z8su75zLN7leuF1OfdKuruCPwhp83L3jqsseiyw9C8LqHDA7pkcZKHHa7ZiA/w400-h400/Firefly%20an%20old%20red%20car%20on%20a%20road%20trip,%20mountains,%20forests,%20sea,%20villages,%20cafes,%203d%20render,%20cinemati.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-25229196058935415052023-06-29T08:39:00.006+05:302023-06-29T08:42:37.408+05:30The Stranger - Not A Review<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHZZ-cjAPjgyL1RXlWVW8IPolQ_-bT3_ktSmhrTo6xThd0wX2ArH83G9QG3aiF49hzo9UwO-ASTTtxwff2-OV2_6L0pRwpGWGeb-YzEVO5IFvFnDq3ays2exJWf_cA-O4bXlho5BH097SIhmpiABNigRKbt9lyV3PjeX_K4Y8imim_SscdROMOtc77G8/s1080/Book%20cover%20for%20Albert%20Camus'%20The%20Stranger.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Image generated by Microsoft Designer" border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHZZ-cjAPjgyL1RXlWVW8IPolQ_-bT3_ktSmhrTo6xThd0wX2ArH83G9QG3aiF49hzo9UwO-ASTTtxwff2-OV2_6L0pRwpGWGeb-YzEVO5IFvFnDq3ays2exJWf_cA-O4bXlho5BH097SIhmpiABNigRKbt9lyV3PjeX_K4Y8imim_SscdROMOtc77G8/w320-h320/Book%20cover%20for%20Albert%20Camus'%20The%20Stranger.png" title="Image generated by Microsoft Designer" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image generated by Microsoft Designer</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><div style="text-align: justify;">29-Jun-2023, Thursday</div></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">French-Algerian writer Albert Camus' "The Stranger" first featured in my world in a conversation with Ma a long time ago where she mentioned of a novella where the protagonist's refusal to grieve for his mother's passing lends to extrapolated assumptions from the same. I started reading it only in the aftermath of her passing away and its bleak logical outlook of the world failed to strike a chord with me, especially at a time when I was feeling emotions most keenly. Halfway through the book, at the point where the protagonist is arrested after shooting a man dead (for no particular reason, it must be added), I gave the book a pause.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The second half of the 77-page book I resumed yesterday and ran through it in an evening's worth of effort. The courtroom process and our guilty narrator's passionate disinterest in the same are exquisitely captured as are the visual details narrated that only a person least bothered with all the human chatter around him can observe. In a way, "The Stranger" forms the antithesis of Dostoevsky's "Crime and Punishment" where the main character of Rodion Raskolnikov is wracked by guilt and slowly disintegrates mentally. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">That I still relate strongly to Dostoevsky's projection of the world, as bleak as Camus' if not more, is possibly an indicator where I fall on the socialist-individualist spectrum. Dostoevsky's protagonist is (eventually) very concerned with the repercussions of his crime within a larger moral universe while Camus makes his narrator fume (in an intellectual manner) only about society's glee in punishing him for his differentness, for his casual battle against conformance. While Raskolnikov comes to terms with the fact that he is not above the rules at all, the Stranger waits for the guillotine confident that the due proceedings are only simply prosecuting his refusal to comply.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/06/the-stranger-not-review.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/06/the-stranger-not-review.html</a>] </span></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-43891920702346873252023-06-23T07:57:00.007+05:302023-06-23T08:12:08.001+05:30Persistence<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtRvo7D58gAH50kmwY1ITsHIfsB5alN0xJfYv-x0IKBSSSdCrj4r4RLe_xTGmEmUtD5yJnyfpKUHsR7XAWmbg4HD4IaI-jsKTjjiSh7wtZj9FE22XqzLJmcPG2sXdknuLz2DWwyWm43rfukro3OvjIajBgGaRL-ZilLymdtQ6tmgQYaK2DEtShGkggf0/s812/Persistence%20-%20Jolyon%20Wagg%20-%20Calculus%20Affair.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="812" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtRvo7D58gAH50kmwY1ITsHIfsB5alN0xJfYv-x0IKBSSSdCrj4r4RLe_xTGmEmUtD5yJnyfpKUHsR7XAWmbg4HD4IaI-jsKTjjiSh7wtZj9FE22XqzLJmcPG2sXdknuLz2DWwyWm43rfukro3OvjIajBgGaRL-ZilLymdtQ6tmgQYaK2DEtShGkggf0/w400-h143/Persistence%20-%20Jolyon%20Wagg%20-%20Calculus%20Affair.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jolyon Wagg - A frequently encountered side-character in the Tintin Series by Herge</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Of all the professions in the world, the enthusiasm of a salesperson (probably) needs to be the most indefatigable and deep rooted. Not being fully invested in her work is not an option she has. Whatever be the product or service and its relevance to the customer, her only job is to push the sale to an often less-than-interested client. No wonder the salesperson is a favoured character in comedies, dramas and tragedies alike. We have all encountered a character like Tintin's Jolyon Wagg in our daily lives and our irritation with them is tempered with the fact that they have been given a tough job to do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">While all of us have some part of our professional lives that we struggle through, it is eased by a formal separation from the selection/rejection whatever it is that we have been giving at least 8 hours a day towards. We mostly work on a small part of a larger impersonal project and rejection, while worry-inducing, is not borne alone. The salesperson on the other hand is handed a product or service that she hasn't designed or built, convinces herself of its distinction from all other similar products and pitches the same to strangers whose interests and motivations may be universes apart from even the best features of Product X. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I understand that sometimes the product sells itself and sometimes even the customer has an active interest. I remember the time when a door-to-door salesperson brought little plastic lights, blue and white and shaped like spaceships (as per an industrial designer and an imaginative child), that could be tapped on for a warm friendly night light. My mom and me were equally enamoured and at the price at which she was selling them, the sale was a foregone conclusion. Those lights remained at use in home long after I had ceased to qualify as a child.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">In some respects, I suppose that sales can also be viewed from the frame of just another job where strategy and selection yield 'results' with the right 'execution'. But the biggest challenge in my (ignorant, inexperienced and unsolicited) opinion would be in how to make the rejection not feel personal. When you have approached someone with all your charm and conviction only to be told "Not interested", sometimes repeatedly, how do you keep the fire going?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/06/persistence.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/06/persistence.html</a>]</div><br /><p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-85217811495061614752023-06-22T07:07:00.003+05:302023-06-22T07:08:11.925+05:307571<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI78M9Ivn00mYW6XweFi-_lk6v46ItOIKZqHcI5vucjJ-YTWxxikyPGl1FEHwIQkHz0hRaQcmGUZ8Z1LeHW5MYrwlSgyghhda0phGdurCOqb21FwK5emxPGg14IyG7_XdnD_MGUwlyqjPFUCp2SC37NB94Fv00jrLp6XCQEBfh-aVM1U9gbnLg3OFqv1o/s1445/Firefly%207571-Landscape%20City%20Pet%20Book%20Images%20Illustration%2022942.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1445" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI78M9Ivn00mYW6XweFi-_lk6v46ItOIKZqHcI5vucjJ-YTWxxikyPGl1FEHwIQkHz0hRaQcmGUZ8Z1LeHW5MYrwlSgyghhda0phGdurCOqb21FwK5emxPGg14IyG7_XdnD_MGUwlyqjPFUCp2SC37NB94Fv00jrLp6XCQEBfh-aVM1U9gbnLg3OFqv1o/w400-h284/Firefly%207571-Landscape%20City%20Pet%20Book%20Images%20Illustration%2022942.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">A casual glance at the Gallery folder of my 8-month old phone gave me reason to pause. 7571 photos lay entrenched in that particular location. 7571 photos that I had consciously taken within 8 months and none of them selfies! Until that moment, I had had airs of being superior to "this generation" who spent their entire lives in front of cameras it would seem. At 1000 photos a month, I couldn't make any real claims of being above it all. Even if I wasn't clicking pictures of myself, I was spending enough time with the phone camera to lose all moral authority to judge others for the same.</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Pets dominate my mix of photos with landscapes that then seemed interesting coming a close second. In a very telling contrast, most of the landscape pictures seem bland and repetitive on a later viewing but the pet photos retain their warm cushiness. Flesh and blood even as a static image have a life of their own but rocks and trees lose their vividness once the environment they were clicked in is not immediately accessible. In a desperate attempt to take some of that beauty back with me to my less scenic daily life, I had clicked vigorously and to an extent, indiscriminately. The end result is a lot of high definition pixels which only re-emphasize that it was so much better in person.</span></p><p>[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/06/7571.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/06/7571.html</a>]</p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-19929574219338198992023-06-21T00:15:00.002+05:302023-06-22T07:09:54.250+05:30The Longest Day<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: white; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW101638011 BCX8" paraeid="{ed3a39b9-a19f-47d7-b416-76b8617a652e}{161}" paraid="860156683" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span class="TextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" data-contrast="auto" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-variant-ligatures: none; line-height: 19.425px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgARVe4qYhCN30XYElt2ie0J9TOOqp55OdlsaZmrjCauDIpWiPpmuFWc59XfCoAQPSIJ5CzaQG3UTXqHizA8ki00RAgafnaVTRu6J2FmZX2qEU7-6JzoMqkPlfQ4UY0KwnrZZYeMSTiARRrFAhWu4FMFUISkFNUi4caWWj3WIg3ugU-_imfmz13-Tj92AM/s1408/Firefly%20A%20geek%20in%20pyjamas%20wakes%20up%20in%20a%20field%20where%20dogs%20are%20playing%202731.jpg" style="font-size: 12px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1408" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgARVe4qYhCN30XYElt2ie0J9TOOqp55OdlsaZmrjCauDIpWiPpmuFWc59XfCoAQPSIJ5CzaQG3UTXqHizA8ki00RAgafnaVTRu6J2FmZX2qEU7-6JzoMqkPlfQ4UY0KwnrZZYeMSTiARRrFAhWu4FMFUISkFNUi4caWWj3WIg3ugU-_imfmz13-Tj92AM/w400-h291/Firefly%20A%20geek%20in%20pyjamas%20wakes%20up%20in%20a%20field%20where%20dogs%20are%20playing%202731.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></span></p><p class="Paragraph SCXW101638011 BCX8" paraeid="{ed3a39b9-a19f-47d7-b416-76b8617a652e}{161}" paraid="860156683" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span class="TextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" data-contrast="auto" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-variant-ligatures: none; line-height: 19.425px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="Paragraph SCXW101638011 BCX8" paraeid="{ed3a39b9-a19f-47d7-b416-76b8617a652e}{161}" paraid="860156683" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span class="TextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" data-contrast="auto" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-variant-ligatures: none; line-height: 19.425px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">The longest day is already upon us and with it the arrival of the monsoon. A morning person like me has hardly any reason to complain in that regard. Extended hours of sunlight shielded by clouds loaded with relief is a win-win in my book. June is </span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">almost over</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">, with it the half-way mark of the year, causing the well-organized to recap what was </span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">achiev</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">ed</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> thus far. Unlikely to be accused of such good qualities, I take the time to </span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">savour</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> the change of air after summer’s long sultry goodbye. </span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">There’s</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> a thrill in having survived another sun-fest season in a top floor room.
</span>
</span></span></span></p></div><div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: white; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW101638011 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{e56c809c-eb3b-441b-bca3-5ae3b08ebbf0}{33}" paraid="442814664" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="TextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" data-contrast="auto" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-ligatures: none; line-height: 19.425px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">What do I do with the extra 2-3 hours that I get by waking up early? I use it to breathe a little easier and enjoy the luxury of not having to plunge into the day’s frothing pool of activities in a barely awake </span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">state. This is not to say that I approach the dreaded work hour with a confident calm. It is more about having some free time before rushing into the due-yest</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">erday channel of profes</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">sional commitments. In its </span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">favour</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">, besides the long daylight hours, summer offers the chance to be less drawn into the infinite charms of sleep as its co-conspirator, the blanket, has been put away for the season.</span></span><span class="EOP SCXW101638011 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"134233117":false,"134233118":false,"201341983":0,"335551550":1,"335551620":1,"335559685":0,"335559737":0,"335559738":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 19.425px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">
</span></span></p></div><div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: white; clear: both; cursor: text; direction: ltr; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; user-select: text;"><p class="Paragraph SCXW101638011 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{b05b4b37-9a90-4786-ae1e-19e3801592fe}{205}" paraid="1165259839" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="TextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" data-contrast="auto" lang="EN-US" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-ligatures: none; line-height: 19.425px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">My dogs are happy campers </span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">with regard to</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW101638011 BCX8" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> the hours I keep. Dawn is their golden hour too. At the slightest movement showing my emergence from slumber, they pop up at my bed-side eager to wage battles or pursue alliances in the as-yet unplanted fields behind my house. The seriousness with which they survey their home turf and the protocols with which they deal with friends or foes makes me wonder if inefficiency and error susceptibility are the best markers of being human?</span></span><span class="EOP SCXW101638011 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"134233117":false,"134233118":false,"201341983":0,"335551550":1,"335551620":1,"335559685":0,"335559737":0,"335559738":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 19.425px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;"> </span></span></p><p></p><p class="Paragraph SCXW101638011 BCX8" lang="EN-US" paraeid="{b05b4b37-9a90-4786-ae1e-19e3801592fe}{205}" paraid="1165259839" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; background-color: transparent; color: windowtext; font-kerning: none; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; user-select: text; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;" xml:lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="EOP SCXW101638011 BCX8" data-ccp-props="{"134233117":false,"134233118":false,"201341983":0,"335551550":1,"335551620":1,"335559685":0,"335559737":0,"335559738":0,"335559739":160,"335559740":259}" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-user-drag: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 19.425px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/06/the-longest-day.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/06/the-longest-day.html</a>]</span></span></p></div>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-53292337332857472342022-12-23T14:00:00.001+05:302023-06-22T07:15:17.581+05:30Airport<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgITqSWbmJqxYV8O8xFqWji1Xd6PkmdObNjs1atEjex4KJYTu6K5q7i-m6_egG_kgde4xxHMScmwdkVeHQKlw5qb6KiMHtO8QVFnoVtuHN5tWmANGE-YsmaOkb8b2D1greM_7nwWpNh4PHAnXidMi9y2_F3CxdJhxUk-rPQWAkBY0C8jDTyynySTfR7/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-03-06%2013.46.20.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgITqSWbmJqxYV8O8xFqWji1Xd6PkmdObNjs1atEjex4KJYTu6K5q7i-m6_egG_kgde4xxHMScmwdkVeHQKlw5qb6KiMHtO8QVFnoVtuHN5tWmANGE-YsmaOkb8b2D1greM_7nwWpNh4PHAnXidMi9y2_F3CxdJhxUk-rPQWAkBY0C8jDTyynySTfR7/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-03-06%2013.46.20.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PC: Dall-E, Open AI<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Maybe because it was December, her favourite month - with its cool weather, her birthday and Christmas in sequence. Maybe because it was seeing the variety of people streaming out of Dehradun airport - all manner of personalities and styling choices. She would have had an observation on all of them - funny and/or deep. As I waited at the exit gate to receive a senior conservationist for a work conference (someone whom I always look forward to meeting), a wild wish bubbled up unbidden. What if Maa also emerged from the gate? Wouldn't that be awesome? The impossible, the illogical wish should have induced a chuckle in the always rational me. I knew that it was a ridiculous thought. <br /><br />As the wait grew longer, the wish grew bolder. The more I pushed it away, the more it popped up front-and-centre. My brain was outright refusing to co-operate with reality. With a drying throat, my eyes scanned the gate ever more intensely. Could it be her? Would it be her? Every burst of laughter, every embrace of the travellers and those waiting for them added more detail to the wish. How she would emerge (a slightly harried expression on her face, as long journeys usually made my otherwise high-enthu Maa feel), how she would smile (when scanning the crowd, she would spot me), how she would wave (both arms fully committed to the cause, as she was in every other aspect of life).<br /><br />Come on. Get a grip. I told myself. It's been so long since she's gone. Don't you remember how you tried - not acknowledging her limited time, insisting that her comeback was just around the corner - in the fierce belief that not talking about it would keep her here forever? Don't you remember the searing failure of that 'plan'? Don't you remember all the details of your rushed journey home? Don't you remember the nightmarish wait outside the ICU, not allowed into that cold world of expertise, knowing that inside she was slipping away? Physically I was at the airport, but inside my little boat of logic battled huge swells of emotion. It tried, it fought, it lost.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2023/03/airport.html]</span></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-4386673062232742482022-03-19T11:45:00.005+05:302022-03-19T12:11:45.348+05:30The Batman (Overload)<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyctFKsOSTTTKNJ-3AAwFf8tACQozDpLlGzvnL5CZnv6UFTfaU_ZCDJ6PlvxE1277BOC2rscUHtG9pgg9_S507gIZ_quckr2NLDTvZwnN0jBtDSLaRK6DeBSRzgGGNiZbZglWFKczZ84rjkXN-rgA1g12i30RgRTheIOpr-r9le49VBsvNYVFCm8Da=s1200" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyctFKsOSTTTKNJ-3AAwFf8tACQozDpLlGzvnL5CZnv6UFTfaU_ZCDJ6PlvxE1277BOC2rscUHtG9pgg9_S507gIZ_quckr2NLDTvZwnN0jBtDSLaRK6DeBSRzgGGNiZbZglWFKczZ84rjkXN-rgA1g12i30RgRTheIOpr-r9le49VBsvNYVFCm8Da=w400-h210" width="400" /></a></span></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In what may be perceived to be a good sign in certain quarters, maturity may have finally punched through to me. Before giving too much cause for celebration, I ought to clarify that this is to do with my expectations and emotions for a Batman movie. Another Batman movie. Grungy voices, dark settings, childhood traumas, contested heroism - all classic Batman tropes I was previously invested in feel like excessive melodrama even before I step into the theatre. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">With no new supervillains and an underwhelming choice for the central role, I go in with a ho-hum attitude. </span>That's a first.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In the real world, supervillains are rarely contested and as the Russia-Ukraine madness plays out, it is more like a supervillain v/s supervillain scenario as citizens of Gotham negotiate their survival in between the two, pleading with one to survive the other. Batman with his 'no kill' rule is an absolute buzzkill in the face of oxygen sucking, thermobaric ammunition from live news. A superhero specializing in non-lethal combat (eventually) and spouting monologues on justice is so out of sync with these times where even narratives are out to murder each other.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But I do have to watch the movie regardless. Familiar characters and backstories tweaked in a certain manner to suit a director's vision at least inspire some sort of opinion about his choices. Having watched a few cast interviews and friends' reviews, I have a vague idea of this movie's uniqueness too - the ol' How-this-Batman-is-different spin. Practically speaking, I go in without any anticipation of surprise and revelations. Maturity dictates a stony acceptance that the Batman can exist only on that side of the screen, not this. Despite its honest efforts, fiction can hold but one lonely candle to the many dark streets of reality. Come to think of it, I am beginning to feel more like Batman, less like a fan!<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2022/03/the-batman-overload.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2022/03/the-batman-overload.html</a>]<br /></span></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-70665860388288936152021-11-13T13:03:00.005+05:302021-11-13T13:09:34.111+05:30Kriti Arora Profile - A Post on Orkut<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/03Lr9MgYb44" width="320" youtube-src-id="03Lr9MgYb44"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">This is interesting. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I swear I don't know who Kriti Arora is and what her <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orkut" target="_blank">Orkut</a> profile looks like but the Blogger team seems to have decided that I should write about her. An 'Ideas' panel has automatically popped up on my Blogger homepage and among the many AI-generated blog ideas for a post most of which were about cricket and cricketers, this one seemed the most outlandish as I had not the slightest notion of why such a thing was suggested to me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">May be I have written about the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orkut" target="_blank">long dead Orkut</a> social network in the past thereby triggering the AI to suggest something guaranteed to give me more views? Thank you, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blogger_(service)" target="_blank">Team Blogger</a>, for taking pro-active concern at the state of my decade long stagnasis on my blog and suggesting some motion. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I now have one more opportunity to learn something completely new and have the luxury of not writing about it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">In all fairness though, I did find it interesting that <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orkut_B%C3%BCy%C3%BCkk%C3%B6kten" target="_blank">the original Googler</a>, after whom orkut.com was named, has brought the defunct domain name and is now using it to promote another social networking site named Hello. Quoting the first paragraph</span></p><p><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">"</span>Hello,</span></p><span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><p><span style="color: #0b5394;">I’m Orkut.</span></p><span style="color: #0b5394;">
</span><p><span style="color: #0b5394;">You may not know me but 13 years ago I started a social network
called orkut.com while I was working as an engineer at Google. I'm the
guy orkut.com was named after. In 2014 when Google announced that orkut
would be shutting down, it was a sad moment for us. orkut had become a
community of over 300 million people and was such an amazing adventure
for all of us. Nobody wanted to lose what we had created together. We
met amazing new people. We went on dates. We found new jobs. We even got
married and had kids because of orkut. We made it happen, together.<span style="font-family: georgia;">"</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">His thing, the baby that brought the world together, actually mostly India and Brazil, may be a faint blimp on our generational memory but that it lived for a short while, back in the day when all of these concepts were brilliantly new and shiny and Google Chrome still needed to promoted, is reason enough for its happening.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/11/kriti-arora-profile-post-on-orkut.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/11/kriti-arora-profile-post-on-orkut.html</a>]<br /></span></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-17180413995408685052021-08-14T10:06:00.004+05:302021-08-14T11:16:14.264+05:30Always With Me<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-08H3SRJ26-E/YRdICSKj5hI/AAAAAAAA_Eg/rwvBClh8UlsJdpY4XG6-2mq9kOlcLx3RwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/WhatsApp%2BImage%2B2021-08-07%2Bat%2B08.10.40.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-08H3SRJ26-E/YRdICSKj5hI/AAAAAAAA_Eg/rwvBClh8UlsJdpY4XG6-2mq9kOlcLx3RwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/WhatsApp%2BImage%2B2021-08-07%2Bat%2B08.10.40.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br />Sunday,
8<sup>th</sup> August 2021</span></b>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">Dear
Ma,</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">I
write this to you in mild disbelief. I half expect to walk into you tidying up
the next room. That you would tell me of today’s must-read Indian Express article
or order me yet again to abandon my decade old T-shirt. This I understand is no
longer possible and I am here to talk about my memories of you instead.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">My
first memory, from long long ago, is your laugh, humming the eternally popular Ripon
Street <i>baaraat</i> band tune “Tequila”, and a just-learnt-to-walk version of
me stumbling along to it. You don’t drink and I can’t dance so this is a
strange thing to recall. At the same time, it is so you. Your giggle and your
endless stock of made-up games put you up as a firm favourite of generations of
children, three your own and everyone else’s. The ease with which you engage a
child’s endless energy is sure proof that you did never grow old. It is our
privilege to have grown up under your joyful and imaginative attention.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">My
second memory of you is sombre. The impact that moving to Bharuch had on you, an
out-and-out Kolkata girl uprooted from its urban bustle to a small
back-of-the-woods town in Gujarat, into a world so different from what you had
known. Your initial shock and your subsequent rising to the occasion were
something that even a 3-year-old me could appreciate. As hundreds of your
students and acquaintances from two-plus decades there will attest, Kolkata’s
loss was Bharuch’s blessing. Adventure is often shown as conquering distant
hills and forbidden valleys but the wonderful, protected life that you and Baba
gave us 3 kids in a land so different from your own was no less exciting and
brave.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">My
chosen third memory of you is more a running film than a specific span of time
or incident. A camp-fire, a relentless passion for doing the right thing in the
right way, which comforts greatly but occasionally burns. You do not appreciate
half-heartedness in any form. I think you’ll agree that filtering your emotions
isn’t your forte. You laugh as hard as you roar. You are a rock of comfort in
critical times but don’t shy away from letting the tears flow either.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">I
remember the roasting you gave me when I, in teenage ignorance, ridiculed your
favourite poet Dylan Thomas’s “Fern Hill”. I recall your thirst for knowledge,
a core trait shared with Baba for 49 years, which kept you learning and
inquisitive all through, in your own words “up-to-date”. Cable TV, vacuum
cleaner, washing machine, microwave oven, PC, laptop, smartphone – you
negotiated through them all, living it up virtually as much as IRL. Your sudden
revelations of knowing the latest Guru Randhawa song or the exact details of a
Jason Statham fight scene leave me wondering who is the older among us.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">I
worship your energy in all that you do – host of a ridiculous amount and
variety of get-togethers, most opinionated road-trip participant, queen bee of
your Brahmo Girls school girl gang, painstaking saver of money for incremental
improvements, teacher of history and English in all their nuances, writer book-lover
librarian extraordinaire, setter of impossible standards for pet care, denouncer
of political extremism and sloppy dressing (phew, that’s only about 10% of your
abilities) – all with a warm heart and a booming voice. Your beloved parents,
Dadubhai in his meticulous perfection and Dimma with her emotional core, live on
and spread their goodness through you. Hope your reunion with them and waggy
tailed Putputti is even more perfect than I can imagine.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">You
could have aimed for the stars with your intellect, education and capabilities
but then you wouldn’t give yourself any relief from your duties as Mom either. Through
sincere work in whatever life I choose, I hope to respect your ambitions and
make a few amends for your sacrifices. I never got to tell you this while you
were still here, but you are my hero and your life-story is the stuff of
legends. Maybe I will write it all out someday, in all its pain and all its
glory. Much as I will miss the immeasurable comfort that you gave me as Mom, I
will also remain in awe of the relentless perfection that you sought as a
professional. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">The
greatest regret of my life will remain not being right next to you when your
time came. Those stories of my travel which will now remain untold to their
most eager audience. That long list of your planned food items during my visits
home will now each hurt in their own way. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">“Kutush,
don’t be selfish” was your one advice in life and I try to follow that within
my own limited capacity. But I’ll make this one exception by claiming your time
though I know that you’ll watch over everyone that you loved, not just me. In
what seems to be the only consolation for your absence from this world, when
roaming areas with limited mobile connectivity or on busy days, I no longer
have worry about you worrying. Now I know you’ll be there with me, on every
mountain trail, in every urban jungle, on every motorcycle trip. Friend. Judge.
Guide. Mom. Always with me.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">Lots
of love,<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
Kutush</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0bwexxx9QYg/YRdYlzDcF5I/AAAAAAAA_Ew/XH0hyt-deUkT-hvuCALBYhHJWhG4jFFqwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1242/PicsArt_08-14-10.35.50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1242" data-original-width="1242" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0bwexxx9QYg/YRdYlzDcF5I/AAAAAAAA_Ew/XH0hyt-deUkT-hvuCALBYhHJWhG4jFFqwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/PicsArt_08-14-10.35.50.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/08/always-with-me.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/08/always-with-me.html</a>]<br /></span></p>
Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-39964747929237909182021-06-17T18:08:00.003+05:302021-06-17T18:19:16.984+05:30Compulsive Conquerors<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_y5NFJvJ2SI/YMtBfPeQ26I/AAAAAAAA8ok/1DHGrrNKhfA04f5pdUW1dj529coGsLlCwCNcBGAsYHQ/s700/Kilimanjaro%2BConqueror.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="https://www.theconqueror.events/kilimanjaro/" border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="700" height="252" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_y5NFJvJ2SI/YMtBfPeQ26I/AAAAAAAA8ok/1DHGrrNKhfA04f5pdUW1dj529coGsLlCwCNcBGAsYHQ/w320-h252/Kilimanjaro%2BConqueror.jpg" title="https://www.theconqueror.events/kilimanjaro/" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />There's something inherently violent about the word. Looking at what it meant to the people at the other end of the sword makes it twice as problematic. Yet without any hint of irony, virtual runners are awarded <a href="https://www.theconqueror.events/kilimanjaro/" target="_blank">Conqueror medals</a> for iconic (conquered) places like Machu Pichu and Kilimanjaro.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">When it is about nature, the conquering word is even more misplaced. Reading a recent New York Times article on <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2021/sports/tallest-mountain-summit.html" target="_blank">reaching the true summit of the highest peaks</a> in the world, it was hard not to laugh at such a flimsy definition of victory. You make it up to the top or near-about on the very edge of your life, rush down after a couple of minutes - call that conquering? Did you really conquer K2, or did you barely survive it? A strange sort of vanity and many light-years from the truth.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJi8RRmGuWvhyEw-70PjZhBaNJlf-rr-foeG4OxatN5WPx7DThClhjYx3e_33OYk_JK7Im59fN4u2c_5tInAJSCcKCiSHhV8NKXjeLy4hzPJuP6AKhiTcJ6ekJ-Gg-FCitczJPlpo6PN83/s2048/All-8000-plus-peaks-region-map-1050.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1428" data-original-width="2048" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJi8RRmGuWvhyEw-70PjZhBaNJlf-rr-foeG4OxatN5WPx7DThClhjYx3e_33OYk_JK7Im59fN4u2c_5tInAJSCcKCiSHhV8NKXjeLy4hzPJuP6AKhiTcJ6ekJ-Gg-FCitczJPlpo6PN83/w400-h279/All-8000-plus-peaks-region-map-1050.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/06/compulsive-conquerors.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/06/compulsive-conquerors.html</a>]</span></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-52656065344014398112021-06-14T15:12:00.023+05:302021-06-16T11:36:28.410+05:30Pahadi Aloo<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IYuji_oNRH0/YMcjnFMfpsI/AAAAAAAA8lA/NSVZXaxMTn85S8gfw4cRr-j9euWBNvLkQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1252/Unsplash%2B-%2BJE%2BShoots.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1252" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IYuji_oNRH0/YMcjnFMfpsI/AAAAAAAA8lA/NSVZXaxMTn85S8gfw4cRr-j9euWBNvLkQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/Unsplash%2B-%2BJE%2BShoots.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unsplash - JE Shoots</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />The subziwallah trundled along, his products on display. Mostly aaloos with a sprinkle of tomatoes for colour, a pushcart full of them. "Aaloo le lo, pahadi aaloo." [Potatos for sale, mountain potatoes]. My neighbour's iron-clad fortress burst open with him stepping out to "Pahadi aloo hi hain naa?" [Are there really mountain potatoes?]<br /><br />"Ekdum pahadi. Sau ke chaar kilo. Kahin nahin mileygaa." [Pure mountain. At Rs. 100 for 4 kilograms. Only from me.]<br /><br />I was walking by and took a close look. My untrained eyes couldn't tell them apart from plains potatoes. Still, my neighbour's eagerness suggested that the altitude difference made a difference.<br /><br />Indeed, the valley of Dehradun sits at the base of </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUyiZHmEWr8" target="_blank">the Himalaya</a></span>, that benchmark for mountain ranges on this minor planet and conceivably, these potatoes did have some mountain blood in them. Plus, there was also another link to consider, one which crossed two continents and oceans. It took this humble vegetable back to its origin, to </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.potatogoodness.com/potato-fun-facts-history/#:~:text=Potato%20Facts%3A%20Origins%20of%20the%20Potato&text=The%20Inca%20Indians%20in%20Peru,and%20carried%20them%20to%20Europe." target="_blank">the land of the Inca</a></span> under the shadow of </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGsnGIRw0HY" target="_blank">a mountain range different</a></span> but no slouch itself when it came to mountains.<br /><br />With the Himalayas and the Andes both featuring on the family tree, it couldn't get more 'ekdum pahadi' than that.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/06/pahadi-aloo.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/06/pahadi-aloo.html</a>]</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUloYyvHnDXdz09AOoH4nYb_cxT0caeSxGdlg4A0noDS9-tVz4FccXadpbLoGRwZ9DneXZ6iTsesVvIWKsWPs_gGE-qyhDpQJnIkdXpG5OBRJpg7u1Jb8W7dqPfhnTL_fQw6FUAHOZKpjD/s1252/Unsplash+-+Alexander+Schimmeck.jpg" style="font-family: georgia; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="832" data-original-width="1252" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUloYyvHnDXdz09AOoH4nYb_cxT0caeSxGdlg4A0noDS9-tVz4FccXadpbLoGRwZ9DneXZ6iTsesVvIWKsWPs_gGE-qyhDpQJnIkdXpG5OBRJpg7u1Jb8W7dqPfhnTL_fQw6FUAHOZKpjD/w400-h266/Unsplash+-+Alexander+Schimmeck.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Unsplash - Alexander Schimmeck</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-79831335231608023002021-04-15T08:33:00.004+05:302021-04-15T16:54:37.400+05:30Hard Copy<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-73tJ24nof3U/YHes0wiB6pI/AAAAAAAA6u8/DBDLtN4QOwQNDp9d00RdkqTAvtmdFYS9QCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Hard%2BCopy%2BEpisode%2B01.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1299" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-73tJ24nof3U/YHes0wiB6pI/AAAAAAAA6u8/DBDLtN4QOwQNDp9d00RdkqTAvtmdFYS9QCNcBGAsYHQ/w254-h400/Hard%2BCopy%2BEpisode%2B01.jpg" width="254" /></a></div><br />It has been a little over 3 months since a standard component of my life has returned after a 4-year hiatus. Getting a newspaper in print is outdated and unnecessary. The inquisitive news-seeker has more than enough options online, saving a few trees along the way. The reason I am drawn to holding my paper in my hands, beyond the nostalgia, is the offline nature of it. A team of editors who I trust, <a href="indian express" target="_blank">Indian Express</a> in this case, serve me the news they thought was important 12 hours ago. Yes, there is curation and there is filtering here too, yet it is the permanency of their choices that makes it seem more reliable to me. No one can get on a server to tweak the words or make the link disappear altogether. There is no chorus of clashing voices in the comments section assigning the news their chosen flavour of interpretation. Just facts and me. The editorial opinions too seem to be personally delivered and not having a space to immediately react to them allows me to process them that much more slowly. Slowness in an age of near instantaneous Internet may be a botheration to most but to me, it’s a luxury I scarcely believe I deserve.<p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/04/hard-copy.html">https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/04/hard-copy.html</a>] <br /></span></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0Dehradun, Uttarakhand, India30.3164945 78.0321917999999932.0062606638211555 42.875941799999993 58.626728336178843 113.18844179999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-53128360806592553962020-12-29T20:28:00.002+05:302021-01-01T11:40:21.488+05:30Still Here: Notes from the Last Frontier<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XcDsWKVYQwE/X-68vmYdtHI/AAAAAAAA11Q/ox9_o-8bcqcK5J3DK-s7DG6euONGqZg2QCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1467" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XcDsWKVYQwE/X-68vmYdtHI/AAAAAAAA11Q/ox9_o-8bcqcK5J3DK-s7DG6euONGqZg2QCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />Their first appearance in my life was as the savages whose throats Buck (the dog hero of Call of the Wild) tears to avenge his last and most beloved human master before dissolving into the wilderness, becoming legend from mere flesh and blood. A strange weakness it was… to believe everything said because it was said by a Westerner, in this case Jack London. Growing up brought a better sense on how I was placed in the world by my place of birth and empathy for the savages grew astronomically. In a little while it became clearer that my own culture and geography fit much better on the savage spectrum than the civilized. “The Great Land” of Alaska (as referred to by a particular group of these ‘savages’) had managed to buck the trend of displacement and death which had swept through the lower 48 of the US, its soul retained as much as its native peoples. My visit to the Anchorage Museum at Rasmuson Center was a meditation of sorts on how my understanding of Alaska had changed over the past two weeks. I had started off looking for the Alaska of adventure as seen by those airdropped in. I ended leaving with the perspective of those who had always called it home. <br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/16-alaska">http://bit.ly/16-alaska</a>]</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-seNPs1jNffQ/X-tEATcxy_I/AAAAAAAA1e8/T-8BFJvTcJUdZse6JkcGyXCsS6B11PxtACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/02%2BIMG_3440.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="1296" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-seNPs1jNffQ/X-tEATcxy_I/AAAAAAAA1e8/T-8BFJvTcJUdZse6JkcGyXCsS6B11PxtACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/02%2BIMG_3440.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FFHGXH8IbOA/X-tEAzrCORI/AAAAAAAA1fE/MDrDiEA7ZCwuY4WeyaCIdnkphpG94LK-ACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/02%2BIMG_5410.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="1296" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FFHGXH8IbOA/X-tEAzrCORI/AAAAAAAA1fE/MDrDiEA7ZCwuY4WeyaCIdnkphpG94LK-ACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/02%2BIMG_5410.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LzOAOi6vIWc/X-tEAr4RUhI/AAAAAAAA1fA/VlPHI9J2OC8Ga4v0f0atLU50EdDozwlXQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/02%2BIMG_5419.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="1296" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LzOAOi6vIWc/X-tEAr4RUhI/AAAAAAAA1fA/VlPHI9J2OC8Ga4v0f0atLU50EdDozwlXQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/02%2BIMG_5419.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8doNkMX3UzM/X-tEBf8S0vI/AAAAAAAA1fI/hNdRjNmV4B4RMR1_bbLF7sc9X_LUAGTHQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/02%2BIMG_5421.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8doNkMX3UzM/X-tEBf8S0vI/AAAAAAAA1fI/hNdRjNmV4B4RMR1_bbLF7sc9X_LUAGTHQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/02%2BIMG_5421.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-31568713436158525772020-12-29T20:25:00.004+05:302021-01-01T11:37:32.056+05:30Starstruck: Notes from the Last Frontier<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ei8GWAACbUk/X-68BvyYJ6I/AAAAAAAA11E/aT9SL8E0CIEB-hVACb7cxfQW8OG2dgh3gCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1467" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ei8GWAACbUk/X-68BvyYJ6I/AAAAAAAA11E/aT9SL8E0CIEB-hVACb7cxfQW8OG2dgh3gCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Everyone was smiling. And I mean everyone. The trainers, the audience and the dogs. This wasn’t a performance. This was happiness on loop. At the dog kennels of Denali National Park lived government employees universally loved. With their grey and blue eyes, they jumped up and down in excitement to be chosen for the demonstration, to be yoked to the sled and make their way forward. For many in the audience, this was the whole reason why they were here in Alaska. This reads like hyperbole but when you are euphoric, all things do seem to be beyond reproach. The Park Rangers told their wards’ stories, of stocking up remote guard cabins and checking on winter visitors accompanied by a whole lot of teeth and fur. Of their impeccable intelligence and vastly varying personalities and of how only how they could do what was needed. Pulling puppies were tied alongside their mothers just to run along, not there for the load but there for the fun. The level of fandom was such that it didn’t even matter that it was summer and in the absence of snow, a sandy circuit was established for that purpose. Sled dogs did their thing and us groupies/stans/superfans let our cheers ring. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/15-alaska">http://bit.ly/15-alaska</a>]</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]<br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q3rKx9_sjIQ/X-tDULULtTI/AAAAAAAA1eY/Lq92kmywW_YlEQRkXdmTFy5Rgz3EbBcwwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/15%2BIMG_4607.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q3rKx9_sjIQ/X-tDULULtTI/AAAAAAAA1eY/Lq92kmywW_YlEQRkXdmTFy5Rgz3EbBcwwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/15%2BIMG_4607.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-md6zPY-I3z0/X-tDUaeFQiI/AAAAAAAA1ec/ISEcHDmXggQ_wVMmXWHOZdcSmvpoYGkoACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/15%2BIMG_4626.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-md6zPY-I3z0/X-tDUaeFQiI/AAAAAAAA1ec/ISEcHDmXggQ_wVMmXWHOZdcSmvpoYGkoACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/15%2BIMG_4626.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PZ4tWcMagA/X-tDTSIAeEI/AAAAAAAA1eU/XIcATHtdi3QWCkzBHtITpxo-SIWm0362ACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/15%2BIMG_4647.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PZ4tWcMagA/X-tDTSIAeEI/AAAAAAAA1eU/XIcATHtdi3QWCkzBHtITpxo-SIWm0362ACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/15%2BIMG_4647.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HokXZ4xwaKw/X-tDUv0K1tI/AAAAAAAA1eg/Y6kGWilKBgkhv4FWB7ABcXsaa1etAJ1vQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/15%2BIMG_4653.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HokXZ4xwaKw/X-tDUv0K1tI/AAAAAAAA1eg/Y6kGWilKBgkhv4FWB7ABcXsaa1etAJ1vQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/15%2BIMG_4653.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-21504635213124822192020-12-29T20:24:00.002+05:302021-01-01T11:35:29.093+05:30Palaeo Goats: Notes from the Last Frontier<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sjkx4RHHBLU/X-67kBBFSgI/AAAAAAAA108/KarIeJ6rtTgvtpx74ELumdbl8U1g7_jKwCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1509" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sjkx4RHHBLU/X-67kBBFSgI/AAAAAAAA108/KarIeJ6rtTgvtpx74ELumdbl8U1g7_jKwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />I went looking for giant vegetables but came back remembering the stares. Palmer in the Matanuska Valley of Alaska is known for world record size vegetables, the fertile soil and nearly 24 hours of sunlight of summer working in tandem to grow cabbages from your wildest dreams. Budget and rental car restrictions had required me to focus on the Alaska below the Arctic Circle, but this green and idyllic valley was where I met strange denizens from way north. Tracking signs for the “Musk Ox Farm”, I ended up face-to-face with what my untrained eye and lazy description would call midget bisons. Information boards told me that they were closer to the goat family tree than to cattle and how their evolutionary superpowers to withstand extreme cold meant that in the Palaeolithic age they roamed the Arctic tundra in the hundreds. Their down under-wool called qiviut being eight times warmer than wool and about a third finer than cashmere, finding a “use” for them helped them barely survive the onslaught of a particularly vengeful species. Shaggy, suspicious and ineffably cute, they gambolled about this resort created to preserve their population, both of us mutually casting curious looks.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/14-alaska">http://bit.ly/14-alaska</a>]</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]<br /><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y8Ewn_Cc9LA/X-tC-YKtw5I/AAAAAAAA1d0/SAszNmaVNg8RXCPnzdXM-pVwhW8bnNhnACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/14%2BIMG_3742.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y8Ewn_Cc9LA/X-tC-YKtw5I/AAAAAAAA1d0/SAszNmaVNg8RXCPnzdXM-pVwhW8bnNhnACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/14%2BIMG_3742.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PLrZNkk57c4/X-tC-1NGUAI/AAAAAAAA1d8/R6-3Bf2LkDYvSC5O_BaG1-3vnOeDq60GwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/14%2BIMG_3772.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PLrZNkk57c4/X-tC-1NGUAI/AAAAAAAA1d8/R6-3Bf2LkDYvSC5O_BaG1-3vnOeDq60GwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/14%2BIMG_3772.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ln_oaTPPfYw/X-tC-q4mPpI/AAAAAAAA1d4/UlqGyGGLAgooL5-CfttDzfu271UYXWPUQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/14%2BIMG_3788.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ln_oaTPPfYw/X-tC-q4mPpI/AAAAAAAA1d4/UlqGyGGLAgooL5-CfttDzfu271UYXWPUQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/14%2BIMG_3788.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xI52guVzMwE/X-tC_VOO4eI/AAAAAAAA1eA/l8FzakNpn6c_Ffv3gFfmP3E_aEynrF10QCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/14%2BIMG_3821.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xI52guVzMwE/X-tC_VOO4eI/AAAAAAAA1eA/l8FzakNpn6c_Ffv3gFfmP3E_aEynrF10QCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/14%2BIMG_3821.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-62329351843413094062020-12-29T20:22:00.006+05:302021-01-01T11:32:53.424+05:30A Familiar Fire: Notes from the Last Frontier<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5rHdUGRJY7o/X-66-TnMUHI/AAAAAAAA10w/Wvl15BogJLEpsRXYJyWTzd7TAtYF2Wt9QCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1508" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5rHdUGRJY7o/X-66-TnMUHI/AAAAAAAA10w/Wvl15BogJLEpsRXYJyWTzd7TAtYF2Wt9QCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />Glenn Highway wasn't something which I had imagined Alaska
would be. It was green, it was watery, it was lush in an almost tropical way.
As I drove through the landscape of southern Alaska, in all manner & form I
was missing home. This was doubly strange as Alaska was the adventure which I
had come looking for, precisely because I wanted to experience something
totally different. In such a state of mind lunch time found me near a series of
cabin restaurants on the Matanuska River. Though all of them looked cozy, I
naturally gravitated to one which had jambalaya on the menu. Jambalaya is a one
pot recipe with rice, chicken, shrimp and sausages combining with the choicest
spiciness from the American South – a biryani American style. I knew what I
needed then, not baked/steamed/grilled but the comfort of spice and rice and
jambalaya answered the call. The proprietors were two old ladies who were happy
to talk about India and in their service, a strange food connection was made.
Louisiana style rice in Alaska bringing the comfort of familiar flavours to
someone who lived two more oceans away to the east.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/13-alaska">http://bit.ly/13-alaska</a>] <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">[</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]</span> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ycb0bZE-FL4/X-tCteLTgAI/AAAAAAAA1dY/IidNAA6SHCMs_XeMjE67myf8b3Pjq2G7gCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/13%2BIMG_3869.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ycb0bZE-FL4/X-tCteLTgAI/AAAAAAAA1dY/IidNAA6SHCMs_XeMjE67myf8b3Pjq2G7gCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/13%2BIMG_3869.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdtnD3yTtS1-tKc2DhyGog7W_VaGksBuhoh-aOK8iv139Jn_y2UiufaiYQVBn15_lfHizEuNQDMGCkdHqoUhEoozdDyT7d0z6vofbAw6p7uTStZEhDgRY3tNNbclJ1s8xh4SKUaIatcxA5/s1944/13+IMG_3873.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdtnD3yTtS1-tKc2DhyGog7W_VaGksBuhoh-aOK8iv139Jn_y2UiufaiYQVBn15_lfHizEuNQDMGCkdHqoUhEoozdDyT7d0z6vofbAw6p7uTStZEhDgRY3tNNbclJ1s8xh4SKUaIatcxA5/s320/13+IMG_3873.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cvLl9hvfwnw/X-tCtjnzaqI/AAAAAAAA1dc/QCxsPD73wIszm4FU7csRY-4bx4zMeSdkwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/13%2BIMG_3886.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cvLl9hvfwnw/X-tCtjnzaqI/AAAAAAAA1dc/QCxsPD73wIszm4FU7csRY-4bx4zMeSdkwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/13%2BIMG_3886.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KNbaZZfywxE/X-tCuMOV72I/AAAAAAAA1dk/7O-xqOsQBfwsQi7Pz_O1XX4d1mPtnsmqQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/13%2BIMG_3908.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KNbaZZfywxE/X-tCuMOV72I/AAAAAAAA1dk/7O-xqOsQBfwsQi7Pz_O1XX4d1mPtnsmqQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/13%2BIMG_3908.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-84422882141557902202020-12-29T20:21:00.004+05:302021-01-01T11:31:32.898+05:30Eternal Sunshine: Notes from the Last Frontier<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bcZYY2hxVoE/X-66rPIf4eI/AAAAAAAA10o/uQIp9IKsHBwugUBB-3NuAJ9kQyo-kQ7EQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1469" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bcZYY2hxVoE/X-66rPIf4eI/AAAAAAAA10o/uQIp9IKsHBwugUBB-3NuAJ9kQyo-kQ7EQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />Mountain. Sea. River. Rock. The road weaves past them
supporting me and my ever-widening eyes. The sun in May does not take a break
and does not need one. I, however, had been warned. Human eyes are used to the
light of day dimming. It’s what gives them the cue to them and the brain to
start winding down. I was told that in the absence of darkness, the alarm bells
for approaching fatigue go AWOL and the result is catastrophic failure. Indeed,
the sun would almost never go down except for a brief 20-minute window from say
1:00 to 1:20 in the morning when it would be evening like – essentially golden
hour light all day. The moose and reindeer lining up next to the highway as my
car drove through endless landscapes of forests and mountains brought
excitement and worry at the same time. Despite the dire predictions, Lady Luck
remained on my side. I did overdo myself driving at times for 16 hours a day without
incident. I was not here every day and every extra hour of daylight was a
reason to go humming deeper into Alaska’s heart. </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/12-alaska">http://bit.ly/12-alaska</a>] <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">[</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]</span> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mTW5degJM90/X-tCaR2gQkI/AAAAAAAA1dA/DzEYrX_km04MPB4cKLmyiUkT5R9MLaFJQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/12%2BIMG_3658.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mTW5degJM90/X-tCaR2gQkI/AAAAAAAA1dA/DzEYrX_km04MPB4cKLmyiUkT5R9MLaFJQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/12%2BIMG_3658.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W4WhdZhtOfw/X-tCZzI3OEI/AAAAAAAA1c4/0W8iMzhKnpcCNEzEjMgci5Q2XjdEmG1UQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/12%2BIMG_3882.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W4WhdZhtOfw/X-tCZzI3OEI/AAAAAAAA1c4/0W8iMzhKnpcCNEzEjMgci5Q2XjdEmG1UQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/12%2BIMG_3882.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_CJsSBI7kUE/X-tCaDIUB5I/AAAAAAAA1c8/ANeecqD71I07nZ_EuFearSCjAlenhQNmQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/12%2BIMG_3906.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_CJsSBI7kUE/X-tCaDIUB5I/AAAAAAAA1c8/ANeecqD71I07nZ_EuFearSCjAlenhQNmQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/12%2BIMG_3906.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jDyO0uyuZ8I/X-tCa5xmluI/AAAAAAAA1dE/O-jBjWjE0TMjB0ZWUQDlr2EVWrYm5DQjQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/12%2BIMG_4038.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jDyO0uyuZ8I/X-tCa5xmluI/AAAAAAAA1dE/O-jBjWjE0TMjB0ZWUQDlr2EVWrYm5DQjQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/12%2BIMG_4038.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-89287652810547149012020-12-29T20:20:00.002+05:302021-01-01T11:29:44.263+05:30Odds and Ends: Notes from the Last Frontier<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8J-8MfXJjU0/X-66PupxBQI/AAAAAAAA10c/t4npyh0KjcUaSNJcII6vOKz8ihP6-xAJgCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1524" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8J-8MfXJjU0/X-66PupxBQI/AAAAAAAA10c/t4npyh0KjcUaSNJcII6vOKz8ihP6-xAJgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <br />Valdez. Val-deez. Just pronouncing the name sent me away to Spain. This wasn’t Spain of course but it was Alaska’s Spain connection. The trans-Alaskan pipeline also ended here for ships to tank up on crude and inside me, the engineer and the environmentalist are still duking it out over whether the pipeline was good or bad. Valdez was where I happened upon one of the stranger stores of Alaska. Anne’s Place. The Anne concerned was a bespectacled geriatric lady and her place was an attic loaned to time. Since getting to Valdez wasn’t easy and getting in new goods even less so, it fell upon Anne to use a big warehouse to start stockpiling everything that ever came to Valdez. Old school textbooks, gramophone records, leftover luggage, remote controls without their targets – what would have been an absurd mix of products anywhere else made perfect sense to retain out here. That these objects could have special value based on their location had never occurred to me and the reality of those who lived here before the roads and port came up sunk in just a little more. A tough life, a functional life the citizens of Valdez had for long made out of these odds and ends. <br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/11-alaska">http://bit.ly/11-alaska</a>] <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier]</a><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLQ2ktqSQmc/X-tCBoWlF6I/AAAAAAAA1cg/QcCZRpznUUcAdz51WuYelmC12sZjCHHMQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/11%2BIMG_4028.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLQ2ktqSQmc/X-tCBoWlF6I/AAAAAAAA1cg/QcCZRpznUUcAdz51WuYelmC12sZjCHHMQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/11%2BIMG_4028.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QpYMp2sAYYI/X-tCBlgAqRI/AAAAAAAA1ck/YlznV5L1D0EYQmZqKxTGMgnH-tvzXLEKgCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/11%2BIMG_4029.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QpYMp2sAYYI/X-tCBlgAqRI/AAAAAAAA1ck/YlznV5L1D0EYQmZqKxTGMgnH-tvzXLEKgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/11%2BIMG_4029.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oqNTWbq5UY/X-tCBbNBymI/AAAAAAAA1cc/Fx4YHt8KMiMVWEse_I9l6EvfdnV0j4gPwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/11%2BIMG_4031.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oqNTWbq5UY/X-tCBbNBymI/AAAAAAAA1cc/Fx4YHt8KMiMVWEse_I9l6EvfdnV0j4gPwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/11%2BIMG_4031.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d5Q1IEwZmAE/X-tCCu3e7pI/AAAAAAAA1co/YNjybkGwwJIz6AjCvlPTVEy3uF_OgiyPACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/11%2BIMG_4034.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d5Q1IEwZmAE/X-tCCu3e7pI/AAAAAAAA1co/YNjybkGwwJIz6AjCvlPTVEy3uF_OgiyPACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/11%2BIMG_4034.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-25641782814105181032020-12-29T20:18:00.004+05:302021-01-01T11:38:17.962+05:30Snow, Ice and Solitude: Notes from the Last Frontier<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OGazIzQwcB8/X-65vOTDR0I/AAAAAAAA10U/lnpzDOjyHU4qALclhWM4jLuC0f-fZFhJQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/10.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1524" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OGazIzQwcB8/X-65vOTDR0I/AAAAAAAA10U/lnpzDOjyHU4qALclhWM4jLuC0f-fZFhJQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <br />There is a clear difference between wildness and emptiness. Driving through the Thompson Pass towards Valdez was my first proper experience of the second. Here in one of the snowiest locations of Alaska, white was not one but at least a dozen odd colours. Glacier ice gleamed blue and sharp, powder snow softening some of its edges, fog steaming and swirling in a trance. Rocks and stone tried their best but beyond their shape were quietly smothered by a crunchy shroud. It was early June but the whiteness that surrounded me seemed invincible. I pulled over to step out and experience the meditative clarity of nothingness. Even the dark maroon of my Kia Optima seemed risqué in comparison. Two massive snowplows loomed out of the fog, currently off duty but the only creatures that could claim to call this home. In a forest, I never felt truly alone as life surrounds you – a tree, a bird, an insect under the leaf litter. The nothingness here was breathtaking. It was afternoon by local time standards while I was there but this was a place that seemed to have cast off such unnecessary frivolities. A half light infused this world, cold, pale and immensely alone.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/10-alaska">http://bit.ly/10-alaska</a>]</span><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IlIlmsJX2Xw/X-tBuPWlnHI/AAAAAAAA1cI/Zv4-8-IeXN8G6PAAdrOUuv1bGfl6rScnwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/10%2BIMG_3968.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IlIlmsJX2Xw/X-tBuPWlnHI/AAAAAAAA1cI/Zv4-8-IeXN8G6PAAdrOUuv1bGfl6rScnwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/10%2BIMG_3968.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rf3qS2O5G-A/X-tBtDaeBSI/AAAAAAAA1b8/WDj3hsJ7uTMt3Sxwd6jNRtw-g3yvbwwmgCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/10%2BIMG_3966.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rf3qS2O5G-A/X-tBtDaeBSI/AAAAAAAA1b8/WDj3hsJ7uTMt3Sxwd6jNRtw-g3yvbwwmgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/10%2BIMG_3966.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X5ytjy2s9gg/X-tBtOkt0UI/AAAAAAAA1cA/ttQKDo3tA6AYf21pfeOSQXdimta_EyDpACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/10%2BIMG_3961.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X5ytjy2s9gg/X-tBtOkt0UI/AAAAAAAA1cA/ttQKDo3tA6AYf21pfeOSQXdimta_EyDpACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/10%2BIMG_3961.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xKfLgt_5pQ8/X-tBtFGt3TI/AAAAAAAA1cE/nAiXsAIMfagkNy-I_Nw7mlmFS4aS1k4ggCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/10%2BIMG_3960.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xKfLgt_5pQ8/X-tBtFGt3TI/AAAAAAAA1cE/nAiXsAIMfagkNy-I_Nw7mlmFS4aS1k4ggCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/10%2BIMG_3960.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-37336328238161692052020-12-29T20:17:00.003+05:302021-01-01T11:24:51.691+05:30Forever Free: Notes from the Last Frontier<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tC6FYiYULXU/X-645i9MkKI/AAAAAAAA10I/7IPlJbVdIJobkKKEsnIEU7WHzj8f1aVIQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1511" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tC6FYiYULXU/X-645i9MkKI/AAAAAAAA10I/7IPlJbVdIJobkKKEsnIEU7WHzj8f1aVIQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />Denali had given us almost everything that day. Consolation has its own way of torture by being insufficient, fragile and inherently feeble. The flat open valley of the Toklat river that we were crossing did not help matters – the colours were mesmerizing, a stage begging to be taken over by that particular actor. “If you want to see wolves, Denali is bad. Too vast a land, too smart an animal. Yellowstone… you still stand a chance.”, our safari bus driver Jen added. I had already been to Yellowstone and failed. On the inside, I was sinking into illogical misery. Hadn’t I seen all of the rest? Didn’t that count for something? Even as I thought through this, a wave of unrest ran through the bus. Who’s that running in the heather? Who are THOSE that run in the heather? A French teenager on the bus let loose a series of howls and I knew. They were waiting, it now seemed, for me to reach that point of no-hope before they obliged. Out rushed the wolves, running ghosts on the hunt, rakish Joker smiles on their faces and an energy that pervaded through the pack. Not for them, the comforts of home and assured food. The open sky underneath the stars was good.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/9-alaska">http://bit.ly/9-alaska</a>]<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]<br /><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OdYHvqCwACU/X-tBY_WdGYI/AAAAAAAA1bg/Tz4eVthS5vQHS8CWIADRcuYbNrbUB0HGACNcBGAsYHQ/s998/09%2BIMG_5004%2B-%2BImprov.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="998" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OdYHvqCwACU/X-tBY_WdGYI/AAAAAAAA1bg/Tz4eVthS5vQHS8CWIADRcuYbNrbUB0HGACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/09%2BIMG_5004%2B-%2BImprov.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u4VZOH6hrpY/X-tBY2lPPlI/AAAAAAAA1bk/S2Zkc-xhotQK7wuKPRWUBppiGyfrGPfnACNcBGAsYHQ/s923/09%2BIMG_5010%2B-%2BImprov.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="923" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u4VZOH6hrpY/X-tBY2lPPlI/AAAAAAAA1bk/S2Zkc-xhotQK7wuKPRWUBppiGyfrGPfnACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/09%2BIMG_5010%2B-%2BImprov.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DX5QipVG2rA/X-tBYghWXzI/AAAAAAAA1bc/ZVBTFBcTIjY_wVPWoy_bW9TnE1uu3tEVACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/09%2BIMG_5032.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DX5QipVG2rA/X-tBYghWXzI/AAAAAAAA1bc/ZVBTFBcTIjY_wVPWoy_bW9TnE1uu3tEVACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/09%2BIMG_5032.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GGikmX6vCoU/X-tBZ_MWGNI/AAAAAAAA1bo/6Zj7ftRHIKEY8ju10R-qkdqqGNgwQPsDACNcBGAsYHQ/s1343/09%2BIMG_5188%2B-%2BImprov.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="895" data-original-width="1343" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GGikmX6vCoU/X-tBZ_MWGNI/AAAAAAAA1bo/6Zj7ftRHIKEY8ju10R-qkdqqGNgwQPsDACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/09%2BIMG_5188%2B-%2BImprov.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-50191977538327479692020-12-29T20:15:00.007+05:302021-01-01T11:22:01.529+05:30Mama. Bear.: Notes from the Last Frontier<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tb1KdwqN24Y/X-64cYxeP0I/AAAAAAAA10A/vvYm6mxYPMYuEara9Ss4M_79TD6ov_ViQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1505" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tb1KdwqN24Y/X-64cYxeP0I/AAAAAAAA10A/vvYm6mxYPMYuEara9Ss4M_79TD6ov_ViQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />Denali National Park was proof of concept - with snowy massifs
separated by infinitely wide valleys, patchworks of colour packed with beasts
of legend, it was all what Alaska was supposed to be. Our tour guide cum bus driver
Jen, a fellow New Englander from New Hampshire who worked summers here provided
us with the stories to accompany our immersion. When she wasn’t speaking, the
female half of a middle-aged Latin American couple was quite vocal in letting
the other half know why she was sure taking this bus to Eielson Visitor Centre
was a bad idea. Maybe it was to distract himself that the harried half turned
his focus outside and spotted them. On a slope at the edge of our vision, three
shapes – one large, two small. Bears! Grizzly bears! Mother and cubs. Running
up the slope and glissading down the spring melt snow. Binoculars to my eyes, I
could see them laugh the bear laugh, giggle the bear giggle. So much fun, so
much tenderness, so much warmth. Love. Contagious. In the bus too, amends were
being made. Erstwhile complainant was now repeatedly embracing erstwhile
accused. “Good job, honey, good job!”</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/8-alaska">http://bit.ly/8-alaska</a>] <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">[</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]</span> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KKp-MOlJWgo/X-tBEY0LoFI/AAAAAAAA1bE/0tGWLT9_JcszWsIYEt6Lfm-9ICIqhUVWgCNcBGAsYHQ/s1523/08%2BIMG_4725%2B-%2BImprov.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1015" data-original-width="1523" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KKp-MOlJWgo/X-tBEY0LoFI/AAAAAAAA1bE/0tGWLT9_JcszWsIYEt6Lfm-9ICIqhUVWgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/08%2BIMG_4725%2B-%2BImprov.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-69rgPIgnDUw/X-tBEONjYYI/AAAAAAAA1bA/uUsjyPYOnyAP9NTpbmN0g9ImsMSYWbssgCNcBGAsYHQ/s1058/08%2BIMG_4805%2B-%2BImprov.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="1058" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-69rgPIgnDUw/X-tBEONjYYI/AAAAAAAA1bA/uUsjyPYOnyAP9NTpbmN0g9ImsMSYWbssgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/08%2BIMG_4805%2B-%2BImprov.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-co0_qKk6a7A/X-tBEkoSY1I/AAAAAAAA1bI/Z53U0S9kL3U848a_8rSEBL2dpXhIRf7WwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/08%2BIMG_4948-001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-co0_qKk6a7A/X-tBEkoSY1I/AAAAAAAA1bI/Z53U0S9kL3U848a_8rSEBL2dpXhIRf7WwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/08%2BIMG_4948-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xpg1apimEs8/X-tBFSYngXI/AAAAAAAA1bM/x2RNRWkK9JY9VsHu-l2nIMSDtQbQ5YfQQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/08%2BIMG_5049.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xpg1apimEs8/X-tBFSYngXI/AAAAAAAA1bM/x2RNRWkK9JY9VsHu-l2nIMSDtQbQ5YfQQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/08%2BIMG_5049.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-72627946890233755682020-12-29T20:14:00.003+05:302021-01-01T11:20:47.652+05:30Offtrack Beauties: Notes from the Last Frontier<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OcdsknXyuL4/X-64MWBu9PI/AAAAAAAA1z4/wxeZlQL777sJnd9YF4ahvkD9YXQB0AU4QCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1523" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OcdsknXyuL4/X-64MWBu9PI/AAAAAAAA1z4/wxeZlQL777sJnd9YF4ahvkD9YXQB0AU4QCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />To spend an extra day at Chicken was to give up on my dream of
seeing the Yukon, a river whose name rings of adventure. The road to Eagle on
its banks was too rough to risk my rental car and my suspect mechanic skills on.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feeding my disappointment breakfast at
the only restaurant worth its name in Chicken was where I saw them come in. A
few dozen cars, vintage and classic machines driving there from New York on the
far away East Coast. Most excited to see them was the restaurant dog wearing
his “I am diabetic. Don’t feed me.” T-shirt and I came a close second. The
entire idea of Chicken being an isolated location was challenged by such an
arrival of dust and engine rumbles. But to see such a crowd – a 1916 Lancia, a
1920s Bentley, Jaguar E-Types, classic Porsches amongst others – show up out of
the blue in the middle of nowhere had its surrealist value. Also a deeper
happiness about how these vehicles had committed to a life on the road and were
not lost to a life of shininess and garages (and ultimate sadness).</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/7-alaska">http://bit.ly/7-alaska</a>] <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">[</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]</span> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Ir41iOrs48/X-tAvl1qgRI/AAAAAAAA1ak/rt6YENbXxLY-0mftforJWP4TngnSfXYZgCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/07%2BIMG_4294.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Ir41iOrs48/X-tAvl1qgRI/AAAAAAAA1ak/rt6YENbXxLY-0mftforJWP4TngnSfXYZgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/07%2BIMG_4294.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kdB7Qb8_fx0/X-tAwJXDDUI/AAAAAAAA1ao/WM3Z6wcCKC0wvqiBoF0nPFnsp4EJIql2gCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/07%2BIMG_4301.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kdB7Qb8_fx0/X-tAwJXDDUI/AAAAAAAA1ao/WM3Z6wcCKC0wvqiBoF0nPFnsp4EJIql2gCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/07%2BIMG_4301.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tm5WU0e34ZM/X-tAwe4JiUI/AAAAAAAA1as/od3ml_bPq3IiEel4mO_F71LcEXdeU6GugCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/07%2BIMG_4303.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tm5WU0e34ZM/X-tAwe4JiUI/AAAAAAAA1as/od3ml_bPq3IiEel4mO_F71LcEXdeU6GugCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/07%2BIMG_4303.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T1Doi4NLbRo/X-tAwwweRYI/AAAAAAAA1aw/tGX_i2Ut-SMCRpnHa3ShJDmJPsFBW5ASQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/07%2BIMG_4317.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T1Doi4NLbRo/X-tAwwweRYI/AAAAAAAA1aw/tGX_i2Ut-SMCRpnHa3ShJDmJPsFBW5ASQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/07%2BIMG_4317.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-16118748444971577332020-12-29T20:12:00.007+05:302021-01-01T11:19:43.433+05:30The Seekers: Notes from the Last Frontier<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Oiu3BGihqcg/X-637zEWjPI/AAAAAAAA1zs/u5nX7QTXY8A8usy7RHGxtYsaqg46RjgwQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1522" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Oiu3BGihqcg/X-637zEWjPI/AAAAAAAA1zs/u5nX7QTXY8A8usy7RHGxtYsaqg46RjgwQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />A rusting hulk of a machine angled over Chicken Creek,
calendars from 1967 still hanging on the walls and an assortment of abandoned
trailers & cabins to choose from – this was what remained of the original
reasons that brought the outside world to Alaska. In a manner of speaking, I
was there too because of the same. A remote, inaccessible and hostile world was
explored first for the most basic of reasons – greed a.k.a. gold. All the
stories and all the adventure came out of this need to get rich quick. Most
failed but the world would never be the same again. A portal had been opened
into the edge of the known from where poured tales and characters and promise.
Alaska drew all, from the greedy to the dreamy, some there for the glory, some for
the story. After a long leading conversation, when Bill and Will, two
struggling gold miners tried to sell me 1 gm of Chicken mined gold for ‘only’ $60,
I wasn’t hurt by their attempts to swindle me. I was happy that the mischievous
spirit of opportunity had still some space to play.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/6-alaska">http://bit.ly/6-alaska</a>] <br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">[</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mlkrcgf44I4/X-tAX3gv1QI/AAAAAAAA1aU/Z-Os4Otwb8MSSA28-j0Q-AU1cv9MWJCngCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/06%2BIMG_4461.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mlkrcgf44I4/X-tAX3gv1QI/AAAAAAAA1aU/Z-Os4Otwb8MSSA28-j0Q-AU1cv9MWJCngCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/06%2BIMG_4461.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Neao4aDsYVQ/X-tAW-C_peI/AAAAAAAA1aM/7MexfrcH2xMVgcbFaz0alxjBoJT24kRPACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/06%2BIMG_4435.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Neao4aDsYVQ/X-tAW-C_peI/AAAAAAAA1aM/7MexfrcH2xMVgcbFaz0alxjBoJT24kRPACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/06%2BIMG_4435.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tJH7tQ4ogBo/X-tAWjgPA6I/AAAAAAAA1aI/sIUnBLrrtrsVkQiI8w6zmPY3JTeYJU4iwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/06%2BIMG_4386.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="1296" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tJH7tQ4ogBo/X-tAWjgPA6I/AAAAAAAA1aI/sIUnBLrrtrsVkQiI8w6zmPY3JTeYJU4iwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/06%2BIMG_4386.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gGkXgfjUQlM/X-tAW0o-jlI/AAAAAAAA1aQ/NpBfdWvwDAIm2rsAroU3PRYfOiSOKaMwwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/06%2BIMG_4358.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gGkXgfjUQlM/X-tAW0o-jlI/AAAAAAAA1aQ/NpBfdWvwDAIm2rsAroU3PRYfOiSOKaMwwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/06%2BIMG_4358.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3126028352097283921.post-70724623741302444752020-12-29T20:11:00.005+05:302021-01-01T11:18:05.384+05:30From Siberia with Love: Notes from the Last Frontier<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vsxu6cuJXAM/X-63iZfMK7I/AAAAAAAA1zk/wOXVvdKb7qox3VOW7vO-MkWjtEFv3P3mQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1518" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vsxu6cuJXAM/X-63iZfMK7I/AAAAAAAA1zk/wOXVvdKb7qox3VOW7vO-MkWjtEFv3P3mQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />Lonely little buildings left behind at the edge of the sea,
the Russian Eastern Orthodox churches in the Kenai Peninsula point to a little
discussed aspect of Alaska’s history. That of it being a Russian colony.
Eventually sold to the USA for a pittance ($7.2 million) back in the day (1867)
when oil wasn’t worth anything. I had coached myself on Alaska’s history before
going so I cannot claim to be unbiased but there was something distinctly
Siberian Suburbia about those areas. Villages like Ninelchek and Kenai matched
up to what I imagined Russian villages to be. The colours of the church domes
contrasted against the blue sky and the colorful choice of vestments for the
priest there compounded the effect of little Siberian villages on the sea. A
priest at one of these churches aked questions laced with a hint of “India… who
lives in such faraway exotic places?” The irony of a man who lives in the edge
of nowhere himself to grade India for faraway-ness was not lost on me. Nor was
the sneaky feeling that the Cold War never really resolved itself out there
where Russia and America come closest to shaking hands.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;">[<a href="http://bit.ly/5-alaska">http://bit.ly/5-alaska</a>] <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;">[</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Part of the Series: <a href="https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/p/notes-from-last-frontier.html" target="_blank">Notes from the Last Frontier</a>]</span> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xRKB7txrC3I/X-s_9xJieHI/AAAAAAAA1Zo/L3MYQ_urPu4CP2wrTnX2xUx0KxMBE2AdgCNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/05%2BIMG_3528.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xRKB7txrC3I/X-s_9xJieHI/AAAAAAAA1Zo/L3MYQ_urPu4CP2wrTnX2xUx0KxMBE2AdgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/05%2BIMG_3528.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RKPNzUTCbiQ/X-s_-BbYmUI/AAAAAAAA1Zs/4ilb5z3qpu8uBg9TVcNzzsjspH2qy_0IACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/05%2BIMG_3535.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RKPNzUTCbiQ/X-s_-BbYmUI/AAAAAAAA1Zs/4ilb5z3qpu8uBg9TVcNzzsjspH2qy_0IACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/05%2BIMG_3535.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYwWVZZxDr5lvgFAvIpvXrto8GypPbME65zHZXE2uEIP_SOxj1L8T258atFvyTAAgdbmCEXBHjgwzg50LlQCye0Qh3pAcNST2rNqfx0vcnmxYxN-YaWuCsktEJ0KPQyD7p_nLdeRAlV6z/s1944/05+IMG_3539.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYwWVZZxDr5lvgFAvIpvXrto8GypPbME65zHZXE2uEIP_SOxj1L8T258atFvyTAAgdbmCEXBHjgwzg50LlQCye0Qh3pAcNST2rNqfx0vcnmxYxN-YaWuCsktEJ0KPQyD7p_nLdeRAlV6z/s320/05+IMG_3539.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j1TKep_Rm48/X-s_-wwipSI/AAAAAAAA1Z0/6sHuPWWo-UsGtZL1YSAOJqNXKUz-e2tzACNcBGAsYHQ/s1944/05%2BIMG_3667.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1944" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j1TKep_Rm48/X-s_-wwipSI/AAAAAAAA1Z0/6sHuPWWo-UsGtZL1YSAOJqNXKUz-e2tzACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/05%2BIMG_3667.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Royhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05542306898241588722noreply@blogger.com0