Thursday, April 15, 2021

Hard Copy

 


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 Getting a newspaper in print is outdated and unnecessary.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, Indian Express 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.

[https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/04/hard-copy.html]

Tuesday, December 29, 2020

Still Here: Notes from the Last Frontier


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.

[http://bit.ly/16-alaska]

[Part of the Series: Notes from the Last Frontier]





 

 

Starstruck: Notes from the Last Frontier

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.

[http://bit.ly/15-alaska]

[Part of the Series: Notes from the Last Frontier]






Palaeo Goats: Notes from the Last Frontier


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.

[http://bit.ly/14-alaska]

[Part of the Series: Notes from the Last Frontier]





 

A Familiar Fire: Notes from the Last Frontier


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.

[http://bit.ly/13-alaska]

[Part of the Series: Notes from the Last Frontier]





 

Eternal Sunshine: Notes from the Last Frontier


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. 

[http://bit.ly/12-alaska]

[Part of the Series: Notes from the Last Frontier]





 

Odds and Ends: Notes from the Last Frontier

 
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.

[http://bit.ly/11-alaska]

[Part of the Series: Notes from the Last Frontier]