Compulsive Conquerors

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 Conqueror medals for iconic (conquered) places like Machu Pichu and Kilimanjaro.

When it is about nature, the conquering word is even more misplaced. Reading a recent New York Times article on reaching the true summit of the highest peaks 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.

[https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/06/compulsive-conquerors.html]

Pahadi Aloo

Unsplash - JE Shoots

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?]

"Ekdum pahadi. Sau ke chaar kilo. Kahin nahin mileygaa." [Pure mountain. At Rs. 100 for 4 kilograms. Only from me.]

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.

Indeed, the valley of Dehradun sits at the base of the Himalaya, 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 the land of the Inca under the shadow of a mountain range different but no slouch itself when it came to mountains.

With the Himalayas and the Andes both featuring on the family tree, it couldn't get more 'ekdum pahadi' than that.

[https://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2021/06/pahadi-aloo.html]

Unsplash - Alexander Schimmeck

 

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 Getting a newspaper in print is outdated and unnecessary.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]

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]