#the humble elephant nose fish

[darksouls2yuri]

@girlballs

pov you are a tasty insect or crustacean morsel hiding in a rocky crevasse thinking you're safe from predators

[goldenponcho]

A Cruise Fit for a King Chapter 5

Hugo tries to find help while his own funeral is being held across the sea.

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Kipo’s shoulders shuddered as she ascended the steps, regal skirt lifted to her ankles, to take her place at the pedestal on which sat Scarlemagne’s grand piano. She cleared her throat shakily as she approached the microphone there.

“Thank you all for being here with my family today,” a soft huff of laughter escaped her at the sight of what must have been nearly every, if NOT, every mute and human in Las Vistas congregated along the polished floors of Scarlemagne’s palace, “Most of you, I know, have terrible memories of the place we stand now. If you hadn’t wanted to be here, none of us would have blamed you in the slightest…and neither would Scarlemagne…”

Kipo’s throat constricted, and she swallowed hard as her eyes moistened, “But you did. You all had it in your hearts to return to awful memories for the sake of forgiveness and compassion that the Oak family couldn’t hope to repay you for in a million years. And I wish so much-” she choked through an involuntary sob, “-that we could express to you how much we appreciate what you’ve done for us…for ALL of us.” She looked to the front row, where her friends and family stood. Mom and dad…Wolf, Mandu, Dave, Benson, Troy…Doag, Dahlia, and Asher.

“Scarlemagne…” her voice cracked, and she bowed her head, several seconds passing in silence before she let the tears flow freely, “HUGO…my FRIEND…my BROTHER…was one of the BRAVEST people I will ever know. I can only imagine the dark places he’s been. The things he had himself convinced he had to do to survive…

“But I was lucky enough to learn who my big brother really is! And that selfless act on that night?! That’s who he truly was inside!” She inhaled sharply and paused to ride out her emotions, “And it saved me…it saved US…”

She watched through bleary eyes as every person also had tears in their eyes, human and mute, and Kipo smiled through her own, “I won’t give up on him. I don’t think he’s gone! But…if he truly is…I want him to be remembered just the way he really was. And that’s why the Newton Wolves have been kind enough to offer a place in front of their observatory for a statue in his honor!” She motioned to Billions, who gave a humbled nod, wiping a tear from his muzzle and stroking the fur of his cured brother next to him.

“Thank you…SO much!” Kipo grimaced, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, “I know we’re all hurting, but I want this to be a time of celebration of Hugo’s life. I know it’s what he would have wanted,” she looked to her friends again with a sad smile.

“Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

Hugo had been combing the sands through the evening and well into the next morning and hadn’t found anything even as good as the tiny handful of shell he had started with. As the sun rose, he had come to the infuriating conclusion that he was going to have to work for the currency he needed.

So as soon as mutes were up and about, he started asking around. One horseshoe crab heard him out for a short time before quickly explaining that he didn’t need any more help running the arcade he owned on the pier. Another elephant seal couple turned him down at the snow-cone stand. The angler fish at the fishing dock, which puzzled Hugo in particular, was especially snappy and rude, telling him to go inland if he wanted any help at all as a land mammal.

But after rejection after rejection after rejection, it was becoming clear that going inland was his only option, so that’s what he did. He felt the old thrill he had used to in his less virtuous days when he snagged some hotdogs and cans of Explosion Berry soda from the food stand run by three sea cucumbers who had previously sprayed him with sweet relish when he had asked if he could play the old calliope on top of their wagon in exchange for shells.

Hugo wrapped his provisions in his blanket and tied it to the end of a bamboo shoot, adding a couple of red hibiscus blossoms he had found to the knot. As soon as he was set, he was off to a more centralized part of the island.

He thanked his lucky star blanket that his ancestors had been nomads, and thus he was suited to cover a lot of ground in very little time. And though it was still far from a vacation, it was better than being stranded on a car-boat at sea.

His suspicions were confirmed by plenty of old world signage that this was the main island of what was once the archipelago state of Hawaii. He had educated himself well on old world geography and had some idea of what life had been like here, but he could clearly see that just like Las Vistas, there were significant changes. Many palms which would have previously been as tall as fifty feet grew to three and four times the height, and most branched off into more than one trunk. While there were flora of old world sizes, plenty were large enough to fit even two of him in for a comfortable sit.

But as he encountered mutes along the way, he was met with much the same welcome as the ones on the beach. They quickly made it clear that his help was both unneeded and unwanted, and that he should look for help from mutes closer to his own species. This place was more segregated than what Las Vistas used to be. Some of the mega fauna were even worse than Las Vistas’s fair as well. His encounter with a mega centipede, which had a head with snapping jaws on both ends and a row of sharp, two rows of spindly legs along its sides, one row facing down along the bottom and the other inverted on the top, would be relived in his nightmares to come, he was certain.

At what was probably mile eight or nine of the hike, Hugo’s sleeplessness was really starting to catch up with him, and while the hotdogs helped hunger-wise, Explosion Berry was beginning to become less and less efficient at quenching his thirst. This was when he began seriously seeking water and shelter.

He pressed on for about two more miles, searching high and low for any kind of resources. He managed to find a couple of pineapples growing in the shade of some underbrush, which he took for later use. Soon after that, he caught a strange scent in the air that greatly reminded him of human industry. Or perhaps another mute. He had recalled the Scooter Skunks having produced a similar aroma when motoring by. Either way, it could mean shelter.

Hugo didn’t have to walk far before he caught a bright blue spot through the trees. He sighed in relief, “Water! Finally!”

Forgetting his fatigue, he ran on all fours to the beautifully gleaming lake, only stopping at the top of the slightly elevated hill it sat atop of.

He laughed with shrill delight at the vision of the brightest aquamarine he had ever witnessed in his life, “HELLO, GORGEOUS!” He continued without a thought in the world other than quenching his now raging thirst. Completely forgotten was what now should have been an unbearable smell of rotting eggs as he neared the electric shoreline, which was completely devoid of one bit of the dense plant life he had previously been trudging through.

And by the time he had even noticed his own labored breathing and feeling of lightheadedness, he felt a strong grip on his arm that spun him around just as he blacked out and collapsed. Through the haze, he registered something being forced over his mouth and nose, and when his eyes opened one final time before unconsciousness overtook him, peaking through the hood of a large cloak he caught sight of a red and blue muzzle.

[go2harsha-blog]

Ganapati - Once and Future Leader

In which Harsha Prabhu follows in the footsteps of the Elephant-headed God and bumps into some inconvenient truths

"Vakratunda Mahakaaya, Suryakoti Samaprabha Nirvighnam Kuru Mey Deva, Sarva Kaaryeshu Sarvada"

Ganesh Mantra

(The lord with the curved trunk and a mighty body, with the luster of a million suns I pray to thee, to remove all obstacles from my path)

Ganapati procession, Arambol, Goa, September 2019. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

Arambol, Goa September 2019

Bhajan Mandali

Ganapati, aka Ganesh, the elephant-headed god, has many devotees among the Hindu community in India. Many Hindu households install an image of the god and offer prayers, conduct rituals and invite their neighbours for a darshan (viewing) of the god and share lunch or at least prasad (ritual offerings) together.

In the evenings, groups of musicians (mandali) go from house to house and sing bhajans (devotional songs) in his honour.

Bhajan mandali at a house in Arambol. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

One night in Arambol, I visited five households with a bhajan mandali. Apart from hymns to Ganapati there were many abhangas (songs) composed by Tukaram, the Marathi Bhakti poet-saint, beloved of the people.

The singing sessions were robust; the tea, coffee, fruit and snacks provided by every household plentiful. In one house we went to, the owner locked the doors to ensure that we finished all the food and drink he had to offer. What with the round of lunches and snacks, my midriff began to resemble the ample girth of Ganapati.

After a set number of days - anywhere between two and twenty one - these Ganapati idols are immersed (visarjan) in the sea or any available waterbody.

Sarvajanik Ganapati

Ganapati procession, Arambol. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

Besides these household Ganapatis, there’s also the Sarvajanik Ganpati, a ‘people’s Ganapati,’ that is set up in a public place for the community to worship.

Last Thursday this Sarvajanik Ganapati - which was on show at a public hall in the village - was set atop a pick up truck and wound his way through the main street of Arambol to the sea shore. He was accompanied by singing and dancing women - resplendent in their traditional, nine-yard sarees, nose rings and other accoutrements - and children and men playing drums. Along the way groups of young boys lit firecrackers.

Ganapati procession, Arambol. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

To escape breathing the fumes from the firecrackers and the loud explosions they made, I made my way down to the beach. The sun was about to set; the tide was coming in.

Ganapati procession, Arambol. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

Soon groups of women descended on the beach. These were the singers and dancers from the street parade.  I began to notice what sounded like a low murmur enveloping the beach. At first I couldn’t work out where the sound was coming from. Then I realised it was coming from the gathered women. They must have all been whispering prayers under their breath. It sounded like the humming of bees.

Ganapati procession, Arambol. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

Then the truck with the Ganapati appeared and manoeuvred on the sand. More prayers, more dancing by the women and drumming by the men. Fireworks lit the now-dark sky.

A simple prayer was read out in Marathi, expressing the humble hopes of the people: As in past years we have been worshiping you. Please forgive us for any misdemeanors on our part. Please help children gain knowledge through education. Please also help all people get jobs and become healthy and wealthy. Please bless everybody.

Ganapati visarjan, Arambol. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

Then, with shouts of “ Ganpati Bappa Morya, pudhcha varshi loukar ya” (Hail Father Ganapati, come back soon next year), a bunch of men lifted the idol from the truck and walked him into the sea. The incoming tide pushed the watching worshipers to higher ground. Thus ended this year’s Ganapati celebrations in Arambol.

Ganapati visarjan, Arambol. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

Leaving the beach, I heard one young man tell his friend: “Ganapati has gone. Now we can eat fish.”

This was a reference to the fact that, for the period of Ganapati’s stay in the village, Goa’s Hindus refrain from eating fish or meat of any sort, or even eggs - a big sacrifice for people for whom fish is a dietary staple.

I thought to myself: Goa’s fish better watch out.

Ganapati visarjan, Arambol. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

Ganapati - a potted history

I am indebted to the work of Debiprasad Chattopadhyaya, Marxist philosopher and historian, for much of what follows. Errors in interpretation are my own.

In his landmark book, Lokayata: A Study in Ancient Indian Materialism, Chattopadhyaya uncovers the tangled web of the Ganapati story, following its twists and turns, marking the vicissitudes of the rise and fall and subsequent rise of Ganapati.

Ganapati means leader/father (pati) of the tribe or group (gana) in Sanskrit.

Clearly, Ganapati is very old, a totemic figure from India’s tribal past.

Ganapati visarjan, Arambol. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

Ganapati is mentioned in the Rig Veda (1200 - 900 BCE) as  "the seer among the seers, abounding beyond measure in food, presiding among the elders and being the lord of invocation.”

In the Rig Veda, however, Ganapati refers to a person and there are many Ganapatis, described as  leaders of different groups or tribes. “Ganesvaras, or Ganapatis, and Vinayakas are here represented as…many in number and present everywhere” (Bhandarkar). What’s more, the Rig Vedic Ganapati has not yet received his iconic elephant head.

Sakti Ganapati

Chattopadhyaya suggests that Ganapati is associated with the early agricultural tribal society that predates the time of the Vedas. He connects it with fertility rituals to do with mother goddess worshiping cultures.

Chattopadhyaya mentions how In some parts of India, Ganapati-worship is followed by the worship of Gauri, the mother goddess,  and is connected with rituals to do with the new moon and the sowing cycle, where the goddess is depicted as “a bundle of plants, along with her human representative - a virgin.”

(I saw a remnant of this in Goa. Just before my neighbour’s household Ganapati was whisked away by the men to be immersed in the sea, the matriarch of the house ran out of the house with a sheaf of plants and blessed the idol, saying “Gauri, Gauri.”)

According to Chattopadhyaya, Ganapati is also a key figure in Tantric rituals. There are 50 different names for Ganapati in Tantric literature; and some of the followers of Ganapati (e.g. Ucchista Ganapati) were also ‘vamacaris’, ‘tantrics,’ who practiced ritual group sex.

There are also female versions of Ganapati, know as Vinayaki, shown with the head of an elephant and the body of a youthful woman (Silparatna, 16th century). These too may have Tantric origins. Similarly, the Buddhist Hevajra Tantra mentions an elephant-headed goddess, Ganaptihrdya.

Then there are the Sakti Ganapatis, where Ganapati is shown embracing a female, where the male god is depicted as being subordinate to the goddess. Chattopadhyaya points to the idol in the famous Ellora caves, where Ganesa is  “subservient to the seven women, called the seven mothers (sapta matrikas).”

Ganapati procession, Arambol. Pic: Harsha Prabhu

Ganapati as trouble-maker

The patriarchal backlash was predictable.

Perhaps because of this heterodox, tribal, matriarchal and Tantric connection, in the Griha Sutras (500 BCE), commentaries on the Vedas, we find Ganapati inspires dread: a follower of Ganapati “…sees in dreams waters, men with shaved heads, camels, pigs, asses…”

The Upanishadic Brahmin sage Yajnavalkya (8th-7th century BCE) saw Ganapati in the same vein: “Being possessed of Ganapati, the Princes Royal do not obtain the kingdom.”

Chattopadhyaya’s masterly analysis - combining comparative history and anthropology - shows the Ganapati story to run parallel to the destruction of tribal society in India and the rise of monarchies and centralised state power, buttressed by the panegyrics of patriarchal Brahminism as an ideological force providing the social glue to cement the status quo, including caste discrimination.

No doubt that’s why the Manusmriti, the Lawbook of Manu (2nd century BCE - 3rd century CE), a Brahmanical text, looks down upon Ganapati. Says Chattopadhyaya: ’A couplet ascribed to him (Manu) describes Ganapati as the deity of the depressed classes, the Sudra, and this in clear contrast to Sambhu, the deity of the Brahmanas, and Madhava, the deity of the Ksatriyas.’

Indeed, many of the names of Ganapati - Vignakrit, Vignaraja, Vigneshwara - suggest this adverse history. ‘Vigna’ means ‘trouble’ in Sanskrit.

Trouble-maker Transformed

How did the Vignakrit, ‘trouble-maker’, become today’s remover of trouble?

The transformation of a radical force into its opposite is a tribute to the powers of co-option exercised by the ruling classes in all societies, but is a special hallmark of Indian culture. It’s always the winners in the culture wars that shape the narrative, that write the history books.

One way of doing this is to make room for this radical figure of popular appeal - originally a person, then a totem, now a god - and include him in the premier pantheon of the gods. Again, Indians are masters of this kind of mystification and cultural assimilation.

Thus, a whole back-story is created for Ganapati, including how he got his elephant’s head, and a new lineage, wherein he becomes the child of Shiv and Parvati, and is admitted into the mainstream Hindu canon of worship.

It’s a classic tale of the absent father, Shiva, who does not recognise his son, Ganapati, who is guarding his mother, Parvati, while she bathes. The father beheads his son; but then relents on discovering his true identity and crowns him with the head of an elephant. It’s your typical Oedipal story, but with a happy ending, worthy of Bollywood.

Far from seeing him as a trouble-maker, the medieval Puranas - especially Skanda Purana, Narada Purana and the Brahma Vaivarta Purana - are full of hyms praising Ganapati.

Chattopadhyaya, quoting A K Coomaraswamy, tells us the elephant-headed version of Ganapati that we are familiar with appears around the time of the Guptas, in 5th century CE. Before this, Ganapati is shown with other heads, including bull and snake heads, again betraying his tribal, totemic origins.

Inconvenient Truth

Still, some inconvenient truths remain to be explained.

One of the names of Ganapati is Ekadanta, ‘one-tusked’, and he is depicted thus in art and iconography. How did Ganapati come to lose one tusk?

The Brahma Vaivarta Purana says he lost his tusk in a battle with Parshurama, the Brahmin who was also a warrior. If nothing else, this suggests a struggle between Ganapati, the leader of the common people, and the aggressive Brahmin proselytisers.

Interestingly, this same Parshurama is credited with the creation of Goa. In the Sahyadri Khand of Skandha Purana, he is said to have shot an arrow at the sea god and caused the whole Konkan coast - of which Goa is a part - to be created. Here we have a thinly disguised tale of the Brahmin colonisation of South India, presented as a creation myth.

Tilak’s Dream & Hindutva

Ganapati worship in its current, public form was the brainchild of Bal Gangadhar Tilak, social reformer and nationalist, and dates from the 1890s.

Tilak observed the popularity of Ganapati among the masses in Bombay and sought to propagate it in a public manner - the Sarvajanik Ganapati - as a strategy to both subvert the British ban on people gathering in public spaces post the Indian Mutiny and as a tactic to ‘bridge "the gap between Brahmins and non-Brahmins", thereby building a grassroots unity across them to oppose British colonial rule’ (wiki).

130 years down the track - and 72 years since India won independence from the British - while the public celebration and worship of Ganapati has grown in leaps and bounds across many states in India, so has the gap between ‘Brahmins and non-Brahmins,’ which has now become a chasm, with caste-based atrocities, including lynchings of Dalits - the Sudras of the Manusmriti - on the rise in India.

Dalits are beaten up for merely growing a moustache, or riding a horse to a wedding, or participating in a dance - all activities only permitted to the upper castes.  Dalits also frequently die from asphyxiation while manually cleaning sewers - which caste-obsessed India still permits in the 21st century, as a job reserved for Dalits alone.

Tilak’s dream of unity among Hindus has been zealously taken up by the Hindu Right under the leadership of the RSS and its political face, the BJP government of Narendra Modi, with the avowed aim of turning India into a Hindu nation.

Here, unlike in Tilak’s time, the enemy is not the British, but secular India.

Apart from discriminating against India’s many minority communities and tribal population, this Hindutva project is a false unity, as it’s a unity under the hegemony of the Brahmins and the upper castes, as any persecuted Dalit would know. Despite the co-option of a Dalit as the President of India.

And while Dalits continue to be an underclass, tribal India, from which matrix Ganapati originated, doesn’t even figure in the national discourse, except as a shadowy victim on the margins of a rapacious state bent on depriving tribals of their forests and livelihoods via resource exploitation and displacement caused by big dams and mining.

Echoes of the Tribal Past

D D Kosambi, Marxist historian and polymath, says: “The entire course of Indian history shows tribal elements fused into a general society. This phenomenon, which lies at the very foundation of the most striking Indian social feature, namely caste, is also the great basic fact of ancient Indian history.”

What accounts for the persistence of an ancient totemic figure like Ganapati in 21st century India?

Chattopadhyaya offers a classic Marxist analysis and points to the ‘uneven development’ of Indian society. “This feature of uneven development remains a characteristic of Indian history throughout the successive ages, down to the very modern times.”

In other words, slums coexist with smart cities, as anyone who knows India will testify.

And what is true of the social and economic life, is also reflected in people’s ideology, including religion and rituals. Superstition coexists with space travel.

Indeed, the ancient and the modern jostle for space in the Indian mind today.

While tribes decay into castes and then morph into classes in a modern context, somewhere in their hearts and minds India’s people retain echoes of the archaic, tribal past.

Meanwhile Ganapati - the father of the tribe who became a totem and then a god - still awaits his destiny as the once and future leader of the common people - and the remover of all obstacles in their path.

[lostinfic]

5. New York, Fall

Summary: Travel writer/photojournalist AU, slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff and adventures around the world.

Pairing: Alec Hardy x Hannah Baxter Rating: Mature Word count: 1.6k

Prologue  |  Chap. 1  |  2  |  3  |  4  | Ao3  

Hannah was too fond of clothing and accessories to be a minimalist packer. She kept her wardrobe well organized, divided by climates and types of activities, but used creativity to select the right clothes. It was an art. One that began with a theme, a story she wanted her pictures to tell. (She’d once packed only retro-inspired clothes for a long weekend in Paris during which she visited movie-famous locations.) And since, on a cruise, hauling a heavy suitcase around wasn’t an issue, she may have gone a little overboard (pun intended) with the nautical theme: white and navy stripes, tiny anchors, big anchors, sailor collars, mermaids...

“I have nothing to wear,” she whined, dumping half her suitcase on the floor of her cabin.

The ship would dock in Manhattan soon, and she still hadn’t found the perfect outfit to go to Hardy’s photography exhibition. Something that looked irresistible yet like she hadn’t made an effort at all. Not like she worked in a theme park.

The whole thing was ridiculous anyway. Her contract with the cruise line gave her a choice among four destinations and ten dates— she could have gone to Alaska!— but she’d chosen a place she’d already visited on somewhat inconvenient dates in October, just on the off chance she might run into him. He didn’t even know she was going to be there. She couldn’t decide whether to tell him. Whether she wanted to see him again. She didn’t usually keep in touch with people she met abroad. The moments they shared were perfect as they were. Meeting again just wouldn’t be the same. Why ruin a perfectly good memory?

But Alec…

She’d said before she wanted a man who would challenge her, but parachuting or strange foods was what she had in mind, not ethical dilemmas.

At least she had a fantastic leather jacket.

The World Press Photo event took place in Brooklyn whereas the ship docked on the west side of Manhattan. It didn’t look that far on the map but, once again, she’d underestimated distances in America. Google Maps informed her it was an hour-long public transport journey to the building where the conference took place. They docked at 10am, and she had to be back on board by 4pm. What kind of cruise stays only six hours in New York but stays overnight in Nova Scotia?

She was familiar with the subway from previous visits, and seamlessly joined the crowd on the platform. She wore her headphones even if her music barely pierced the metal grinding of the old subway cars. She tapped her feet, at first to the beat of Lana Del Rey, but then out of nervousness. What would she even say to him? Oh, hi, funny meeting you here.

By the time she walked out of the subway station, her skin was clammy and smelled of rust and other people’s sweat. An autumnal breeze refreshed her and chased dead leaves around her feet.

She washed her hands and face, sprayed some perfume on her neck and shook her hair for volume. With a sigh, she blew a strand off her face.

Beside the door, a banner announced: “Alec Hardy, a retrospective”. A black and white portrait of him, with a hand tugging back his hair and an annoyed look on his face, told visitors he didn’t appreciate having the viewfinder turned on him. The lights and shadows in the picture revealed his physical flaws: the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, freckles on his cheeks and nose, even some greying hair at his temples and in his beard. She only ever used black and white to hide a too-red face or unflattering light. He didn’t hide anything, and the photo was stunning.

She read the short biography next to it. Forty-two years old, ten years older than her. She filed the information away. Everything else she knew from looking him up already.

In the high-ceilinged, white room, his photographs, in various sizes, lined the walls and hung from the ceiling to create corridors.

Hannah scanned the crowd of art students, photography enthusiasts and other conference attendees with lanyards around their necks. She didn’t see him, and couldn’t tell which of relief or disappointment swelled in her chest.

The exhibition began with Alec’s early work on the streets of Glasgow in the 90s: poverty, union strikes, and the punk scene. Domestic moments caught through dusty windows, spike-haired lovers in a park, and children playing among burning rubbish bins. She smiled at a self-portrait, his reflection in a broken mirror, an old Leica covered half his face, wire-frame glasses and smoke from a hand-rolled cigarette covered the other half.

Political protests and revolts followed. From Ireland to South Africa. He’d been right in the eye of it, among the armed men, the bleeding noses and mouths shouting for justice. In the rage and lust.

Hannah walked from one to the other, heart beating fast as if watching an action movie. How many times had he been threatened? Held at gunpoint? Kicked and punched? He really made a habit of putting himself in danger’s way. His recklessness scared her, in a good way.

His later work shifted away from the action towards the devastation left in their wake. Destroyed villages, grieving families, scarred men, empty-eyed women. More children featured in his photos. She recognized Pulau Kesuma: a pile of discarded monogrammed hotel towels among flowers, new fishing gear left to rust, an old fisherman with the sea etched on his skin. With every picture, Hannah’s heart grew heavier. By the last photo, tears threatened to ruin her mascara. And yet, something in the way he showcased sunlight gave her hope.

Hannah rounded a corner and gasped: there was a photo of her. Taken at night, darkness hid her face, but she recognized her leg kicking an arch of bioluminescent plankton. She raised her cell phone to take a picture of it and share it on social media, but changed her mind. She looked at it closer. She wasn’t used to seeing herself through someone else’s camera. An image over which she had no control. A moment of unstaged spontaneity. She wasn’t used to feeling humbled. She watched other people’s reaction to it. They didn’t know what it meant.

The picture of her was part of a special section dedicated to his more artistic work. Random snapshots he’d never dedicated an entire series to before now. Breathtaking landscapes, powerful oceans, a colorful Indian wedding, elephants in Thailand, coal-smeared Congolese children smiling bright, several photos of a baby girl. Through his lens, even the streets of London became poetic. And she thought that pain and misery did not diminish the beauty of the world, if anything, the fact that people endured and kept laughing and creating, was all the more wondrous because of it.

She went around the room a second time, always on the lookout for Hardy. She did a double-take at every brown-haired or bearded man, only to be disappointed. Before she knew it, she’d spent more time there than at the Louvre. She lingered in the building for as long as she could, visited the other exhibitions, but had to get back to the port soon. She decided to leave a message in the guest book, leaving it up to fate whether he would see it.

Outside the building, golden sunshine trickled between fiery leaves and alighted every raindrop falling across its beams. Umbrellas bloomed and children laughed, and Hannah was keenly aware that each person around her had their own story, their own unique perspective on life.

Like light shining through a prism, daily life was dissolved into millions of shades by the people experiencing it.

Hannah walked two subway stations farther, fascinated by the city thrumming with life around her.

To capture that variety, she used to write in-depth articles about encounters with one person. She’d gradually abandoned those in favor of shorter pieces for the attention-deficient social media users, and marketing disguised as personal anecdotes. Perhaps she should do that again.

She smiled at the young latina woman walking her dog, but only received a wary look in return.

This strange hyper-awareness followed her on board the cruise ship, but morphed into introspection once alone in her cabin. Seeing Hardy’s journey made her consider her own.

When asked why she started traveling, she always told the same story. She, Ben and Erin formed an inseparable trio of best friends in secondary school. They dreamed of backpacking through Europe. Once in uni, they kept postponing their plans for all sorts of reasons. Unfortunately, Erin died abruptly during their second year. Realizing how short and unpredictable life is, Hannah had packed her bags and left England.

It was a nice story, but it wasn’t the whole truth. She never said how her friend died, that she left even before the funeral, that she stayed too long in Amsterdam to numb her guilt, that there was a reason she didn’t keep in touch with the people she met while traveling.

The rocking waves failed to lull her to sleep. She nearly called Hardy twice, but her longing scared her. Her emotions felt too close to the surface, too easy to bruise.

She wrote all night and deleted the file in the morning.

They docked in Boston next. She filled a travel mug with black coffee and headed off the boat with the firm intention of being her former, professional self. She hadn’t even posted on Instagram yesterday. It really was for the best that she hadn’t encountered Hardy. They had shared a moment in Asia and that was the end of it. She had to focus on rebuilding her reputation after what happened with Elite Travelers.

Outside the cruise terminal, where buses awaited passengers for day tours, the marketing liaison waved her over. Before she’d even said hi to him, someone else called her name.

“Baxter!”

Her heart melted.

[avengers-nextgen]

My Grandpa

So, my grandpa always seemed like a really generic and ordinary guy to me. Loveable and simple, etc. As it turns out he’s one of the most entertaining people I’ve ever met. Unfortunately he hardly talks about himself, even when I asked him a lot of questions. I’ve only gotten the following from him over the years and I know he has a whole lot more.

First off, I grew up with my dad telling me insane stories. My grandpa and dad were building a wooden table together and my father, ten at the time, pulled back the hammer to slam it on a nail. My grandpa was hit in the face by the hammer during the back swing and her broke his nose. My dad was obviously worried but my grandpa simply walked inside and cracked his nose back in place before continuing to help make the table.

He worked as part of the meat industry for a long time. He helped inspect cow meat and cut it, he rose up the ranks to become a health and meat inspector. A very humble job that he excelled at. During his time, he accidentally stabbed himself with a knife. The blade was punching his rib. My grandpa pulled it out, covered the wound, went home, and that was that.

Another time he spilled boiling water on his leg and refused to go to the doctor. Now, it may seem like he’s just accident prone, or that he’s stupid for not getting medical treatment, however, my grandpa always believed in handling problems yourself.

He grew up in a very awkward family with dozens of half siblings, most of which he still doesn’t know, and one he met on accident in a grocery line when he was about fifty. As a kid he always amazed me.

Later I learned that he was a greaser, which cracked me up as a little kid because he was bald. He was part of a group called The Jokers. They wore shoes that had metal plates on the bottom and clicked when they walked down the halls.

My grandpa later joined the military, well he was drafted, and he worked on ranks. He fixed the radios and other equipment-sometimes while the tanks were moving. He said, “I was so skinny and light I flopped around in the back like a sack of potatoes.”

As it turns out he also did a lot of other things besides fixing tanks. My grandpa was part of the ‘lab rats’ as he calls them, a group of volunteers who went through experiments. He crawled through tunnels with tears gas that had glass domes you could pause st for clean air. The tunnels were a network and he crawled through them and often times the gases changed.

My grandpa also tested some of the drugs/chemicals the military was developing at the time. He recalls vaguely, “There was one time I remember, I was sitting in a white room and vines started crawling on the walls. There was even an elephant! They asked questions about what you saw and had to answe yes or no. It was a very odd thing.”

He eventually met my grandma who was a U.S.O girl. The two got married and had my dad and his brother and are now my grandparents.

See, my grandpa has insane willpower, he used to smoke until one day he just decided to quit. Cold turkey, out of the blue, never picked up a cigarette again, and has remained smoke free ever since.

He’s saved a baby from a sweltering car that was stuck in the parking lot of a store by his house. He escaped a canyon with his father when they went on a fishing trip that went wrong. My grandpa’s most recent story was the day before my grandpa’s seventieth birthday.

My grandma was choking on a pill and my grandpa did the hiemlick maneuver in order to save her. He did it so hard he accidentally broke one of her ribs and took her to the ER.

Essentially I’m convinced that my grandpa is some sort of super hero and I wish I knew more. There’s so many cool stories I’ve found out simply on accident that I can’t help but wonder what other things he’s done and experienced.

[katedangworld-blog]

THE HUMBLE BUT GENTLE SOUP

 I was born and grew up in Tay Ninh, a province located between Ho Chi Minh City and Cambodia in the South of Vietnam. During my childhood, I was indulged in variety of foods that made by grandma. She usually used them to comfort the naughty grandchildren whenever they argued hardly then lead to a “severe battle” (at least in my innocent eyes). It is hard to recognize what dish I love best as every of them could made eaters feel mouth-watering. We never had same ideas except my grandma was the best cook in the world.

Her cuisine style represented for Southern taste, in which balance between sweet and sour logically. Even my countryside shares a same frontier with Cambodia but surprisingly it has a unique cooking style without affection and mixture, it is remarkably affected by cuisine style from Mekong Delta area indeed. So far this land is famous about its generous natural resources so subsequently forms a diversified cuisine and I am afraid you may spend a day to read the list of specialities originated from this area.

Floating market on a branch of Mekong river

One of most well-known and tasty soup is considered as a symbol of the Southern, that is “Sour (Vegetable) Soup”, this is an ideal soup for hot weather in the Southern of Vietnam as it can cool your body down in high temperature days (March – Jun). Magically, it also warms your stomach up in wet and cool days when monsoon is coming (July-Aug).

Canh chua Nam Bo (Vietnamese name)

Main ingredient to make stock can be one of pangasius fish, snake head (typical and traditional style), shrimp, pork bone (sometimes). Vegetables combination mainly are bean sprout, okra, pine apple, tomato, elephant ear stem. Garnished vegetable is ngo gai, rau om and some crunchy garlic or purple onion.

 *Ingredients: for 4 portions

There are 5 steps after you prepare mentioned above ingredients:

1.      Prepare ingredients readily as mention above table.

2.      Pour cold water into a pot, put bones inside, boil slightly around 5 minutes, then drain to get rid of first boiling water.  Continue to pour second cold water into the pot, put back boiled bones, slightly heat 30’. When draft from bone come out as very tiny bubbles, use ladle to skim it each 5’ to keep stock transparent.

3.      Check meat on bone, if it soft, put pine apple + tomato to extract their sour liquid, then pour tamarind liquid into the pot. Season sugar + salt + monosodium into the stock.

4.      Heat the pot in highest fire until we see big bubbles float on surface, can put vegetable inside cook around 10 seconds, turn off stove.

5.      Scoop soup into a big bowl, garnish ngo gai + rau om + chili +fried garlic on the surface, pour 1 tbs of fish sauce.

Standard of a Southern sour soups should be a combination in harmony of salty– sour- sweet taste (salt & fish sauce – pine apple, tomato & tamarind) as long as gentle smell of tropical garnish vegetable (rau om –ngo gai), spicy (chili), oily-strong fragrance (fried garlic). Just in the time you turn off the stove, those elements will inspire in air an attractive and mouth-watering smell. When you sip it into your mouth, you can feel the 3 tastes clearly as well as your nose smell 3 gentle fragrances. This experience you will desire to repeat again until the last spoon will be smelt on your tongue and float down your stomach.

I invited the girl next door who comes from Korea to try my soup. She has never tasted this soup before so she expresses her fascination for the recipes, of course, I gives her mine. She tell that Korea also has a sour and spicy soup – Kimchi combines with pork belly but its characteristics just sour, spicy and garnish by green onion only while my sour soup is garnished with ngo gai and rau om which generate a unique taste.

 It is quite challenging to me when cook this soup in Toronto as I feel the taste of vegetables is slightly different with my countryside, maybe the cold weather transforms the original taste of vegetable which grow up mainly in tropical country like Vietnam. Moreover, snake head is impossible to buy in Toronto as it is a kind of fish live Mekong Delta whose meat should be cooked fresh, not frozen, therefore I just pork bones as a substitute.

My soup is not excellent like my grandma but it can satisfy my homesick in this chilly air. Currently, my soup cooking technique is better than before a lot. Though the recipe seems be easy to do but to balance perfectly three vital tastes sour – sweet -salty, you must practice on hundreds of sour pots (in my case).

Nevertheless, if one day I can control and keep equal seasoning well, I will be able to become an eligible chef, who know, just thank to a delicious but humble soup from the South of Vietnam as almost of foreigners just know about Pho – which has been promoting and advertising hardly by Vietnamese tourism department.

https://www.bestpricevn.com/travelguide/Article_Tips-For-A-Better-Mekong-Delta-Trip-16.html

https://www.naturalfoodseries.com/12-benefits-bean-sprouts/

https://www.muscleandfitness.com/nutrition/gain-mass/recover-faster-and-build-muscle-pineapple

https://www.clovegarden.com/ingred/am_colostmz.html

https://trithucvn.net/suc-khoe/16-cong-dung-troi-cho-tu-mon-rau-ngo-ngo-om.html

https://www.dosnerorganic.com/product/culantro-ngo-gai/

http://runawayrice.com/sauces-pickles/fried-garlic-toi-phi/

https://www.everydayhealth.com/healthy-living/what-raw-water-should-you-drink-it/

[500daysof-stephanie]

100 things you do right

A list dedicated to someone who sometimes forgets how adequately awesome he is ✨ 1. Your hair 2. Taking photos of cool shit 3. Sending thoughtful messages to your girlfriend 4. Thinking of other people, and taking their feelings into consideration 5. Buying gifts for people (even though you think you're terrible at it)(you're really not 💕) 6. Making a bed warm and cozy when it's cold (*Africa cold*)(not Ohio cold ❄️) 7. Getting eaten by giraffes named Jerry 8. Feeding Ostriches and protecting your scared girlfriend from them 9. Eating 10 pounds of dried mangoes 10. Making really fattening pasta dishes 11. Capturing beautiful moments on camera for other people 12. Picking songs for wedding videos (even if you pay $50 for them) 13. Leaving the room to fart 14. Picking nice, relaxing vacation spots (even though they sometimes have children that sound like herds of elephants waking us up at 5:00 in the morning) 15. Losing your ecigarette 500 times, and finding it 501. 16. Being an amazing boyfriend always 17. Being kind, loving, patient, and thoughtful, even when your girlfriend is needy and selfish and obnoxious. 18. Being responsible and prepared and on time for all business related events 19. Responding to business inquiries 20. Being a good friend to people when they need it 21. Being a reliable brother, and son, to your family 22. Making coffee 23. Drinking 500 cups of coffee and not dying 24. Being the type of person who asks if we want to stop for coffee, while we are on our way to get coffee 25. Spooning 26. Keeping your nose hairs trimmed 27. Saying the right thing, always 28. Staying up for long periods of time, not sleeping, and not killing anyone 29. Pushing through hard times 30. Being respectful towards all living beings, especially your girlfriend 💕 31. Being the type of person who always stays upbeat and optimistic and focuses on the bigger picture 32. Making people laugh 33. Making your girlfriend smile even when she wants to set herself on fire 🔥 34. Looking at the bright side of things even when everything feels horrible 35. Taking care of other people 36. Being mindful of your actions, and how they might affect other people 37. Flying expensive cameras in the air and capturing awesome shots from the sky 38. Faceswaps 39. Making everything a South Park reference 40. Eating tons of pizza 41. Helping your girlfriend learn Afrikaans and not making fun of her when she butchers every word and phrase 💕 42. Sending your girlfriend flowers and making her feel like the most special person in the world 43. Handling difficult situations with maturity and patience, always 44. Making good financial decisions 45. Making good, intelligent, business decisions 46. Being honest at all times 47. Always considering the opinions and the wants and needs of your clients 48. Building a good, reputable name for your business 49. Having a kickass office (that you should be extremely proud of 💕) 50. Watching lame movies with your girlfriend even though you probably don't want to watch them ❤️ 51. Making sure that your girlfriend knows that she's beautiful 52. Being a centered, self-aware person. 53. Playing guitar amazingly well 54. Singing 🎤 55. Having a beautiful accent, and making everything sound charming 56. Having a great butt 57. Coming up with unique, awesome nicknames 58. Picking music to listen to 59. Fixing electronics when they're malfunctioning 60. Cleaning bath tubs 61. Multitasking 62. Working under pressure 62. Taking goofy snap chats 63. Finding rare places that sell Dr. Pepper in South Africa 64. Saying I love you when it needs to be said ❤️ 65. Giving your girlfriend helpful suggestions when she is in difficult situations 66. Being a kick ass call of duty player and killing zombies!! 67. Getting mad over places that screw up your food 68. Giving the most random fun facts at the most random times 69. Being a smart, well-round human being 70. Feeding elephants 71. Comforting your girlfriend while she's on a scary boat and having a panic attack 72. Being crazy and committed enough to be in a long distance relationship 73. Being a dependable boyfriend ❤️ 74. Coming up with funny pranks to play on people 75. Being a hard-working, resilient, wonderful person 76. Being goal-oriented 77. Loving whole-heartedly 78. Hating the sunshine and loving the rain as much as your girlfriend does 79. Being a miserable shit 80. Always sticking to your promises and keeping your word 81. Going for walks on the beach in the freezing cold water and avoiding dead jelly fish 82. Making meat jokes solely because your girlfriend is a vegetarian 83. Being an adult 84. Eating popcorn before the movie starts (we both do this) 85. Drawing baths that are way too hot 🤒 86. Dressing fancy 87. Being a good soul mate 88. Complimenting your girlfriend eye brows 89. Eating 20 plates of food at Chinese buffets 90. Picking places to eat 91. Listening to your girlfriend when she speaks 92. Being humble about your work and your success 93. Being an extremely talented, successful individual at the age of 26 94. Having good morale, and always encouraging people to do the right thing 95. Being instinctive, and always trusting your instinct to the best of your ability 96. Always being a supportive boyfriend 97. Being someone who knows what he wants, and knowing how to configure a plan as to how to get there 98. Always sacrificing things for others 99. Being invincible, strong, and for teaching other people to be the same way and to have faith and always be courageous 100. Being you ❤️