Passing through Hamad International Airport, I did not expect to find a sanctuary. Gillie and Marc’s Wildlife Wonderscapes halted my hurried stride, confronting me with bronze sentinels of endangered life. In that fleeting pause between departures and arrivals, art whispered a question that lingered long after: what will we choose to protect?
The Chhotanagpur plateau, home to the Asur tribe, reveals a rich cultural tapestry shaped by ancient metallurgical practices. Once adept at eco-friendly iron smelting, the Asurs, classified as a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group, face declining traditions amid modern industrialisation. Despite cultural erosion and economic challenges, efforts to preserve their heritage are emerging, highlighting the importance of maintaining their unique connection to history and ecology.
At Delhi airport, amid echoing announcements and rolling suitcases, Aranjit pressed a signed copy of Call of the Wild into my hands. Years folded like wings. His stories drifted through me—moonlit verandas, creaking stairs, and that breathless pause where memory meets mystery, reminding me that friendship, like storytelling, survives distance and time in quiet, luminous, unforgettable shared moments together forever.
A quiet walk brought me to an empty Chinese tearoom in Erbil, where Ba Bao Cha—Eight Treasure Tea—slowly unfurled in a glass vessel, blending time and tranquility. Gentle sweetness, floral whispers, and stillness combined in a cup, transforming an unplanned pause into a lasting memory.
On a cool December evening in Erbil, I walked without a set direction, letting the festive lights inspire my thoughts. I paused unexpectedly at the Vinery Café, savoring an affogato—a mix of hot espresso and cold ice cream. In this simple combination, I found a reflection of life: opposites like bitter and sweet, hot and cold, liquid and solid coming together to create something unexpectedly complete.
The branch gate stood open in the quiet of the night, while two bankers raced back imagining audits, explanations, and career obituaries. What they found instead was a customer standing guard—not for the bank, but for his wife’s gold pledged inside. Some controls are written in manuals; others are enforced at home.
AI isn’t the villain of our story; it’s the loudspeaker. It takes our ancient habits—bias, outrage, overconfidence—and broadcasts them at machine speed. The real danger isn’t sentient silicon, but humans wielding powerful tools while still arguing about potato-to-dough ratios with the confidence of constitutional scholars.
In 1852, Radhanath Sikdar, a Bengali mathematician, discovered that Peak XV was the world's highest mountain, later named Mount Everest. His groundbreaking calculations were overshadowed by British imperial bias, as the peak was named after a British official. Sikdar's contributions to the Great Trigonometrical Survey were largely ignored, encapsulating the colonial erasure of non-Western intellectual achievements.
On a chilly winter day in Erbil, nothing warms the soul like a smoky, juicy kebab. From the legendary Yasin’s beneath the Citadel to Farooq Jaafar’s famed skewers on Iskan Street, Erbil’s kebabs are culinary ritual and cultural heritage. Wrapped in fresh naan, topped with sumac onions, and sipped with chilled Mastaw, each bite is a taste of Kurdish warmth.
Since last month, the number of visitors to my blog has increased abruptly from 200–250 to more than 2,000 per day, with 80–85% originating from China. After reviewing Google Analytics, it appears that AI crawlers, rather than hackers, are responsible for the rise. Nevertheless, I can’t help but question—are any of these visitors genuine readers?
