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JUL-AUG 2009
The Railway Aunty from Delhi Noir
By Mohan Sikka
I lay in my dark little veranda, the space I occupied in my bua's Delhi flat. The windows were open to the nonstop honking from Panchkuian Road. There was no breeze. The cool weather hadn't arrived and the sulfurous smell of popping fireworks made breathing difficult.
I remembered how, in our old house in Jalandhar, my sisters hid behind each other as I lit bottle rockets on Diwali. Ma gave us sweaters and woolen socks she'd knitted herself. This coming winter, my sisters would even be lucky if their old sweaters were darned. The middle one was in a boarding school for orphans, the youngest with my frail grandfather.
New Delhi. Photo by Madhu Kapparath.
I woke up late the next morning with a sensation of suffocation. I left the flat without breakfast and walked to Paharganj. I bought a cup of tea and sought out the quiet of the large Christian cemetery by Nehru Bazaar. Putting down my satchel under my favorite neem, I took out my chess set and my bitten paperback of the champion Kasparov's classic matches. I drank tea and practiced the grandmaster's moves. Worn concrete graves surrounded me on three sides.
I didn't see Johnny, the caretaker with the salt-and-pepper hair, until he was standing next to me, his stocky arms folded. With a grin on his long, craggy face he said, "Didn't you know an open chessboard attracts spirits with scores to settle?" I packed up my things, thinking he was going to escort me out. But instead he took me to the workshop by the main gate. Workers inside were sawing and hammering wooden planks for coffins. Johnny ushered me into the cemetery office at one end of the shop. He fumbled in a drawer and took out a book, as beat-up as mine, about grandmaster Karpov, my hero Kasparov's archrival. "Kasparov played like a bull," he said, making a meaty fist in the air, "but Karpov was the wily fox." When he asked me to take out my chessboard, I knew I'd made a friend.
When I got home from college that night, my bua said: "Sarika called to remind you. Go pick up the apples." The next afternoon, fearful but of course intrigued, I made my way to Sarika Aunty's flat. It was in another building in Bua's colony. Growing up, any boy who teased my sisters in school knew he had a bloody nose coming. My mother would scold me but was secretly proud. Deflecting an aunty's advances was a lesson I hadn't learnt though.
Sarika's door was opened by a wrinkled woman in a gray sari and, despite the weather, a thick sweater-blouse. Her eyes were opaque with cataracts. She stood there like a sentry, and I could barely catch a word of her rustic Punjabi. "Mataji, I am Mrs. Verma's nephew," I kept saying in response to her soft, toothless mumbles. "I came for the case of apples." Finally, she cracked the door wider, and I bent forward to better understand what she was saying.
"Demon's daughter," she muttered, "a snake in human form. Keeps me locked up." She grabbed my arm so tightly it hurt. "Poison. Careful of her poison."
I was about to leave when Sarika Aunty appeared. She was dressed in a loose, translucent salwar kameez which suggested that no special company was expected. The outline of her taut, shapely figure was noticeable even though she wasn't in the form-fitting clothes she wore to my bua's house. Her hair, black with streaks of brown, was tied in two thick braids. This gave her fair, oval face a pleasant expression. Around her neck were rudraksha prayer beads. Her feet were bare. She looked relaxed, glowing. Perhaps my unease was misplaced.
"You're not to open the door, Bibiji," she said sharply to the old woman. "What if some Nepali slashes our throats?"
I remained standing in the living room while she escorted the babbling Bibiji inside. The flat's layout was like Bua's, but the furniture was grander than Bua's practical, well-worn things. A carved-wood sofa with silver cushions sat on a plush carpet, flanked by wide lounge chairs. In the center was a marble-topped table. Ornate brass lamps stood in the corners. I thought: Sarika's husband must be the type of railway officer my father resented when he was alive—the kind who demanded "sweets" for his children from contractors. My inheritance had been gnawed away by such officers.
But there were no pictures of children here. The only item suggesting a child's presence was a tall glass cabinet. Inside were displayed rows of dolls—circus dolls in costumes, dolls with fancy hats wearing party dresses, dolls with startling green eyes. They were so well made, they didn't seem like toys. The large ones had realistic facial expressions; one had a sly, sinister look that followed you around.
Sarika returned. She saw my gaze. "My father was in the foreign service," she said proudly. "This is my collection. We traveled everywhere when I was a girl." She pointed to the sofa. "Sit."
I had picked out my best shirt and ironed it myself. But now I felt like a peon offered a seat in an officer's house. "Aunty, my bua said you called," I ventured.
"I don't like this Aunty-vanty stuff," she broke out, sitting down barely two feet from me. "Call me by my name."
"If my mother were to hear me—" I stumbled like a fool.
"From heaven?" she snapped, and then caught herself.
We both fell silent. Her fingertips, I noticed, were trembling slightly. Her nails were painted a dark maroon. As we sat close, my eyes downcast, I felt her assess me from head to foot. A prickly sensation arose on the back of my neck, just like when she teased me at my bua's lunch parties. "Working so hard, Mukesh?" Or, "I need help around the house too. When can I expect you?" She spoke loudly while I served lemonade and pakoras, knowing all the ladies thought she was amusing, just incorrigible. The space between us began to stretch like an elastic band, until I was sure it could snap at any second. I shifted awkwardly and crossed my legs. Her forward manner disconcerted but aroused me. Barely lifting my eyes, I could see the shadow of her bra beneath her thin shirt, the way it lifted and fell with her breath.
She said impatiently: "Why are you always at your bua's? Don't you have college friends?"
I stayed silent. Those with cash to burn went to the movies with college yaars. I played chess in an old Paharganj cemetery.
She moved closer. "What's the matter? Are you scared of me?" She picked up my hand and casually placed it just above her knee. "A burly boy like you."
I was torn between giving in to the softness of her leg and the grave presumption of doing just that. I pulled my hand away. "Sarikaji, someone may think I am being impertinent."
"Who is there to think that?"
I heard a scuffling noise from inside the flat. "Bibiji," I said, my cheeks hot.
"Bibiji is resting. She can sleep through a bomb blast."
"May I have the apples?" I pleaded. "Bua will be waiting."
"You took your time coming. I gave away the last case this morning. More will come soon from my brother's orchard." She passed her slender fingers through my hair. Every sinew and tendon in my body tensed. "So thick, like a girl's. Comb it properly or get it cut," she added cruelly.
She took my face in her hands and turned it toward her. Then she kissed me. Her tongue reached inside my mouth and elicited reactions in faraway places—my toes, my stomach, my quivering thighs. My heart was beating so fast I didn't know how it would slow down. I didn't want it to.
She stood up and removed her prayer necklace. Then she pulled her kameez up and over her head. It billowed like a banner before falling in a heap on the carpet. Her salwar had a drawstring like a man's pajamas, but the shape at the hips and ankles was different. She loosened the string and the salwar dropped like a curtain. I remembered my middle sister Sonu's shapeless drawers hanging on the clothesline. Sarika's panties were small and dark and lacy, fitting snugly against her light skin. Other than the flare of her hips, her frame was slighter, more boyish than I'd imagined.
She turned her back to me. "Get up," she ordered, breaking the brief illusion that she was something frail. She reached her arms behind her. "Unclasp this." I fumbled with her bra hook as best I could. Even from her backward glance I could feel the derision from her face.
She commanded me to lie down, knelt over me, and began to undo my buttons and buckles. When my underpants were off, she said: "It seems you aren't too scared. For a minute I thought you weren't a real man. Now I see you are like most—overeager."
She guided my hands to parts I had only imagined with eyes closed on a woman. My trembling fingers outlined the orbs of her breasts. They were shiny with perspiration, and the way they rose and peaked made my jaw ache with craving. Her nipples weren't much bigger than mine, but darker and harder. In my mouth they tasted like stiff, salty rubber. A line of fine hair traversed down the center of her stomach to a different kind of darkness between her legs.
She was nice enough to let me make amends for my first, clumsy effort, but before that she called my bua. We were both naked. "Hope you don't mind, Pammi. I sent Mukesh to Paharganj for some groceries." She put the receiver to my ear as Bua was saying: "Any time. I've trained him into quite an expert shopper. Make sure he gives you a full accounting."
"Now," Sarika said, "I am going to show you how to curb your enthusiasm." I shyly followed her into the bedroom, but I must have shown potential because she left me a prize I kept for several days—her nail indentations on my back and buttocks.
As the weather turned cooler, I found some release playing chess with Johnny in his caretaker's office. I often wanted our matches to move faster, but I learned a lot by watching his methodical openings, his surprisingly lethal middlegame.
Sarika, I discovered, preferred a combination of fixed and variable routines. Before we began, she would ask me to brush my teeth and take a bath, even if I had already done so. I would come out in my towel to find her lying undressed smoking her pipe packed with ganja she procured from a discreet Israeli dealer in Paharganj. She insisted on initiating any kissing, which she liked deep and rough. If I tried to just hold her, she would whinny and thrash like a trapped mare. My chest became bruised from her teeth marks. As soon as one set of scratches healed on my back, she covered me with another. This is what I remember from those days: her kneeling against the side of the bed, goading me on as I crouched over her from behind, my legs open and half-bent and trembling, her neck craning back and her pretty mouth distended, her spine coiling and convulsing like it was a reptile trapped beneath her skin.
She wanted me to be just as rough with her. I struggled to comply. "Bite me. Harder. Didn't I say harder?" she would cry mid-frenzy. Once, approaching climax, she halted abruptly and changed positions. "Choke me. Do it. I'll tell you when to stop." I hesitated, but she pummeled me until I actually wanted to hurt her. Dark and angry urges rose inside me as I pressed my fingers around her supple neck. Fortunately, I soon lost control. Sputtering and coughing, she examined her neck in the mirror. Even from a distance I could see the bruises I'd left. The salty bile of shame rose up in my throat. "Now we're making progress," she said, eyes gleaming with strange pleasure.
I played chess with Johnny after that session. He frowned and stopped the game. "What's the matter, Mukesh? You're sacrificing pawns early and without a plan."
"I have one," I insisted, but my lie was soon exposed.
After I'd lost the third game, he looked at me and said kindly: "I enjoy our matches, Mukesh. But it's not right that you come to this place so much. Go spend time with other young people."
With a curt goodbye I left his office. If he didn't want to play, I had other preoccupations: I could sit under the neem and read my notes from college.
In the bright, early winter light I walked up the cemetery's central path. The bustle of Nehru Bazaar was just beyond the high walls but here the only sounds were the cackling of crows and the dull whack of workmen breaking the hard ground with pickaxes. I stood beside the workers for a moment, nursing the thick sensation I carried in my chest these days, a sensation like hard-boiled phlegm. The hole the workers were digging appeared too small for an adult. Perhaps it was for a missing person's funeral. Only room to bury personal items was needed.
I began to dress in my bua's bathroom to avoid scrutiny of my wounds. She did remark on my new jeans and jacket. I told her I'd bought them cheap in Main Bazaar. Bua felt the jacket's lining and said: "Main Bazaar or Bandits' Bazaar?" In truth, Sarika had given me money for them, saying she didn't care for my dreadful clothes. She also paid for me to get my hair styled, causing my bua to say: "Delhi air is something. Look how city wiles have sprouted."
In addition to Bua's chores, I was now also on call for Sarika's household errands. Picking up her dry cleaning one Sunday, I saw her tank of a husband lounging on the sofa in a loose bathrobe. Bibiji sat on the floor shucking peas into a steel tray. Locked away during my other visits, the old lady had become a rare sight. She rose and creakily approached, shouting: "She puts chains on my feet, but I am not a fool, you hear?"
The hair on my arms stood up. What was she reporting to Mr. Khanna? But he only yawned and stretched where he sat. His wide, bushy midsection peaked out from underneath his banyan. "Bibiji," he barked without putting down his newspaper, "brake lagao, or you'll be sent to bed." The old lady shuffled back to her peas.
Sarika came out with the dry cleaning. Right under her husband's nose she said: "Come back later. Mr. Khanna is going to the club by one, and the paeon is out today."
Bibiji's face twisted with loathing. Mr. Khanna raised his thick eyebrows, but the rest of his face stayed hidden behind the paper. As I shut the door I heard him ask Sarika something in a gruff tone.
She said: "No one. Mrs. Verma's nephew. A helpful boy."
My grandfather's heart stopped in his sleep in December. I could not see Sarika for some weeks and found that I missed her rough attentions. A council of uncles and aunts was held at Bua's flat, just like after my parents' accident. The agenda was my youngest sister Chhoti's guardianship. "Already we are barely making ends meet," Bua said grimly. Another aunt added: "Mukesh, finish your BA quickly, beta. Everyone is counting on you." I responded to such demands with a blank face, and silently cursed my parents for their ill-timed pilgrimage, which, like a bad investment, was bearing expense without end. The decision was made to send Chhoti to the boarding school for orphans that Sonu, our middle sister, attended. People thanked my bua for the sacrifice of keeping me. The indignity of being a charity case sat like curdled milk in my stomach.
In the new year my liaisons with Sarika resumed. If she knew what was happening in my family, she never asked about it. After our third meeting in January, however, she handed me a slip of paper with a lady's first name and number. I looked at her, confused, and she said: "You want to make some money, right?"
I heard out her proposition. The aunty on the paper would pay for small but important errands. If I was reliable, there would be more jobs.
The aunty sounded pleasant when I called her from Sarika's phone. She gave me an appointment for the next day. Her bungalow was on Doctor's Lane near Gol Market.
Sarika smiled broadly. "Come by soon and tell me what happened." Then she took out some money and said severely: "Buy a new undershirt before you go. Are you using deodorant regularly?"
I laughed. This was how she spoke to me after we'd made hard, sweaty love for an hour. I tried to kiss her, but she cringed at my eagerness and pushed me back.
I was the opposite of eager when I returned with my report from Doctor's Lane. "Sarikaji," I said, lips trembling, "forgive me for misunderstanding. I'm not that kind of boy."
"Oh?" she said, lifting her brows. "What kind are you then?"
I'd come in with the intention of confronting her, but her haughty self-assurance washed away my resolve. "The aunty…she gave me the money first. It seemed like too much. When she told me what she wanted, I tried to give it back."
"She didn't report any problems to me."
"I was forced to stay," I said, shuddering at the memory. "She told me she would raise a noise if I tried to leave, have me beaten as an intruder." I held all the money before Sarika. "Take this. I don't want it."
She peeled out a few notes from the bundle. "That's my share, Mukesh. Think of this work as social service you get paid for."
"No," I cried.
"Then don't come back here," she said flatly. "I can't tolerate undependable boys. I give you a chance and you come back wheedling and whining."
"Don't say that," I said, almost hacking. My throat was dry, constricted.
"Imagine what you can do with the money," she said, and pulled me by the arm to the bedroom. Afterwards, she looked at the bites on her breasts. "I've taught you well," she said. "Luckily, Mr. Khanna doesn't like the lights on."
With my first earnings I bought a mobile and a diary to keep track of my appointments. If the person I called didn't recognize the name I asked for, the rule was to pretend I had the wrong number. Sarika sent me to railway wives, lady doctors, businesswomen, young managers in offices. Now I understood why she usually began texting the moment we finished in bed. I saw the insides of flats and bungalows from Gol Market to Bengali Market, and as far south as Sundar Nagar. Some aunties only wanted to meet in a seedy tourist lodge in Tooti Chowk after shopping at Connaught Place. Sarika's instructions were to accommodate every request.
I serviced aunties who were beautiful and bored, homely but adventurous, unabashed about their needs, or shy and self-conscious. One fed me afterwards; another threw money in my face as though I'd offended her dignity. Both asked for me again. I remember the aunty who liked to watch her favorite serial in bed. While I pleased her she delightedly gave me a rundown of the episodes I'd missed. One roundly cursed her husband while we made love; it drove her to heights of frenzy. Most never mentioned their husbands at all. They all appreciated that I readily agreed to their commands or requests. They all enjoyed the tricks with tongue and finger that Sarika had taught me.
I'd wake up on my hard cot in Bua's veranda, remember the day's appointments, and think my mind was playing tricks. Then I'd feel the soreness in my lower back and thighs. A few times I caught Bua watching me with narrowed eyes. I became convinced she could smell it on me—the disrepute, I mean.
Winter was almost over when I sent a package of clothes to my sisters' hostel. Sweaters, woolen socks, new shoes. Sarika gave me grudging advice on size and colors, calling me a simpleton. On an impulse I bought silver anklets and left them by Sarika's bedside with my weekly payment. She said: "Money is enough. No presents." She never wore the anklets.
For Johnny, the caretaker, I bought a chess set from a Janpath curio store, with pieces carved from dark and light wood. He was happy to see me once again. "I am in your debt for this," he said. To remove some of his obligation, I played our next match with great focus and beat him in a fierce king and pawn endgame. Any awkwardness from our last exchange was gone.
I wasn't surprised when Bua commented on my new shoes. I told her Sarika Aunty had given me some tuition referrals. "I see you've both kept me in the dark," she said. "Be cautious, beta, that woman is very clever."
As the days warmed, the wad of cash in my satchel grew in size. Its heft made me both excited and uneasy. I began to dream of renting a room in Paharganj. I'd bring my sisters to live with me. It would be tight at first. Bua would pretend to be upset, but secretly she'd be relieved.
I tried to open a bank account, but they wanted to know my source of income and see my guardian's ID card. Instead, I went to Sarika and asked her to hold on to most of my earnings.
"Don't trust me so much," she said, very seriously.
"I have nowhere else to keep it."
She was amused. "I will charge interest."
"I know," I said, defending myself with my arms as she tried to clutch and bruise my chest. "This is that kind of bank."
She'd tied me to the bedposts one hot afternoon when we heard footsteps followed by banging on the bedroom door. At first I thought Bibiji had escaped. Then the door crashed open, and Mr. Khanna stood before us in a brown safari suit. We had carelessly left the back door unlocked. I wrenched myself free of my restraints, chafing my wrists badly.
Panic flowered on Sarika's face, but only for a moment. With exaggerated slowness, she reached for her bra and bathrobe, while I stumbled into my discarded jeans and T-shirt.
"If you can't knock like a civilized person, at least have the courtesy to look away," she said to her husband. But I could see that her hands were shaking.
Mr. Khanna's wide, brutish face appeared paralyzed on one side. "All these years I thought the hag was half-mad," he said hoarsely. "Then one day I asked myself: Ashok, how long since Sarika nagged you for anything? She seems content. What has changed?" He licked his lips as if they were parched. "You were certainly clever, Sarika. It took my man quite a while to discover your tricks." He produced an envelope and threw it at her. Photos spilled to the floor.
"Get out," Sarika said, eyes looking down. It took me a second to realize she meant me. I was flustered, but worried for her safety. "Now," she hissed. "I'll take care of it."
"Sorry, Uncleji," I mumbled stupidly as I passed Mr. Khanna. The thick, stubby fingers of his right hand were clenched as though around an invisible club.
"Beta," he said, "ask your bua to arrange your funeral party."
I grabbed my satchel from the dining table and fled. Bibiji, let free, was shucking peas on the floor. She rocked back and forth and chanted noisily.
Later that night, I climbed up to my bua's flat, my heart flapping like a wild bird in a cage. Everyone was watching TV with blank expressions. Nothing has happened, I thought. Sarika has managed it. Then Bua rose and asked me to follow her to the veranda. I saw the smirks on my cousins' faces and my legs turned to leaden weights.
Mr. Khanna had been over. He claimed I'd dropped in on Sarika asking for more cash. I'd complained that my bua withheld food and money. Sarika had listened because I'd been so respectful in the past. Then, in full view of Bibiji, I'd tried to give Sarika a hug. She had smelled cheap liquor on my breath and gently pushed me away. I was a boy, and boys can get stupid ideas when they have a woman's attention. But I had been insistent. I'd demanded a kiss. I had pulled so hard on Sarika's arm that I had badly bruised her.
I flinched. I knew who had caused that injury. Then I saw how red Bua's eyes were.
"You have one hour to pack your things," she said.
"Where will I go?" I said, becoming angry. My college exams were a week away.
"I don't know. Stay with a friend. Get a hotel with all the money you are making. Go indulge your new habits—fancy clothes and, now, drinking."
"What Mr. Khanna told you wasn't the truth," I said quietly.
"Sarika has a known reputation, beta. But this is a public shaming. Whatever his reasons, Khanna will make trouble if he sees you here."
As I was leaving, she stuffed some hundred-rupee notes into my hand. I didn't refuse, but once outside I dropped the notes in the mail slot.
I camped outside the graveyard gates with my bags. There were any number of cheap hotels in Paharganj, but I was in the mood to see what destitution felt like. The air was dusty and full of exhaust fumes. Till midnight, traffic was brisk on Ramdwara Road with people buying vegetables by the hiss of gas lanterns and groups of raggedy foreigners stumbling to their hovels, high on hashish. Soon, the market began closing down. A number of vendors put out their bedding right on their stands and carts. The smell of rotting vegetables hung like an unwelcome blanket in the night heat, the quiet broken by snatches of disco music blaring from hotel rooftops.
I was jostled awake during the night, I thought, by someone brushing against my luggage with evil intentions. But it was just stray dogs chasing enormous rats.
In the morning, Johnny took me to his bachelor abode. It was what I'd imagined for my sisters and me—one room in an alley not far from the lodge where I met some of my aunties. It overlooked a shared courtyard with a peepal tree. Johnny owned a kerosene stove, some aluminum pots and utensils, one wooden cot, and a trunk. There were no family photos. The solitary bright spot was a postcard taped on the wall showing blue skies over a white sand beach.
"My cousin in Mauritius," he explained. "He says I should emigrate, but I'm too old."
"Thank you, Johnny," I said. "As soon as my exams are over I'll find another place."
"Play chess with me every night, and you can stay forever."
That evening, the power went out while I was studying, and, with a hand on my thigh, he made a very different request of me. It was put gently, but with a clear expectation. Initially I was anxious, even fearful. But, unlike my last lover, Johnny was tender in his attentions before he was forceful. Later, I realized I enjoyed being held in the safety of his short, burly arms.
I knew Sarika would be waiting for a message so we could settle accounts and discuss the future. If she was aware how close I was, we could find a way to meet. I was sure even she was feeling badly about turning me in.
Meanwhile, I had to resume business on my own. I phoned an aunty by the alias of Devika. This lady, whose voice I knew well, said, "Wrong number." I wasn't concerned; it only meant I'd called at an inconvenient time. But two days later, the number was cut off. In this way, one by one, the numbers in my diary disappeared from service, snuffed out by an invisible hand.
I went to see the aunty on Doctor's Lane, and another bungalow I'd visited many times near Bengali Market. I rang and knocked in both places, but no one answered.
"Friend," I told Johnny one morning during these harrowing days, "one more favor from you. Please take a message to a lady in Basant Lane. Tell her I need to settle my tuition account." I'd told Johnny I'd fought with my bua and it was awkward going back to the railway colony. For his trouble, I put money into the pocket of his shirt hanging on a nail.
"I am a bachelor," he protested, "what use do I have for that?" But I didn't listen; I needed as little charity as possible. As he dressed to leave, I wrapped what was left of my earnings inside my underwear and locked them in my suitcase.
All day I paced in his room. As the sun got stronger, the walls heated up, until I felt I was being slowly cooked. In the late afternoon I must have fallen asleep. When I awoke, my half-shirt drenched in sweat, Johnny was priming the kerosene stove in the dark, the blue flame lighting up his creased face. The way he crouched on his haunches, his compact upper body folded over as he worked, made me feel a pang of affection for him, my one loyal friend.
"I met your lady friend in the railway flats," he said. "She wouldn't let me in. She said no one needs a tutor now."
"What about settling what she owes me? For her nephew's tuition?"
"She got angry. She said: 'We've paid our dues. Tell the tutor to keep what he has. But there is no more work.' Then she shut the door in my face."
It was as though someone had shot me point-blank through the heart. In bed that night, I turned away when Johnny reached for me. He was silent for a while. Then he said, in his somber way: "I don't know all your troubles, Mukesh. But if you've been treated unjustly, you must stand up for yourself."
Over several mornings I wandered down Basant Lane with a dark umbrella over my head, looking over the boundary wall at the buildings rising in staggered rows. Days of punishing sunlight had unevenly bleached the pink distemper on the outside of the buildings; to my eyes they had a mottled, diseased appearance.
I was sure Sarika was padlocking her doors now. I noticed that adjoining flats on each floor shared the narrow servants' balcony, with just a wall dividing it into two parts. A plan took shape in my head.
I knew Sarika headed to her gym and beauty salon on Monday mornings. I waited with my umbrella outside the colony gate to see if this ritual had changed, and, indeed, it had not. I followed her as she walked to the taxi stand on the main road. Her slender profile from the back, the sight of her pert shoulders in a T-shirt, made me melt through the center of my body.
By the following Monday, my preparations were complete. I bought a length of strong rope, a crowbar, and a switchblade, and I put them inside a backpack. I got my hair cut with a quarter-inch clipper. Johnny said I looked different, tougher. I shaved closely and wore dark glasses and clean pants, shirt, and shoes. "Soon I'll stop being a burden on you," I told my friend. He shook his head at me indulgently, but I knew what I had to do.
I walked one last time toward Basant Lane. I entered the colony compound with confidence, my backpack over my shoulder. The guard at the gate saluted smartly. I climbed up the stairs in Sarika's building two at a time.
As I had expected, the front door of her flat had a large lock on the outside. The servant's door appeared bolted and locked from the inside—Bibiji was trapped. But the neighbor's service entrance was open; they illegally sublet their quarters and people always went in and out. I stepped through and walked along the servants' balcony toward Sarika's side. It was quiet. If anyone saw me, I would say I was Mrs. Khanna's nephew, locked out by my aunt.
I straddled the dividing wall between the two flats, hanging precariously off the parapet as I crossed over. A vein in my temple throbbed. I found the door to Sarika's kitchen latched from inside, but I was a contractor's son and knew railway construction. I cracked open the foot latch with a few kicks, then leaned against the lower part of the door. It strained open a few inches. I reached into the gap with my crowbar and pried down the top latch.
I found Bibiji cowering on the living room floor. She hiccupped and gurgled as I tied up her hands and wrapped a strip of cloth around her mouth. Her eyes widened when I used my knife to cut the rope. She fell down as if dead. I picked her up and took her to her room.
For an hour I examined every item in the household: refrigerator magnets, ashtrays, the doll case, confidential files in Mr. Khanna's desk. I lay on Sarika's bed, but it felt strange and unfamiliar somehow. I searched through open cupboards for money, though all I found were bedsheets and pillowcases.
I heard the front door open and close, and then the squeak of the inner deadbolt being drawn. If only we had taken such precautions before. I waited in Bibiji's room, where the old woman lay facedown, groaning occasionally.
Sarika screamed once, seeing Bibiji trussed up like a goat, but I had my knife out and Sarika was a smart woman. I made her sit down in a chair and tied her hands and ankles. She was wearing a polo shirt, light jeans, sneakers. She had cropped her hair below her ears. It made her look even more like a boy. Her hands smelled of fresh nail polish. Her left eye twitched and she cringed at my touch, but she stayed quiet.
"I came to settle our business," I said, keeping my voice steady even though my temples were pounding hard.
"The network is gone," she replied, leaning forward. "I told your friend with the long face."
"Mr. Khanna shut it down?" I said, trying to sound reasonable.
"I did," she shot back. "Ashok knew about the boys, but not yet all the ladies."
"There were other boys?" I burst out without thinking.
Contempt flashed across her face. "Poor Mukesh," she said, despite her position. "You were only the cheapest."
I winced and shut my eyes. I clenched my aching head between my fists, the knife in my hand. When I opened my eyes, she was attempting to rise.
"Don't move!" I shouted. I was finished with her indignities. "I'm only asking once: Where is the money?" I held up the knife.
"There is two thousand in the almirah. Untie Bibiji and I'll get it. But if you ever return, my husband will be waiting." Was it fear or amusement in the curl of her lips?
"I'm not a thief who needs to hide. I came for my due, not charity."
She looked at me as though I were an exasperating child. "Then why threaten me with this bandit act? Ask the one who has it."
"Mr. Khanna?"
"My husband doesn't need your money," she said scornfully. "Your sad-faced friend. I wondered why you sent him. I could tell he was unreliable with just a glance."
I felt punched in the gut. My legs became unsteady. "Why would you lie?" I cried hoarsely.
"What kind of company are you keeping? You've forgotten everything I taught you." She'd risen to her feet despite my admonition. She held out her hands in a wordless demand to be untied. She was commanding me, just as she always had, from the day we met in her flat to the last time she farmed me out as her bull.
I stood staring at her open-mouthed. I should have known she'd efficiently neutralize my threats. Cornered and defeated, I raised my knife to slash her ropes, but just then, a sharp knock on the front door startled us both.
"Sarika," a gruff, familiar voice called out. "Open the door. Are you alone?"
For a moment I thought time itself had unwound—a strange, sick sensation.
"Good work, Mukesh," Sarika said. "Did you alert him before coming?" But there was a false note in her bravado now.
"What is he doing here?" I hissed, as the knocking changed into banging. The room was beginning to spin.
"He must have posted his man outside. Did you think of that when you made your plan?"
The pounding grew insistent. Bibiji groaned. Mr. Khanna was making loud threats that he'd break the front door down, that no barrier could keep Sarika from him. The bolt on the door, though strong, couldn't hold him out indefinitely.
"What should I do?" I asked, my gut in my throat. I was completely in her hands once again.
We heard the cracking of wood and metal. But instead of panicking, Sarika grew thoughtful. Slowly, her face took on an expression of perverse satisfaction, like those moments when she would examine her love bruises. "Stab me," she whispered, like an endearment.
I looked at her in fear and disbelief.
"You have to," she said calmly. "Remember, the ropes won't convince him."
"I couldn't," I said, trembling like a man with convulsions.
"Do it," she ordered. "Now! Quick." And she smiled the most chilling smile I have ever seen. "Bring it here, I'll help you."
I ran back to Paharganj. I kept waiting for shouts from behind me, a crowd chasing me down. Instead, people backed away when they saw the blood on my shirt. A foreigner with matted hair, wearing a torn shirt and lungi, said, "Man, are you okay?" but I brushed past him. When I got to Johnny's, my luggage was lying outside his door. My clothes were there but the money was gone from my suitcase. The lock on the door had been changed. I peered inside through a crack in the courtyard-side window. The room was empty. I pulled out a fresh shirt. My fingers were so rigid, my hands shook so hard unfastening and fastening buttons took an eternity.
I abandoned my luggage and went to the cemetery. The workers grinned and told me Johnny Sahib had already left on a holiday. I came out in the bright, hot street and wanted to find a place to lay my head. There was so much time till nightfall. I stopped by an open gutter and heaved. Sarika didn't have to help me in the end; the knife had slipped into her side with effortless satisfaction. "It feels like heaven," she'd said, her fair face twisted in pain. She had fallen in an awful corkscrew motion, on her knees then her hands. "First-class," she'd said, before she closed her eyes. Did she know it felt good to me too? Hell was the look on Mr. Khanna's face as we passed each other in the living room, my bloody knife in my hand.
I wandered through the alleys and byways of Paharganj for hours. I ventured by New Delhi Station but there were too many police cars. Eventually, it was dark. I knew I had to run, but first I needed to rest. I scoped the cemetery perimeter until I found a place I could clamber over. With difficulty, I scaled the wall and jumped inside. I found a freshly dug grave and crawled in. The earth was cool as I lay on my back. I stared at the inky sky and waited for dawn's unforgiving light.
Delhi Noir, edited by Hirsh Sawhney, will be published this August by Akashic Books.
Mohan Sikka
Mohan Sikka currently lives in Brooklyn, New York. His story "Uncle Musto Take a Mistress" was published in One Story and won an O. Henry Award. He spent part of his childhood and teenage years in Delhi, where he lived in various railway colonies.
Joseph Rodriguez: Taxi: Journey Through My Windows 1977–1987
By Michael Shorris
NOV 2021 | ArtSeen
Late morning on East Houston, a trucker leans from his cab to look, and a young mother twists from her stroller to stare. The onlookers are studying Taxi: Journey Through My Windows 1977–1987, Joseph Rodriguez's hard-to-miss new show along the chain link fences of First Street Green.
The Smell of Bread Forms a Map of a Life
By Joshua Segun-Lean
NOV 2022 | Critics Page
It is in moments like this, in cramped spaces, among unfamiliar bodies, that darkness again reminds us of the power it wielded over our earliest ancestors before mankind harnessed the movement of electrons.
Lilly Dancyger's Negative Space
By Jacquelyn Marie Gallo
Negative Space, Lilly Dancyger's part-memoir, part-art criticism debut in which a bildungsroman-esque narrative of the author's journey from "a fatherless girl" to "a fatherless woman" is braided with an investigation into her deceased father's art, as well as his past.
Marguerite Louppe: Diagramming Space
It is a mystery how the twentieth-century French painter Marguerite Louppe has escaped the recognition she has deserved for so long. Born in 1902 in eastern France, Louppe and her family moved to Paris shortly after her birth. Louppe studied at several academies there, including the Académie Julian, where her fellow students included Dubuffet, Duchamp, Bourgeois, and Maurice Brianchon, whom she married in 1934.
Woman vs. the Machine: Jo Anne Simon
New York Abortion Fund Expands Women's Choices
Don't Believe the Hype about Mike
Is Williamsburg's Boom a Bust? Ward Dennis with Williams Cole
A Local Journey: Daniel Goldstein with Brian Carreira
Son2Mother
By Kevin Powell
Fight to Stay
By Cyrus C. Morgan
Leaving Tehran
By Nasinine T.
An Epistemic Shift in Iran
By Hamid Dabashi
Ka-Pow! Bang! Crash! Down Goes Another Bubble! Doug Henwood in Conversation with Christian Parenti
The Revenge of Print
By Eric Obenauf
In Print We Trust
By Sarah Hromack
The East, The West, and Sex: A History of Erotic Encounters
By Kaitlin Bell
Sherman Drexler with Phong Bui
Arthur Simms with Phong Bui
Miles Bellamy and Jonas Kyle with Phong Bui
Remembering Dick Bellamy
By Richard Serra
Sequence and Time: Some Thoughts on a Panathenaic Amphora
By Michael Straus
John Yau with Phong Bui
Robert C. Morgan with Phong Bui
Letter From DUBLIN
Letter From BERLIN
The 53rd Venice Biennale
By Cora Fisher
Brooklyn Dispatches Bushwick Biennial: Venice It Ain't
Reflections on the Electric Mirror: New Feminist Video
Welcome to Gulu
Jonathan Schipper: Irreversibility
Katrin Sigurdardóttir
Dan Graham: Beyond
By Jen Schwarting
Jack Youngerman: Triads/Quadrads
Patty Chang: The Product of Love
Jeremy Sigler: Sculpture
Wiser than God
Michelangelo's First Painting
By Kara L. Rooney
Airing the Spirits: Song Dong and Zhao Xiang Yuan's Material World
Susan Bernofsky with Jed Lipinski
Nonfiction: Large and Largesse
Fiction: Are You Experienced?
Nonfiction: When the Living's Good
By Polly Rosenwaike
Nonfiction: All That's Gilded Isn't Gold
By Paul Devlin
Poetry: The Problems of Pink and Green
By Jackson Taylor
By Charles Bernstein, Caroline Seklir, Paul Charles Griffin, Raina Lipsitz, and Cole Larsen
Fiction: The Show That Smells
By Bruce Seymour
Fiction: Circle Takes The Square
By Nicolle Elizabeth
Fiction: Proof You Can't Escape Yourself
By Caroline Seklir
Fiction: Yet Another Family Drama
By Raina Lipsitz
Materializations of the Immaterial
Butch Morris with Alessandro Cassin
Johnny B. has a Patch
By Joseph Schafer
A Whisperer's World
By Alex Littlefield
Alvin Ailey Celebrates 50 Years at BAM
By Erika Eichelberger
Dance Theater in Small Spaces
Belly's Beginnings: A Flash Course in Arabic Dance
Rain Train Transcript Cube
Considered and Constructed
Trey McIntyre Project: A Nourishing Breath of Fresh Air from Boise
By Mary Staub
FTA Montréal: Jell-o Molds, Crucifixes, Sleeping Bags
But For What You Are Not
Synchronicity, Dysfunction, Spectacle
Elegy and Its Resonance in a Vanishing World
New Films from Kenneth Anger
Fortune and Gory, Kid. Fortune and Gory
Attack of the Girlymen
Meta-Documentary of a Meta-Documentary
By Malcolm Wyer
Film Going On Steroids
By Marian Masone
On the Camera Arts and Consecutive Matters: The Writings of Hollis Frampton
By Keith Sanborn
A Tribute to Hollis Frampton
By Jonas Mekas
Lashings of the Old Ultra-Violence
Around a Table with a Lot of Friends: Daniel Talbott with Mark Schultz
Bullseye Brooklyn: Sponsored by Nobody's Right on Target
By Brook Stowe
Felipe Alfau Doesn't Want You to See This
Excerpts From the Three Adaptation of Locos: A Comedy of Gestures by Felipe Alfau
By Richard Toth, Normandy Sherwood, and Scott Adkins
Downtown Drama: The undergroundzero festival at P.S. 122
By Suzy Evans
The Hunting Party
By Michael Washburn
On the Nisqually
Sometimes a Pet
By A.D. Jameson
RERUNS REZOOMED: a serial novel
By Jonathan Baumbach
MORE OPENINGS AND CLOSINGS
By Richard Kostelanetz
An excerpt from the novel Grit
By George Makris
And neither is there pain
By Alan Davies
Pollock Pouring
By Clayton Eshleman
Eileen Myles with Jeremy Sigler


text:
MIND Research hosts math fair in Chicago
By Laura Ascione , Editorial Director, Content Services, @eSN_Laura
Illinois Governor Bruce Rauner and Secretary of Education Beth Purvis cut ribbon on free educational event
Thousands of Chicagoans experienced math through games, puzzles, theater performances, music, technology and even a bounce house on September 26 at Navy Pier.
MIND Research Institute's 2015 Math Fair: At the Square Root of Fun, was brought to Chicago in partnership with LEAP Innovations to engage children with fun yet challenging math experiences outside of the classroom.
Illinois Governor Bruce Rauner and Secretary of Education Beth Purvis welcomed guests to the Math Fair. "Math skills are really, really important and their value is only growing," said Governor Rauner. "Every child deserves the American Dream, and that's where education comes in, and math is the key."
Research shows that early math skills are the number one predictor of later academic achievement. That, and the fact that 20 percent of all US jobs require skills in at least one of the science, technology, engineering or math (STEM) fields, has helped to make it a national education priority to inspire a new generation to embrace math skills and problem solving.
Joining Rauner and Purvis to cut the ribbon on the fair were Annette Gurley, Chief of Teaching and Learning at Chicago Public Schools; Phyllis Lockett, CEO of LEAP Innovations; and Matthew Peterson, Ph.D., co-founder and CEO of MIND Research Institute.
The 56,000-square-foot Math Fair included 20 exhibits for visitors of all ages. Activities included a Math Mystery Theater where kids used iPads to interact with performers and help solve math puzzles, 3D-printed mathematical curiosities for kids to touch and explore concepts like conic sections and parabolas, a laser game that let players use mirrors to discover symmetry and angles, a station for children to build their own games, the Lil' Mathematician Zone designed to engage children 5 years old and under with stories and tactile games that parents can replicate at home, and more. Visitors also played ancient African games at South of the Sahara, an exhibit unveiled for the first time in Chicago.
"At LEAP Innovations we are creating the future of education right here, right now – and we're thrilled to have partners like MIND Research Institute who are dedicated to the same work," said Phyllis Lockett, CEO of LEAP Innovations. "When learning outside the classroom is fun, engaging and connects to what's happening inside of school, it helps bring the whole learning experience to life."
Throughout the day, family math workshops helped parents learn to conquer "Homework Without Tears," demonstrate to their children how "Math is Everywhere" and more. At the conclusion of the fair, top-ranking teams of the 2015 national K-12 Game-a-thon were also recognized. Take-home activities booklets provided in both English and Spanish should help families continue conversations about math and problem solving with their children.
"At MIND we have a two-pronged approach. We have our ST Math program in schools and our MathMINDs programs outside of school where we engage with families and the community," said Matthew Peterson, Ph.D., co-founder and CEO of the MIND Research Institute. "If we want to change how people feel about math, we have to change how they experience math and see its beauty in the world around them, and that's what the Math Fairs and other MathMINDs events are all about."
The Math Fair is the brainchild of Peterson, who also created the ST Math® game-based learning program used by more than 22,000 children in Chicago-area schools.
The national Math Fair is the cornerstone of the MathMINDs movement, which aims to shift the cultural perception of math from being scary and frustrating to exciting and essential. To do this, MathMINDs engages the community and students in hands-on mathematical experiences outside the classroom. These include math camps, family math nights, the national K-12 Game-a-thon, and other activities where students and families discover they are capable problem-solvers in a mathematical world.
The Math Fair sponsors included CME Group Foundation, IMC Financial Markets and the Chicago Sun-Times. At each exhibit space, corporate and individual volunteers brought the fair to life by facilitating learning experiences and explaining the related mathematical concepts.
Check out the Math Fair Storify for photos and visitor experiences.
Material from a press release was used in this report.
Laura Ascione
Laura Ascione is the Editorial Director, Content Services at eSchool Media. She is a graduate of the University of Maryland's prestigious Philip Merrill College of Journalism. Find Laura on Twitter: @eSN_Laura

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Гарольд Волтер Крото (; —30 квітня 2016) — британський хімік, лауреат Нобелівської премії з хімії за 1996 рік спільно з Робертом Керлом і Річардом Смоллі з формулюванням «за відкриття фулеренів», лауреат медалі Коплі (2004).

Примітки

Посилання
 Автобіографія на сайті Нобелівського комітету

Британські хіміки
Нагороджені медаллю Коплі
Члени Лондонського королівського товариства
Члени Європейської академії
Померли від бічного аміотрофічного склерозу
Польські євреї Англії

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


text:
Latest Off Beat Story
Computer hacker and Wikileaks founder Julian Assange has complained about IT provision in his prison. • A hearing at Westminster Magistrates' Court was told he had been unable to work on his case because his computer at HM Belmarsh prison was not up to standard. Assange, who before starting Wikileaks worked as an IT consultant in
01/02/23 Laugh at the lighter side of Policing with our daily cartoons.
See today's cartoon
View all cartoons »
More Off Beat Stories
No laughing matter for police despite 'rebellion' sending in the clown
Performer captured in mid-air arrest praises 'kind officers giving me hot vegan food'. • A former police officer and a professional performer have helped bring the lyrics of a song made famous by Frank Sinatra in 1973 to life at a mass protest in London some 46 years later. Isn't it rich, are we a pair, Me here at last on the grou
Who do you support, would-be jurors in Hillsborough trial asked to declare
Despite many millions of entries on the disaster on social media, judge warns jury: Don't Google it. • The 12 good men and women set to hear one of most the important retrials of the 21st century have already been subjected to intense scrutiny – before the case is officially underway. Potential jurors in the trial of Hillsbor
Ex-police chief facing stint behind bars
But Sir George Hamilton's 'sentence' is all in a good cause. • A former national force chief plans to end up behind bars tomorrow – without breaking the law. Ex-Police Service of Northern Ireland Chief Constable Sir George Hamilton will be "locked up" on Friday as part of a charity challenge to highlight the plight of the es
Recognition of service after 30 years was 'well worth the wait'
'Treasured' memories for leading inspector with the Specials. • An officer has finally received recognition of her lead role in the Special Constabulary – 30 years after leaving the service. Former SC Inspector Chr
See more off beat news »
Excelerate Technology Ltd


text:
package User;

use strict;

require Exporter;

use vars qw(@ISA $VERSION);

$VERSION = '1.6';

# Preloaded methods go here.

sub Home {

  return $ENV{HOME}        if $ENV{HOME};
  return $ENV{USERPROFILE} if $ENV{USERPROFILE};
  return  "";

}

sub Login {
    return getlogin || getpwuid( $< ) || $ENV{ LOGNAME } || $ENV{ USER } ||
        $ENV{ USERNAME } || 'unknown';
}

1;
__END__
# Below is stub documentation for your module. You better edit it!

=head1 NAME

User - API for locating user information regardless of OS

=head1 SYNOPSIS

  use User;

  my $cfg = Config::IniFiles->new
        (
          -file    => sprintf("%s/%s", User->Home, ".ncfg"),
          -default => 'Default'
        );

  print "Your login is ", User->Login, "\n";

=head1 DESCRIPTION

This module is allows applications to retrieve per-user characteristics.

=head1 METHODS

=over 4

=item Home

Returns a location that can be expected to be a users "Home" directory
on either Windows or Unix.

While one way of writing this would be to check for operating system
and then check the expected location for an operation system of that type,
I chose to do the following:

 sub Home {

  return $ENV{HOME}        if $ENV{HOME};
  return $ENV{USERPROFILE} if $ENV{USERPROFILE};
  return  "";

 }

In other words, if $HOME is defined in the user's environment, then
that is used. Otherwise $USERPROFILE is used. Otherwise "" is returned.

A contribution for Macintosh (or any other number of OS/arch combinations) is
greatly solicited.

=item Login

Returns login id of user on either Unix or NT by checking C<getlogin>,
C<getpwuid>, and various environment variables.

=back

=head2 EXPORT

None by default.

=head1 COPYRIGHT INFO

Copyright: Copyright (c) 2002 Terrence Monroe Brannon.
All rights reserved.  This
program is free software; you can redistribute it and/or modify it
under the same terms as Perl itself.

License: GPL, Artistic, available in the Debian Linux Distribution at
/usr/share/common-licenses/{GPL,Artistic}

=head1 AUTHOR

T.M. Brannon, tbone@cpan.org

Additions by Rob Napier, rnapier@employees.org

=head1 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to offer profuse thanks to my fellow perl monk at
www.perlmonks.org, the_slycer, who told me where HOME could be
found on Windows machines.

I would also like to thank Bob Armstrong for providing me with the
text of the copyright notice and for including this in the Debian
Linux distribution.

perl(1).

=cut

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


Cappadocia, which has the most interesting earthy forms of the world formed by an interaction lasting for millions of years, is visited by millions of people every year and even every season. Gorgeous underground cities, natural and historical beauties, fairy chimneys, faith centres, interesting landforms and many others are just a few of the reasons you can visit Cappadocia! Moreover, this unique region ranks first among the places where our country has an entirely different atmosphere during the winter months. Why, in the winter, why Cappadocia? Here is the information that will allow you to visit Cappadocia which witnesses the landscapes that you cannot see anywhere else in the world!
Many of us learned during the school years that the floodwaters that descended from the valley slopes eroded the soil formed by tuffs due to the wind and that a natural formation called a fairy chimney emerged. But it is an entirely different experience to see these formations and witness the fascinating atmosphere! The fairy chimneys you can look between Avanos, Uchisar and Urgup are found in countries like America, Canada, China and Serbia. If you don't want to go that far, we recommend you to see this paradise region next to us.
Hot Air Balloon tour Cappadocia is the first activity that comes to mind. Cappadocia's unique nature and interesting landforms can be seen with the most beautiful balloon round. Moreover, the balloon tour gives you a completely different interpretation of flying. For this reason, you can visit Cappadocia, which turns into a white paradise especially in winter, to make a hot air balloon tour!
Göreme Open Air Museum, which is known to be home to monastic life until the 8th century AD, is on the UNESCO World Heritage List. The historic houses, churches, schools and dining halls in the region, consisting of rock settlements established in an area like a valley, are remarkable. In addition to these structures, some of the churches have amazing and historical wall paintings.
Ihlara Valley is one of the largest canyons in the world. This private canyon offers a unique trekking environment for millions of nature enthusiasts every year. While walking, carved structures along the course and frescoed churches accompany you. The Melendiz River, which you see towards the end of the course, is perfect for a meal break!
One of the information that will allow you to see the Cappadocia is underground cities in the region. The cities, which have been carved deep into the ground and sustained by large communities, are connected through secret passages. The reason for this is, of course, the desire to have a safe environment against attacks. The most known underground cities of Cappadocia are Kaymaklı, Derinkuyu, Özkonak and Mucur.
The best place to watch the sunset in Cappadocia is Kızılçukur Valley. The valley full of rock formations, made up of red tuff, changes colour between red and green tones according to daylight and takes on a completely different view.
One of the most important reasons to choose Cappadocia during the winter months is the accommodation options with the concept of cave hotel. Everything you need to have a great holiday experience in the rock hotels created with the restoration of old rock settlements!
The tuffaceous soil structure of Cappadocia as a result of its geographical features and volcanic effects makes it suitable for the development of viticulture activities. As a result, Urgup has unique wines that you cannot taste anywhere else. This region is very ambitious regarding grape wine tasting without definitely needing to return!
The most beautiful winter holiday!
There are countless beauty cities or regions in our country, but there are generally ideal seasons for these regions. Cappadocia is the only address for non-seasonal holidays! Although this particular region is another beauty in all seasons, it has a white view, especially in winter.
Access to Cappadocia is straightforward. Moreover, there are accommodation options for every budget in the region. Winter holidays are generally costly, but if you are in search of a more economical holiday, Cappadocia might be the perfect place for you! For this reason, you need to start planning your holiday in Cappadocia.


We stay home on Mondays (minus my trip to the gym before the kids wake up). Since we are usually on-the-go every single day, I really look forward to our Mondays at home! We can stay in our jammies/sweats all day and goof around on mommy's bed (my kids' favorite activity).
We have our little buddy Will on Mondays and we all enjoy his company!
Perks include enjoying these birthday presents from my friends Hannah and Tiffany, who obviously have me completely figured out; and my little dishwasher-in-training (I have high hopes for him).
This entry was posted by Mollie on Monday, March 28th, 2011 at 9:44 am	and is filed under Just For Fun, Life & Times. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
oh man. after today, i am so coveting your monday morning! also, it never ceases to amaze me how "wilkinson" our girls are, since i have tons of pics of cambria making the exact same smile as natalie in that pic:) love them!
I'm ready to come play on the bed with them! Thanks for the peek at your day.
Can I come over on a Monday? Are we allowed to eat crackers in bed? Have books and snacks, will travel in jammies. Love you all!
I love those lazy days. I think the kids really enjoy them too. Natalie and Ben are too adorable! Love their pj's!
I have high hopes for our boys too, can't wait to direct all their engery into useful projects! 😉 oooh, I didn't think to put the caramel sauce in coffee, I'm going to have to try that, sounds delish.


Use the men's restroom'. Want to share your story? These women publicly shamed two gay men for raising a child together. This privacy notice tells you what to expect when Gay Star News collects personal information. Designed by CK Creative. Bullied trans girl who received threats speaks out. Another fan also tried his luck but was apprehended by security.
Inside Roxanne Pallett and Ryan Thomas' secret ten-year feud Retrieved November 19, The views expressed in the contents above are those of our users and do not necessarily reflect the views of MailOnline. Sam has been very public about his relationship with his boyfriend Cammisano, right.


Fifteen-month-old grandson Eli just spent the weekend at our house without his parents for the first time ever. We had a really, really fun time. Exhausting, but fun. And though, after raising three children of my own, I should have remembered what it's like being in charge of a toddler, it was clear that a quarter century had dulled my memory.
You have to know where he is and what he's doing at all times.
The next mealtime rolls around just about the time you're finished cleaning up from the last one.
Poopie diapers happen more often than you can imagine.
Just because the grandparents think it's time to go night-night doesn't mean it really is time to go night-night.
My most fascinating discovery was what Eli likes to play with. He's at the age where he's no longer interested in plastic key rings or socks with bells on the toes or stuffed animals that make crackly noises. Nope. He's into the good stuff now.
Did we have fun? You bet we did.
So much fun that I'm counting down the days until Eli comes for his next visit. But in the meantime, I'll be going night-night when I think it's time to go night-night.


text:
The End Plastic Waste Innovation Platform Expands To Shanghai, São Paolo, and Johannesburg
Business, Environment, Next Generation, Tech
Alderney launches milk refill facility to reduce plastic bottle waste
Business, Packaging, Wildlife
Austrian Airlines will turn plastic cups into crude oil
Business, Environment, Packaging, Tech
Big retailers accused of 'watering down' proposed bottle recycling scheme
Government, Packaging, Society
Plastic exports should be banned, say MPs
Environment, Government
eXXpedition - Circumnavigating the globe for plastic pollution research
Business, Environment, Events, Ocean, Tech
Big retailers accused of 'watering down' proposed bottle recycling scheme
Many of the UK's biggest retailers have been accused of trying to 'water down' a new proposed plastic bottle recycling scheme that is set to be rolled out by the government. Campaigners have been asking for...
A group of cross-party MPs are pressing for a motion to completely ban plastic waste exports to the developing world. The Early Day Motion, backed by MPs including Zac Goldsmith and Caroline Lucas, focusses on...
UK's Department for Transport releases £23m of funding for trials of solar footpaths, geothermal de-icing systems, and potholes filled with plastic Britains roads could soon become a lot more eco-friendly t...
Tourist tax planned in Bali to address plastic pollution
Government, Society
Tourists visiting Bali will soon have to pay a $10 tax which has been planned to address the issue of plastic waste on the island. According to the Bali Environment Agency, 3,500 tonnes of rubbish is being gen...
Government bans plastic straws, stirrers and cotton buds
Business, Government, Ocean, Society, Wildlife
The proposed plan laid out in October 2018, aims to remove the harmful plastic waste elements - potentially saving our wildlife and waterways. The figures for use of these products annually in England alon...
New York Governor Cuomo wants to ban single-use plastic bags
Government, Ocean, Packaging
This week, New York Governor Andrew Cuomo has made a commitment to driving forward plans to become the second US state to ban single-use plastic bags. In proposals, Cuomo is including this commitment in his 20...
MPs: government needs to stop seas becoming a "sewer"
Environment, Government, Ocean
A group of cross-party MPs have urged the government to create a new global alliance tasked with protecting the seas. With plastic pollution set to treble in the next decade, according to environmental aud...
On the day that the UK government announced that it is looking to impose restrictions on wood burning stoves and scented candles in a bid to reduce toxic air, it appears that there are plans to double the amou...
Business, Environment, Government, Ocean, Society
Following on from its recent support of swimmer Lewis Pugh's 'The Long Swim', an initiative to generate awareness about the need to clean the world's oceans, major broadcaster Sky is now teaming up with the UK...
Under new plans announced today by the UK government, the charge for plastic bags will be extended to all retailers and increased from 5p to 10p. In a consultation put forward by Environment Secretary Michael ...


text:
Ebersdorf ist eine Gemeinde mit  Einwohnern (Stand ) im Gerichtsbezirk Fürstenfeld bzw. Bezirk Hartberg-Fürstenfeld in der Steiermark.

Geografie

Geografische Lage
Ebersdorf liegt an der Pöllauer Safen im oststeirischen Hügelland. Die Gemeinde befindet sich etwa zehn Kilometer südlich der Bezirkshauptstadt Hartberg und ca. 40 km nordöstlich der Landeshauptstadt Graz. Neben dem Pöllauer Safen wird die Gemeinde im Süden vom Nörningbach, einem Nebenfluss der Pöllauer Safens, im gleichnamigen Tal durchflossen. Die nördliche Gemeindegrenze wird vom Dombach, einem Nebenfluss der Hartberger Safen gebildet.

Gemeindegliederung

Die Gemeinde besteht aus folgenden Katastralgemeinden und gleichnamigen Ortschaften (Einwohner Stand ):

 Ebersdorf () mit Ebersdorf-Steinfeld, Ebersdorfberg und Ebersdorfhöhe
 Nörning () mit Auffenberg, Harras und Schmiedbach
 Wagenbach () mit Dreihöf, Egg, Eichberg, Lichtenegg, Schmalzgrube und Waldviertel

Eingemeindungen
1968 wurden die selbständige Gemeinde Wagenbach und ein Teil der Gemeinde Neustift bei Sebersdorf mit Ebersdorf vereinigt.

Nachbargemeinden

Geschichte
Eberhardsdorf wurde 1170 erstmals urkundlich erwähnt und deutet auf seinen Gründer Eberhard von Öblarn. Nörning wird 1255 als Nurdinch und Wagenbach im Jahr 1423 erstmals urkundlich genannt.

Im Jahr 1418 fielen die Ungarn ein, 1529 und 1532 die Türken. 1532 wurde das Dorf vollständig verwüstet. Mitte des 16. Jahrhunderts bestand das Dorf aus 17 Höfen und einer Mühle. 1605 zerstörten die Haiducken das Dorf großteils. 1705 brannten die Kuruzzen große Teile des Dorfs nieder. 1770 wurde Ebersdorf mit Ebersdorfberg eine eigene Katastralgemeinde, seit 1849 ist Ebersdorf eine eigene Ortsgemeinde.

Bevölkerungsentwicklung

Kultur und Sehenswürdigkeiten

 Im Kultursaal finden Konzerte, Lesungen und Theatervorführungen statt. Der Saal kann auch für private Zwecke gemietet werden.
 Seit 2007 ist die Gemeinde Teil der Ökoregion Kaindorf.

Wirtschaft und Infrastruktur

Verkehr
Ebersdorf liegt an der Landesstraße von Sebersdorf nach Kaindorf. Diese Straße bietet eine direkte Zufahrt zu den großen Hauptverkehrsstraßen: In Sebersdorf wird in etwa vier Kilometer die Süd Autobahn A 2 nach Wien und Graz an der Anschlussstelle Sebersdorf/Bad Waltersdorf (126) erreicht, in Kaindorf in etwa fünf Kilometer Entfernung die Wechsel Straße B 54 von Hartberg nach Gleisdorf.

Ebersdorf liegt an keiner Bahnlinie. Der nächstgelegene Bahnhof befindet sich in etwa vier Kilometer Entfernung in Sebersdorf und bietet Zugang zur Thermenbahn mit zweistündlichen Regionalzug-Verbindungen nach Wien und Fehring.

Der Flughafen Graz ist über die Süd Autobahn erreichbar und ca. 65 km entfernt.

Ansässige Unternehmen
In Ebersdorf gibt es 45 Betriebe mit 190 Beschäftigten. Einige landwirtschaftliche Betriebe bieten Ab-Hof-Verkauf an.

Politik

Bürgermeister
Bürgermeister ist Gerald Maier (ÖVP), Vizebürgermeisterin ist Maria Kröpfl (ÖVP). Gemeindekassier ist Hermine Pichler (FPÖ).

Gemeinderat

Der Gemeinderat besteht aus 15 Mitgliedern und setzt sich seit der Gemeinderatswahl 2020 aus Mandaten der folgenden Parteien zusammen:

 12 Mandate ÖVP
 3 Mandate FPÖ

Die letzten Gemeinderatswahlen brachten die folgenden Ergebnisse:

Regionalpolitik
Die Gemeinde gehört zur LEADER-Region Oststeirisches Kernland und ist seit 2007 Teil der Ökoregion Kaindorf.

Am 20. November 2011 stimmten die Wahlberechtigten der Gemeinden Dienersdorf, Ebersdorf, Großhart, Hartl, Hofkirchen bei Hartberg, Kaindorf und Tiefenbach bei Kaindorf darüber ab, ob diese sieben Gemeinden anlässlich der Gemeindestrukturreform der Steiermark 2010–2015 zu einer Großgemeinde zusammengelegt werden sollen. Bei einer Wahlbeteiligung von insgesamt 65,66 % wurden 3351 gültige Stimmen gezählt. Von diesen sprachen sich lediglich 436 Wähler (13 %) für eine Zusammenlegung der Gemeinden aus, während 2915 Wähler (87 %) gegen eine Fusion stimmten. Damit wurde den Plänen der Steiermärkischen Landesregierung eine deutliche Absage erteilt.

Ein Konzept von 2012/13 sieht Ebersdorf eigenständig vor.

Wappen

Das Gemeindewappen wird seit 23. März 1970 geführt.

Wappenbeschreibung: "In einem von Silber und zu grün gespaltenen Schild vorn drei rote goldbesamte Rosen, hinten ein silbernes Andreaskreuz."

Die Rosen weisen auf das landwirtschaftlich geprägte Gemeindegebiet hin, das Kreuz des heiligen Andreas symbolisiert den Patron der Pfarrkirche Ebersdorf.

Persönlichkeiten

Ehrenbürger
 1970: Josef Krainer (1903–1971), Landeshauptmann der Steiermark 1948–1971
 1979 Friedrich Niederl (1920–2012), Landeshauptmann

Söhne und Töchter von Ebersdorf
 Josef Fink, 1941–1999 (Theologe, Künstler)

Weblinks

 Webseite der Gemeinde

Einzelnachweise

Randgebirge östlich der Mur
Ersterwähnung 1170


text:
Results for: alright Search Results
JOE COCKER...01-Feeling Alright
From Album - 1969 - With A Little Help From My Friends ...By STUDIO DELTA Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favour of fair use."
STUDIO DELTA Subscribe Unsubscribe 1
SAVOY BROWN...03 - I'll Make Everything Alright
From Album - 1972 - Hellbound Train ...By STUDIO DELTA Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favour of fair use."
CRAZY MABEL...06 It's Alright Ma
From Album - 1971 - Crazy Mabel ...By STUDIO DELTA ...Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favour of fair use."
CLIMAX B.B...05 - Alright Blue
From Album - 1970 - A Lot Of Bottle ...By STUDIO DELTA ...Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favour of fair use."
Is tramadol alright for your liver?
Tramadol Dosage. Your portion of tramadol will rely upon your degree of torment and how you respond to the drug. For somebody with cirrhosis (liver harm).
Web Pharma Care Subscribe Unsubscribe 0
ROBIN TROWER...07. That's Alright Mama
From Album - 2013 - Roots And Branches ...By STUDIO DELTA ...Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favour of fair use."
DOOBIE BROTHERS...07 - Jesus Is Just Alright
From Album - 1972 - Toulouse Street ...By STUDIO DELTA ...Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favour of fair use."
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UNDISPUTED TRUTH...03 - Girl You're Alright
From Album - 1973 - Law Of The Land ...By STUDIO DELTA ...Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favour of fair use."
UNDISPUTED TRUTH...08 - Feelin' Alright
Rob Frazier – It's Alright to Cry
Album Title: This Town Album Release Date: 1986
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Tough Trucks
Video of the toughest trucks in America, the NASCAR Racetrucks from the NASCAR Craftsman Truck Series! The song is "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting" by Nickelback.
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The Who at Kilburn 1977: "I Can't Explain"
Release Date: 11/18/08 Buy the DVD from Amazon! *******www.amazon****/gp/product/B001DWNUF6?ie=UTF8&tag=egamimediacom-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B001DWNUF6 Buy the Blu-ray from Amazon! *******www.amazon****/gp/product/B001DWNUI8?ie=UTF8&tag=egamimediacom-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B001DWNUI8 They are one of the greatest rock and roll bands of all time. For over four decades, they have changed modern music as we know it. But some of their most famous performances have never been released... until now. On December 15, 1977, The Who performed before a select invited audience at the Gaumont State Theatre in Kilburn, North London, to record a concert for Jeff Stein's film, The Kids Are Alright, which turned out to be one of the last live performances by drummer Keith Moon. Shot in 35mm, this holy grail for fans has been digitally restored and remastered in high-definitiion for the ultimate The Who experience. This 2-DVD set also includes The Who's powerhouse London Coliseum gig from 1969, a never-before-seen rarity and one of the band's personal favorites. Take an amazing journey with The Who like you've never seen or heard them before, featuring their greatest hits and hours of incredible footage! It's the rock discovery of the year! Two incredible concerts - totaling 138 minutes! Kilburn Songs: "Can't Explain," "Substitute," "Baba O'Reilly (Teenage Wasteland)," "My Wife / Going Mobile," "Behind Blue Eyes," "Dreaming from the Waist," "Pinball Wizard," "I'm Free," "Tommy's Holiday Camp," "Summertime Blues," "Shakin' All Over," "My Generation," "Join Together," "Who Are You?," "Won't Get Fooled Again" London Coliseum Songs: "Heaven and Hell," "Can't Explain," "Fortune Teller," "Tattoo," "Young Man Blues," "A Quick One While He's Away," "Happy Jack," "I'm a Boy," "I'm Free," "Tommy's Holiday Camp," "See Me, Feel Me," "Summertime Blues," "Shakin' All Over," "My Generation" Plus 70 minutes of rare Coliseum bonus tracks and extended versions including the first-ever long performance of Tommy: "A Quick One While He's Away," "Overture," "It's a Boy, " "1921," "Amazing Journey," "Christmas," "Acid Queen," "Pinball Wizard," "Do You Think It's Alright," "Fiddle About," "Tommy Can You Hear Me?," "There's a Doctor," "Go to the Mirror," "Smash the Mirror," "Miracle Cure," "Sally Simpson," "Tommy's Holiday Camp," ""I'm Free," "We're Not Gonna Take It" Includes an extensive collectible booklet featuring liner notes by The Who: Maximum R&B author Richard Barnes, The Who art director and designer Richard Evans, former Spin and Vibe editor Alan Light, and Nigel Sinclair
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'The King's Speech' Leads Oscar Nominations
BY MAURICE SCARBOROUGH You're watching multisource entertainment news analysis from Newsy Films most beloved bald guy is ready to find a new home... The 2011 Academy Award nominations are in and Hollywood is already buzzing about who will take home film's most coveted award. Among this year's front-runners, "The King's Speech" - taking in a whopping 12 nominations, including Best Picture. Fans of "The Social Network" will "like" the Facebook biopic's 8 nominations - also including a best picture nod. Both films came out of the gates ahead of the pack at previous award shows leaving some to wonder if this will be a two horse race? (ABC) "In the leading, the shows that lead up to the Oscars, do we get when we're filling out our cards for lets say an informal pool. Does that give us a hint as to what the Oscars will do necessarily or no?" "You have to think it does give you a hint, but remember a lot of those are critics. We don't really know what the Academy thinks yet, and that's what makes this moment so surprising." As the Huffington Post points out - among this year's usual suspects, were some surprise nominations. "The biggest surprise of the ... nominations was the love shown to two films... True Grit and Winter's Bone...Winter's Bone, a … film that earned ravishing critical response but barely caused a ripple outside of the arthouse circuit is the bigger surprise... True Grit is less of a surprise... [I]t's a damn good movie." Another surprise - Christopher Nolan's Best Director snub. Despite a Best Picture nomination, a writer for New York Magazine seems to think the Academy has no love for one of Hollywood's top-dogs. "Maybe the Academy isn't as enamored of Christopher Nolan as we thought? Sure, Inception scored a Best Picture nomination, yet Nolan couldn't score a Best Director nod... Sorry, Chris: Your Oscar hopes were just a dream." Movies tend to be about people who live under extraordinary circumstances, but as an analyst on CNN points out - some of this year's nominees are leaving out the extras. "You'll notice that a lot of actresses and supporting actresses, the big roles this year, have been mothers - In 'The Kids are Alright', I think Melissa Leo in 'The Fighter', we seem to be thinking about motherhood a lot at the moment in our movies, and the nominees are that. On the male side, a lot of the nominees are playing real characters." Another observation from the nomination post show... this year's awards aren't just for the film snobs. (Livestream) "David seems like it's gonna be a very, I hate to dumb it down, but a very fun Oscars because you have young actors, you have a lot of movies that the public has really seen and embraced this year, a lot of high grossing films that are going to be celebrated. That's right, and I think that even the movies that weren't the big summer blockbusters people are really connecting to. A lot of people have seen Black Swan and The Kings Speech, so I think a lot of people are going to be finding that they have movies to root for at this year's Oscars." So what do you think about the 2011 Academy Award Nominations? More snubs or more surprises? Get more multisource video news analysis from Newsy Transcript by Newsy
My Offspring Photo Slide Show..!*
well...I made this video to my favorite band, using only photos, i just wanted to show a little appreciation for them...long live The Offspring..i hope you like it...leave comment and rank =)
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Dragonforce - Through the Fire and the Flames Expert Practice
Guitar hero dragonforce
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Mar Jaani Hot Song (Billu Barber) Shahrukh Khan Sexy Kareena Kapoor
Billo barber Shahrukh Khan, Irrfan Khan, Lara Dutta, Kareena Kapoor, Priyanka Chopra Asrani, Om Puri, Rajpal Yadav Promo Trailer Trailor Movie Promos Shahrukh Khan Deepika Padukone Priyadarshan Mar Jaani Billu Barber
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This attachment is to add coolness to your ride when not dragging a trailer around behind. It can drop in on any standard pickup truck or van trailer hitch. The skull is about 6" tall. It's made of 3/16 inch thick steel and has been given a very durable black powder coat finish. Thanks for checking it out! And as always if you have any questions or a custom design, let me know and I'll see what I can do. Thanks again.


text:
Vermont Academy
Saxtons River,VT
1950's-Mid 1990's
Bob Campbell has an excellent write up and memory of this ski area which was started by Coach Warren Chivers. It was basically the training hill for the Vermont Academy and was a classic rope tow ski area. Following this is another history by John Tobin.
My formative years were spent on this hill from elementary school through high school. I went on to the University of Denver, taught skiing at Arapaho Basin, and have taught at Bromley Mtn. for the past thirty-three years. For two years I was headmaster at Stratton Mountain School. My roots are deeply imbedded in this ski area.
I grew up in Saxtons River and first skied here in 1952 at the age of six. The area was across town from Vermont Academy  about a mile away. It was on farmland loaned and eventually given to the school by the Barnes family. The hill was packed by skis and the students walked from school to the area. The walk was considered character building. The tow was open to the community on weekends. The single rope tow was reputed to be the fastest in New England. When I was eight years old my poplin Slalom Skiware parka wrapped around the rope and I went over the top. I rode upside down nine feet off the ground for two towers down the hill, before my parka ripped and dropped me to the ground. The wind was knocked out of me and I had bruised ribs but no major injuries. But I did get two days off from school. After this it was decided that a safety gate might be a good idea.
Here is the Terraserver Image of Vermont Academy's ski slopes:
I skied to elementary school every day and skied with the VA students after school at every opportunity. In 1960-1965, as a student at the school, I competed on the ski slope. As the pasture land overgrew several actual trails were cut. One was called Devil's Dip, a narrow downhill trail. The speed record was set by senior Sam Bartow who skied between two trees so narrow that he had to turn his upper body sideways to squeeze through. Our coach, 1936 Olympian and ski hall of famer, Warren Chivers cut the trees down the next week but the record was never beaten.
In the late sixties and early seventies poor snow limited the use of the area and the demand of students for better conditions, Bromley and Okemo became near daily trips. The area was finally retired in the mid nineties. In 2002 the whole system was dismantled by Harry Brown and his son Chris, both Vermont Academy graduates, and hauled off to Colorado where Chris lives. Over the years many Olympians competed on the hill, some VA students others from the likes of Kimball Union Academy, Deerfield, and
Holderness and Putney School. Two years ago a ski park was built on the campus with three ski jumps, a practice hill for alpine skiing and snowboarding, snowmaking and a poma lift. This was a great addition for the school, but the real memories will be with the high speed rope tow that would rip you off the ground if you grabbed on too quick, the gloves and mittens that wore out, the occasional tangled clothing, and the incredibly heavy rope when waterlogged from damp spring snow. The entire history of the old hill was
possible because of the work of Warren Chivers, and his assistant coaches, Bob Rock, Gus Black,Nat Niles and others who worked in conjunction with the Vermont Academy Outing Club through the years. Warren has just turned 90 and still lives in Saxtons River and has close ties with Vermont Academy.
Remembering the Vermont Academy Ski Area and Warren Chivers
John C. Tobin Jr., VA class of '72
The Vermont Academy ski area had an unusually large role in my high school years, and I recall this little slope with fondness. When I arrived at VA in the fall of 1968 as a freshman, the existing rope tow had fallen into disuse. The old tow served a modest cone-shaped slope with a vertical of about 150'. The ski team was now using a newer trail with about twice the vertical drop, just to the south of the original slope. That winter, we'd pack the trail by sidestepping up, set gates, get in a few runs, climbing back up after each run, then call it a day.
This was back in the days of four-event competition, so I was also duly instructed in cross country skiing and jumping. I vividly recall the fluid, elegant cross country skills of the late Warren Chivers as he demonstrated proper diagonal stride technique. The cross country trails were laboriously groomed with snowshoes and then carefully skied to set the tracks. Like my father, who skied for Dartmouth (class of '42) I was primarily an alpine skier, proved to be a passable cross country skier, and a terrible jumper. VA had three jumps, a small training jump, a somewhat rickety JV jump, and the much more impressive varsity jump. The coaches soon gave up on me as a jumper, as my tracks could always be seen at the top of the landing hill above everyone else's, and even the JV jump struck fear into my heart.
In the spring of my freshman year, I decided to get away from competitive sports for the season and join Warren Chivers' trail crew. My father was not happy about this decision, as he rightly sensed that trail crew was a low-status refuge for unathletic nerds. But I'd had a miserable time playing football in the fall, having conclusively proven that my grandfather's all American genes had completely passed me by. Surprisingly, I actually enjoyed trail crew. I liked getting out in the woods and working with my hands. And because I was on the ski team, this gave me a stake in the outcome of our work. I suppose this made me a Warren Chivers man through and through, between four years on the ski team, and trail crew at least one season every year.
We had an ambitious project ahead of us that spring—cutting a new line so that the old rope tow could be relocated to serve the longer race trail. We'd do what we could with our axes and bow saws, and then Warren and alpine coach Peter Sargent would periodically make sweeps with chain saws. By the end of the term we had roughed out most of the liftline and made a small start on a new trail just to the south of the tow line.
The next fall, I arrived on campus to find that the line had been fully cleared, bulldozed, graded, seeded, new poles installed, and the drive shed relocated and repainted. A bright yellow tow line replaced the old rope. Warren was concerned that the new line was much longer and would exceed the capacity of the motor, so he did not locate the drive shed quite at the top of the trail. That fall, the trail crew began to work on the new trail in earnest, and roughed out about two thirds of the trail.
The VA ski program took a big leap that year, with the tow relocated to a 300' vertical racing trail, a second trail partly finished, and the acquisition of an oversized snowmobile for grooming the cross country trails. Warren also used the snowmobile to pack the ski hill, driving it up and down at a brisk clip. I sensed that Warren particularly enjoyed his new toy! The program also acquired an electronic timing system, courtesy of a parent donation.
Although the original slope could still be skied, it required a long traverse to reach and was rarely used once the tow was moved. A short extension above the top of the racing slope was used for GS race starts. A hiking trail above the ski area had been widened enough to make it skiable, but only a few of us ever hiked up to ski it; "earning our turns" wasn't at the top of our priority list in those days. Warren also pointed out the mostly grown-in remnants of an old downhill trail, dating back to the days when it was still deemed reasonable to ski downhills with long wooden skis on narrow, winding trails.
The new tow was fast and a bit of work to ride. We soon learned that our nice ski gloves were ripped to shreds by the rope, and that rope burn was a very unpleasant experience. So the leather ski gloves were replaced by work gloves from the hardware store.
In the spring of my sophomore year we cleared the rest of the second trail. Once again, by next fall it had been bulldozed and seeded, and was ready for the snow to fly. The new trail was informally known as the JV trail, and the main trail as the varsity trail. In the spring of my junior year we began cutting the third trail, located to the north of the main trail. This was planned to be the recreational skiing trail, and the top half was skiable for my senior year.
During my four years we always had enough snow to ski, although the occasional midwinter thaw would mean training at times on ungroomed boilerplate. But undoubtedly the years ahead would prove challenging for the ski area, like so many other small, natural snow areas that closed or fell into decline after the bad winters of the late '70s and early '80s.
After I graduated in 1972, I returned a couple of times in the next few years to ski in the varsity-alumni ski meet. By then, the third trail had been finished, and was used for one of the alumni races. The drive shed was also moved to the top of the hill, as the motor seemed to have plenty of power. The last time I was in the vicinity was in 1990, when I noticed a vintage Tucker Sno Cat in an open shed near the bottom of the area.
It's only in hindsight that one appreciates the tremendous hard work and dedication by Warren Chivers that made the ski program possible. He had a reputation among the students as extremely frugal, and was once observed around the tow shed picking up old nails to be straightened and reused. But there is little doubt that in fact the program ran on a very tight budget in those days. The ski team van was an aging tan clunker, and the training cross country skis were old downhill skis that had been cut down on a table saw. (We were, of course, expected to buy decent XC racing gear if we made the XC squad.) It was only through Warren's grunt work that VA was able to have a ski area, three jumps, and a network of cross country trails. Each spring the trail crew would make modest gains with hand tools and then most of the real work would happen in the summer, as Warren and Peter spent much of their vacation wielding chainsaws.
It was shortly after I graduated that four event skiing competition was abandoned. This certainly pained Warren, who was a staunch traditionalist and a big advocate of all around skiing. I can understand why four events were abandoned in an era of specialization and increasing skill levels. But I also appreciate the utopian ideal of learning all those different snow disciplines, and I've stayed with cross country skiing all my life. I've also remained a dedicated 'trail crew' enthusiast, expanding and maintaining a network of trails on our family property in Vermont.
Warren Chivers was one of the truly original, memorable people I've known in my life. The ski area he created is now disappearing into the Vermont woods, but the lessons of hard work, dedication and teamwork that he instilled in so many of us live on and will be passed down through the generations.
Other Memories:
A. Tilden:
"I believe that Vermont academy had a ski area which they used in Saxtons River in the 1960's. It was located up the road near what at that time was Kurn Hattin Homes Girls Department. I don't recall lots about it but think they used it for meets and pretty sure it had some type of lift. I recall many of these smaller areas although I was not a skier at that time - wish my kids had the opportunity to be able to go to a small area without gold plated prices."
Tab Julius also remember this area:" I do remember the Vermont Academy ski area. I attended Vermont Academy (VA) from 1976 to 1980, and the ski area was operational even then. It had "5" trails, but it was really two major trails (well, as major as they get on a tiny hill), a third smaller trail, and two connectors.
It had a rope tow there, and we all had to have jackets and gloves that were wrapped with athletic tape, because otherwise the rope tow would burn through the gloves (friction from moving), and possibly too the side of your jacket.
The mountain was cut and maintained by the Outdoors Club (or wilderness club or whatever it was called), mainly spearheaded by Warren Chivers, who I believe was a former Olympic skier and ran the ski program at VA for many years. He recently retired. I don't know anything about the status of the mountain after 1980, but my guess is that Mr. Chivers would have kept it running right up until his retirement.
Vermont Academy also had a 15-meter ski jump, on the campus overlooking the Lacrosse fields, and it was actively used by long jumpers during the time that I was there (conditions allowing). I'm not aware of too many schools sporting their own ski jump. I would be surprised if that was still standing, though, unless it's been rebuilt. (Jeremy note-the jump is still being used today)."
Ryan McNamara:
I attended VA from the fall of 1990 through graduation in 1994.  While never open to the public during my time there, I used the ski area every year
while there.  The hill only opened with natural snow, however the nordic ski \jumping facilities on the main campus that I enjoyed at VA had
snowmaking thanks to coach Sprague, an Olympic Judge, my Math Teacher, my Football  Coach and my Dorm Parent for two years - thanks buddy.
Ever year though, the rope tow was fired up at some point and we ran gates on Monday's & Fridays - full days of school that we didn't travel
to Okemo for afternoon race practice.
The hill was serviced by a rope tow.  Also of note is that there is some fantastic hiking on the hill that leads to the top where Crystal Rock awaits
and one of the finest views in this part of Vt. The view stretches east across the Connecticut River Valley to Fall Mountain, NH and beyond.
From here one can view an excellent sunrise, the best of which I watched the morning of the day before my graduation. I viewed many sunrises
from Crystal Rock, many during my junior year (1992-1993) when we had a fantastic snow year and my roommate and I would sneak from our
dorm room at 4:30 am and make the one hour hike up the mountain. After taking in the beauty of Vermont's colors, we'd ski down the trail,
through the center of town and back to our dorm Campbell House.
Jeremy and Betsy visited this area during the spring of 2000. Very hard to get too...its on private property, and behind a fence, so we just viewed it from the road and old parking lot at the Kurn Hattin Home. The trails are still clear.
Does anyone remember this one? If so, email us!
Head back to Lost VT Ski Areas
Head back to the Main Page


We can change speed of the rotor by changing Gear ratios in the model. The power is finally transmitted to the food processor using bevel gears. It is a simple project which uses low cost components and user friendly design to perform efficiently.
This Project, "Hand operated mixer machine" is an idea of conservation of electrical energy. We can save electrical power by introducing this idea in real practice.
The main aim of this project is to save the electrical power, time consumption during preparation of raw materials for cooking food. The power source is considered to be mechanical power due to its abundant availability. This arrangement consists of handle, spur gear, container and cutting blades.


Version 5 of the notetaking app for the iPhone, iPad, and iPod Touch offers a new home screen with quicker access to key features.
iPhone and iPad owners who use Evernote will find tasks easier and quicker to perform in the latest version.
Out today, Evernote 5 for iOS kicks off with a revamped home screen. Acting as a virtual file folder, the new screen provides one-tap access to key areas, such as Places, Tags, Notebooks, and All Notes. Using the Quick Note buttons at the top of the screen, you can create a new note, snap a photo, or scan a physical document with your device's camera.
Tapping on the All Notes view displays your notes as virtual index cards, so you can see and read each note in its entirety. That layout works better on an iPad than on an iPhone, so iPhone users can switch to the traditional list or snippets view.
The new Notebooks view displays all of your own notebooks as well as those that other people have shared with you. You can filter the list to show only your own notebooks and sort them by category. The Tags view lists the various tags associated with your notes, which you can view alphabetically or based on the number of times a tag appears.
The Places view shows you the location of each note you've created, assuming you allowed the app to check your whereabouts. By default, this view displays each note associated with a specific location, with a map in the background. You can tap on the map to see each location, swipe to move around the world, and pinch to zoom into specific areas.
Finally, a Go Premium view lets users of the free version of Evernote subscribe to the paid edition, which costs $4.99 a month or $44.99 for a full year.
A blog about Evernote 5 revealed that the design team had one goal in mind: "make all major functions accessible within two taps."
Achieving that goal took the designers months to develop a new interface that "would fit the needs of our users," according to the blog.
Evernote's Web site offers a look at the latest version and a how-to guide for people new to the program.
I've used Evernote on and off in the past. But for some reason, I never stuck with it consistently. After trying out the new version today, I think it's time to add it back to my home screen.


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