
Articles
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Dec 1, 2024 |
strangerties.substack.com | Raksha Vasudevan
Dear friends,For those in the US, I hope your holiday weekend was nourishing. It snowed again in Denver the morning before Thanksgiving - just a light sprinkling that had already melted by dusk. But as I wrote in my last post, any snow appears like a small miracle these days. I’m grateful. It’s that time of year when many people are contemplating - whether by choice or compulsion - the meaning and value of family, be it biological or chosen.
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Nov 19, 2024 |
strangerties.substack.com | Raksha Vasudevan
Hello friends,I’m writing to you from Denver, where we finally got our first big snowfall a couple of weeks ago. Like many immigrants from the non-Western world, I have a strange relationship to snow. As a child, first in India and then Oman, I spent years yearning for snow and everything American TV shows had taught me to associate with it: carrot-nosed snowmen, hot chocolate before a fire, Xmas trees with shiny presents underneath.
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Oct 23, 2024 |
hcn.org | Raksha Vasudevan
This story was originally published by Civil Eats and is republished here by permission. With her silver rings and turquoise bracelets, Mercedes Ortiz Gutierrez cuts a stylish figure. Her black cane with golden finishes could be mistaken for another accessory if she didn’t lean so heavily on it. Gingerly, she shuffles to the gray couch in her one-bedroom apartment in Thornton, Colorado, just outside Denver and five miles from the slaughterhouse where her life irrevocably changed.
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Oct 22, 2024 |
civileats.com | Raksha Vasudevan
With her silver rings and turquoise bracelets, Mercedes Ortiz Gutierrez cuts a stylish figure. Her black cane with golden finishes could be mistaken for another accessory if she didn’t lean so heavily on it. Gingerly, she shuffles to the gray couch in her one-bedroom apartment in Thornton, Colorado, just outside Denver and five miles from the slaughterhouse where her life irrevocably changed.
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Oct 22, 2024 |
civileats.bluelena.io | Raksha Vasudevan |Lisa Elaine Held |Jaya Saxena
With her silver rings and turquoise bracelets, Mercedes Ortiz Gutierrez cuts a stylish figure. Her black cane with golden finishes could be mistaken for another accessory if she didn’t lean so heavily on it. Gingerly, she shuffles to the gray couch in her one-bedroom apartment in Thornton, Colorado, just outside Denver and five miles from the slaughterhouse where her life irrevocably changed.
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