Hello folks who wonder if I finally succumbed to a Netflix subscription and hence was missing in action for the past few months,

Let's address the unsaid — the thing bothering all of us that we've collectively chosen to stay quiet about. Because sometimes, expressing what you truly think is enough to get you shunned by friends, family, and society at large. 

Something that's been weighing on me, because this is not the world any of us envisioned growing up. You might think you're detached from everything happening around you — but you're not. We're all still woven into the same fabric that holds society together.

So today, I am going to be vocal about it without paying heed to any pushback I might face.

NO! It's not OK!

It's not OK for Taco Bell to raise the price of their Crunchy Taco from $1.99 to $2.49. If this isn't a human rights violation, I truly don't know what is. 

I was a perpetual "Live by the Bell, Die because of the Bell" customer — but I guess it's time to pick up my Fire and Diablo sauce packets and move on.

Over the past few weeks, I took a trip to LA. I loved exploring the public transit and everything else the city has to offer — but this was by far my favorite part of the trip.

On the last day of the trip I walk into a Ramen shop and order myself a bowl, but the staff is being harassed by a panhandler who refuses to leave the premises despite not having money to purchase anything. He makes his way to my table while I wait for my ramen and asks me to buy him a soda and a soup, which I politely decline. I know — some might say I'm the problem, and that the only right solution would have been to make him a joint account holder at my bank. But moving on, he then asks: if I can pay for my food, why can't I pay for his?

I told him that's not how any of this works, so he starts rummaging through his pockets, takes out a crumpled piece of cardboard, and empties the contents onto the table next to me.

Do you see what I see? 

White gold, laid bare — just as God intended when he gave us the coca leaf.

And then, just like that — knowing the staff had called security to kick him out — he wasn't about to let this gift from the gods go to waste. So he does what any sane person would do.

He snorts the line. (I secretly cheered for him — the government has no right to take what is rightfully his.)

That's when I impulsively shouted...

Hey! You can't do that! 

Security came and escorted him out, the staff sanitized the table, and I finally sat down to eat my ramen.

Just like that incident at the ramen shop, I occasionally come across behavior in the wild that makes me pinch myself and wonder if what I'm seeing is actually real.

When I visited India last year, I spotted a termite mound. Now, most of you will freak out just hearing the word "termites" — and rightfully so, since they have a reputation for destroying vintage furniture passed down from Facebook Marketplace to Facebook Marketplace.

But these termites are different. They don't consume wood — they consume fungus.

But before they consume them, they farm them in their mounds. The fungus they farm are snobs and prefer a particular temperature and humidity to survive. More or less and they will perish. Here is an AI generated diagram of why keeping the shape of the mound is really important.

So I kicked the top of their mound, to see how quickly they build it back.

You can see the fungus farming operation they had going out there.

The following night I come back to the same mound and it has been built back up, stronger than ever. Here is me trying to break it again.

Most of the repairs happen after the sun goes down. Termites are nearly translucent and, since they don't have any sunscreen at hand, they desiccate too easily in the heat — so they prefer to work when it's much cooler, i.e., between the hours of dusk and dawn.

The workers don't just pile dirt for their mounds — instead, they carry tiny rolled-up balls of moist soil called boluses in their mouths. They then deposit these one by one, almost like laying bricks. Their saliva acts as a cement that dries into a rock-hard structure capable of withstanding rain and predators.

But here is where things start getting strange.

I see a Ringbum Ant just wandering around on the termite mound. Maybe it's lost its way.

But then, like some people we know, it starts getting nosy. It begins peeking into unfinished construction projects — i.e., areas of the mound that haven't been sealed yet. The termites sense its presence and retreat further into the mound.

And then it all adds up when it makes its first move.

It is kidnapping unsuspecting termites to take them back to feed the colony. It is a predator.

And I had to shout out:

Hey! You can't do that! 

It stings the termite several times to neutralize it and tucks it into an easy carrying position. It then hands it off to a worker from its colony — so this hunter can do what it does best: hunt.

Stay safe out there.