Eyes Never look at me and lie,
Cos eyes are windows to the soul,
What emerges from this moment is not a singular crisis but a layered one, shaped by global disruptions, local cost pressures, and structural vulnerabilities. Workers are leaving Delhi not because the city has stopped offering work, but because it has become increasingly difficult to live sustainably in the capital city while working.
It is high time South Asian countries not only pass stricter environmental regulations but also strictly enforce them, making sure that there is no factory releasing waste water without adequate treatment. Besides, upholding legally binding labour standards must also be a priority together with ensuring safety of the workplace environment.
The Korean noodle story is not really about noodles. It is about what happens when cultural influence travels faster than commercial infrastructure and faster than regulatory awareness. India's Gen Z - and possibly that of other South Asian countries - did not wait for brands to tell them what to eat. They watched K-dramas, did spice challenges, and built market demand that brands, regulators, and consumer education campaigns have simply not kept up with.
If “security” is to have real meaning, it must be grounded in the lived experiences of those it is intended to protect. This requires a shift from state‑centred metrics to civilian‑centred measures of stability; where continuity of daily life, equitable protection, and psychological well‑being are integral to how we define security.
Eyes Never look at me and lie,
Cos eyes are windows to the soul,
How much different would the world appear Seen through the eyes of the blind?
If God resides in the hearts of men
As I believe He does,
If there are no flowers where you are,
and the stars seem too far,
Vast stretches of arid land,
rivers that never know the sands to traverse.
Lies the stairway to heaven,
And eternal peace.
There’s a river i know
Whose name i, often, forget,
Spend time with Silence
For, wisdom lies there,
Gloat not, O misfortune
Your triumphs are not eternal,
If Birds were Man’s Mentor
Would we a better breed be
The cradle of friendship
Is too delicate for words
For all my proclamations of belief,
Which in intent and conviction are true,
Endless, fruitless, journeys
That we oft embark upon,
In the precincts of the mind,
In the fortress I call mine,
O Demise, thou art a friend true
When I feel lost and dark blue