Team Raita

In not-so-far future In a land not far away I see a dystopian world where corpses all around lay With nose covered and squinted eyes The reporters try to pry Into the land painted red with blood And no men left to cry All the soap in the world cannot cover up the stench Of the blood on the hands of man who pushed his brother in a trench And for what did this World burn down? For there was no money, No pearls, nor crown It was just a small debate that media spun out of shape The peddlers of conflict, evil, murder and rape. These vultures feed on misery, To Devil, they sold their soul They greet you with brightly made-up faces, And hearts darker than coal Making news and selling them Is profession of these #Presstitutes Help not, but capture on camera The plight of grieving and destitute Secularism, Equality, Development These ideals are just buzzwords They would rather serve you misery Or narrate you an ancien...

I held half-read The Immortals of Meluha in my hand as I was flying over the majestic Himalayas on my flight to Kathmandu, mouth gaping at the beauty bestowed upon the peaks and valleys all painted in 50 shades of Gray, as alluring as the protagonist from the said book itself. Laden with ample dose of snow, the peaks jutted out well above the clouds, soaking in the vitalising rays of sun, totally disinterested with the foggy conditions on the ground. I thought about the mystical abode of Shiva just beyond those mountains and said a silent prayer in my mind to the soft-hearted, dancer incomparable, god of destruction, while I looked on. My thoughts wandered to Tintin in Tibet and a tiny hope simmered in my heart to meet the Bigfoot, although I knew I was going to trek well below the boundaries of the mysterious Yeti. As I stepped out of the airport, the chill of a January evening was instantly replaced by the warmth of the Nepali people. The traditional greeting of putting a marig...