Randoms by AeVey J

“All is fair in love and war,” they said. But what is love? The perception, the meaning... Constantly shifting, quietly evolving since the beginning of time. And still, the ambiguity remains. What was once treasured as the purest expression of love is now dismissed as cliché. Jeez! “Cringeworthy,” they’d say. What now? Missed calls to landlines, love letters, late-night chats… What’s next? Sending pigeons? They joke— the drip-and-suss generation. But honestly, we weren’t much different ourselves. Yet back then, love felt valued. There was patience. There was empathy. We live today in the era of floating shoes and invisible screens, and still somehow we’re fading away at 5G speed, chasing God knows what, or who. Gone are the days of butterflies in the tummy, poems scribbled on the last page of a worn-out notebook, names carved into wooden desks that outlived semesters. Saving your best 100 messages, waiting till morning for the next set. Orkut, Yahoo Messenger, Facebook all ...

Coming to think of it, we all have one. Right from birth ! Oh, she’s just a baby, be patient, they’d say. He’s just a kid, handle him like one, don’t compete with him head-on, they’d say. Oh! That’s just rage that comes with age. He’ll calm down in a few years, they’d say. Shrugging it off. He’ll be alright. Just get him married, that’ll change him for good, they’d say. Come on! He’s working so hard. Don’t add more to his plate. Give him some space. Oh my! How long will you keep going on like this? What are you, newlyweds? Focus on the kids. You’ve lived your lives. And then finally… Oh, poor man! He is old and has no one. Make sure he is fine. Take good care of him, the world would say. Forgetting that there was once a woman who never got to use a trump card. Or maybe… she was never allowed to play in a game that lasted a lifetime. So, who is the winner here? The world? Or the silence it leaves behind? ________________________________________ Author's Note  Lives are l...

It may not ring bells The way a carton of fried chicken Branded in three alphabets would. Midlife doesn’t shout. It creeps in ... Slow at times, Steady at times, Stealthy enough to catch you Right when you finally think Life is catching up with you. And it comes with everything. Financial woes. Marital woes. Parental woes. Teenage woes. And those Woesome woes You can’t quite name But feel in your bones. It has it all. Where medical bills Climb over school bills, And menopause competes with puberty. A tug-of-war that leaves you Flabbergasted, Wondering where to begin And where the hell to end. Despite the journey, Despite the years Of fighting, learning, unlearning, It still feels like you’re forced To begin again After the first innings Has drained you out. And just when you think It’s time to retire to the pavilion… Early retirement? Uff. A far, impossible cry. So you breathe a sigh, Close your eyes, Box-breathe, Open them slowly. And wow ! Only your BP has changed. Droppe...

Have you ever ridden it? The “H” wave. Whew! What a ride. We’ve had our rides. We’ve had our years. And Just when you think it’s going to end, the upsurge happens. A lethal drift, something unlike anything you’ve seen over the years. It has made you see it all. It began way back in the teens… when everything felt confusing, sudden, strange... and when you tried to complain, the older generation just shrugged, “We had all this too… we never made a fuss like you do.” As if silence was some kind of badge of honour. Remember those incredible euphoric highs? When all you see is bright blue skies and sunny days. Where every little thing is a joy forever… You feel like an angel without wings, spreading smiles and sprinkling positive vibes everywhere you go. And then those brutal lows. When you lift the entire weight of the world on your shoulders, tear up at the drop of a spoon, and stare at the sky in despair. Why? Why me? How unfair! And still… you show up. You function. You pre...

In a world of sparkling red flags, Blaring bold and bright, Warning at every glance Where a quiet voice within whispers, “Stay away.” You hold your breath And push against the tide. It shoves you back with a feral glare, Menacing, vile.. Hands rising from the waves To grab you by the collar And drag you in, Turning you into one of them. Still, with clenched fists, you move. Eyes narrowed, searching For that lone speck of green In a raging sea of red. A flicker of light. A shard of purity. Love. Compassion. Empathy. Genuineness. All washed away over years By relentless red storms, Buried under waves of fear and fury. The world warps, Its colours swallowed whole. A few tiny green dots Clinging between the blue and the red. Soon, you fear, It may become one blazing red orb, Competing with the sun, Burning with heat and hostility And you shrink beneath its glare. But then, The green dots stir. They align. They link hands. They spread. Waves of light rise. Tides of t...

“Men will be men,” they say. But why shouldn’t they be, as long as they remain who they truly are? Husbands, dads, brothers, friends, uncles, grandads… The roles they carry are countless, each with its own weight, each with its own quiet heroism. We celebrate not just the men, but the masculine spirit that shows up in strength, softness, humour, and the many in-betweens. “Be a man,” they say. Yet that definition keeps shifting. Masculinity has evolved, and continues to evolve, in meaning, in perception, in expectations, and in the heart of man himself. Patriarchy. Misogyny. Chauvinism. The labels are many. But so are the men who honour the feminine within, who listen, nurture, support, love deeply, and protect quietly without needing applause. International Men’s Day may never fully capture their worth, but their presence does. Their gentleness does. Their constancy does. Here’s to the unsung heroes, the ones without capes, but with steady shoulders and softer cores...

Don’t beat yourself too hard. It’s okay. You’re doing good… just the way you are. You’ve endured a great deal. You’ve come a long way from where you once started. Oh come on!! you’ve at least tried. You didn’t just stay put, rot away, and fade into nothing someday. You haven’t harmed another human. You’ve never held such a thought. You never would. You did great. It’s okay to forgive yourself too. It happens. It’s normal. That’s okay. That’s life. Have you ever felt you’re not enough? Just… not good enough? Looked at yourself in the mirror, staring back with dropped shoulders, sunken eyes, and a half-faded smile? Well, hear me out now. Look up. Yes, you, look up. Look at me, straight in the eyes as I spill the beans and blurt out a harsh truth… your truth. This person staring back at you from the mirror, this person, this version of you… Whether you like or dislike what you see, this is someone who has stood by you through every season. Basked in the glow of your good days,...

How I wish I could slip back in time and be them, just for a day. Unburdened. Unbroken. Carefree as sunlight, happy as a skipping heartbeat, innocent as the morning air. Little souls who hold no grudges, whose love arrives pure and overflowing a quiet reminder of what we once were. Still, the joy they scatter across our days is nothing short of a miracle, their laughter gilding every hour from the first light of dawn to the hush of dusk. Happy Children’s Day to all the little humans,  tiny sparks of the Divine wandering the earth !

That glorified space, the sanctum sanctorum of every home. A safe abode. A recreation space. A workstation. A social hangout. And above all, a temple for women  for centuries. A place that churned out a thousand meals, fed a million hearts, and catered to countless more. Like an Akshaya Patra- endless, giving, divine. It was an art. It was healing. It was grace itself. What a soul-satisfying joy it was, to watch someone’s eyes light up as they savoured a meal you made. That happiness, purer, deeper, than even taking your own share. They say you can reach a man’s heart through his stomach. But what happens when he forgets the heart behind the food? Then came a dreadful time - dark, uncertain, when the world retreated indoors, and fear sat at every doorstep. The “new normal,” they called it - a time that tested us all. What used to be three meals a day became meals at every hour. The world sought comfort - in food, in routine, in small pleasures that softened the panic. T...

Those little hands, hardly big enough to hold a finger, hardly steady enough to sound a clap. Soft and innocent, yet grease-stained. He bends, lifting heavy, sweaty boots, placing them near the feet of the man who waits, expectantly, a man who once made his ailing wife do the same for years. Old habits die hard. He doesn’t know. He only knows to love, to respect, to obey. For isn’t that what he’s been taught to honour those older, to serve without question? He cannot tell apart good from bad, love from servitude. And when the narcissistic adults commend him for a job well done, his eyes widen, sparkling with joy, a joy that breaks his mother’s heart. She watches silently, helpless, angry, torn, the one who taught him love, but forgot to teach him that love needn’t bow. She scrubs those little hands clean each time, washing away the smell of smelly boots and stained pride. Had it been an ailing man, she would have smiled, encouraged, blessed. But this... This is cruel. This ...

“It’ll all be fine. You’ll get better. It’s all part of growing up,” they said. I hoped so. I believed them. ’Cause that was all I could do back then, small, scared, and powerless. They grew with me, and stayed with me over the years, still surfacing occasionally in those moments of helplessness. How long? How long am I going to carry them? Years passed, and the pain slowly faded away. The past was almost forgotten  until it was my turn to protect. I guarded them like a fierce warrior, shielding them from harm. I became their shell,  their safe space. Slowly turning into a cage. As they grew up, they were protected, but not free anymore. They had grown wings, but were forbidden to fly  by a mother who had flown far and wide, into and out of danger. She would give them her life, but never let them out of her sight. All the love turned into a strangling noise. She watched them suffer  silently. As days passed, they begged, they pleaded, but she wouldn’t hea...

A decade? A span of time. Taken for your maiden name, Saved in his phone To change to “Oye.” A period when you realise You can be furious with him For a minute  And the very next moment You’re debating what to cook for dinner, Or whether to order in and finish that series. When you’re no longer embarrassed By the snoring, Or by sharing those tees of his That you got so comfortable with Long after the pregnancy phase. When just a glance or a stare Can convey volumes And save time and energy. When you learn to interpret hmms and uh hmms With incredible accuracy. You’ll be amazed at how many types actually exist. When he learns to dance to the rhythm of your hormones, And you’re annoyed Because he’s already got the hang of it! And somewhere along the way, You start to notice that  Apart from the looks  You’ve successfully passed on the “most annoying habit” gene To each of your offspring. Despite the positive thoughts And good-music routines during pregnancy, Now...

Now what? I turn around To look at him. There he stood, Staring back at me  Right in the eyes. We had come a long way, Journeying together For decades now.  Through the good and the bad, Through joy, Through sorrow, Through guilt, Through grief, Through pride, Through regret. Those wrinkling, wise eyes of his Had seen their share of all. I searched them For an answer, For some advice, For some relief. None. “What now?” I tried again, One more time. I saw him smile. And then came the words, Still ringing in my ears: “Your life. Your journey.” I went speechless, The years gone by Flashing across my mind In a single moment of silence. Then I sighed, And looked ahead  At the paths lying in wait, The ones I get to choose. Still get to choose, And that’s the best part. It’s not done. Nothing is over. Not yet. I take a step forward, When he tugs at my arm, Firmly. I stop in my tracks. He whispers in my ear, “You did well. Let’s go.” With that, we move forward, Hand i...

Dark, with a golden glow, he glistens, as if ominously smiling at how little you know. A drop… just a drop, a toxic one. He seeps through your veins until you become one. You seek, you crave, with all that you have, for just another sip, a fatal slip. Slowly, and gravely, to a point of no return, he enthralls you, enchants you, until you pray in his name. Caught in a vicious cycle, with none to blame. You may call it your high… but is it really? I sigh, screaming why, in despair, hoping you’ll someday see what I see, and realize… before it’s too late. A drop can glisten like gold, until it takes hold. Choose passion over poison. ______________________________________ To the young adults of today, those seeking, exploring, and adventuring to find their next high. Rediscover your true high in pursuing your passion and giving it your all, not by succumbing to a fleeting habit that might one day devour your very being from within. Your life, ...