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ET CETERA has undergone transformation into a literary website, much more impressive and easy to enj Nevertheless, we would love to hear from you.

This is a publication borne out of pure ennui and is uninspired in every sense of the term. Any resemblance to any time of the week or to mathematical impossibilities is unintentional. If you have any article that you want to see published, or a bone to pick, mail us at [email protected] (or ping us on Facebook, whatever) Although, to optimise your chances of getting selected, you’d either have to be brilliant, or borderline re****ed.

12/03/2026

The Giant Ferris wheel moved slowly. It was brushing against the dark pitch-black. The nothingness. Each cabin looked like an entire world in itself. I could see people inside, holding a brief, borrowed joy. It felt like a loan, taken against the inevitable dejection and despondency waiting below. A high price, just for a few smiles. Yet people laughed. The lights glimmered and for a moment it felt like the world had forgotten how easily things fall apart, how transient joy can be.

I watched it turn and that’s when I realized happiness was never about the height. It was about the motion. The inevitable rise, and the gentle fall that always follows.

We ascend, we descend, and in that motion, we learn that even the brightest heights are meant to be surrendered. Happiness is not a crown worn, a robe that would always adorn your ephemeral cage of flesh and thought. It is fragile because it must be. Were it endless, it would be hollow. The pitch-black nothingness teaches that; what shines must fade, and what fades gives meaning to the shine.

Perhaps that is heaven’s way of humbling us, to remind us that circles are the truest shape of existence. We revolve through laughter and ache, through light and the long stretch of dark, never escaping the cycle, only learning to find grace within it.

And so, I look at the wheel, its live glow cutting through the dead night, and think; maybe heaven is not stillness at all. Maybe it is motion, endless and merciful, where we fall and rise, fall and rise, until we realize that we return to the same places, only a little more aware each time, of what we had, what we lost and what we still dare to hope for.

Caption:
Pic: .life_

12/12/2025

Those days were filled with laughter, half-narrated and nonsensical talks. Every one of us had a peculiar incident to share with each other, and for each one of it, we had a different reaction. The
chubby faces gleamed with emotions. We cared less for the severity of a tale than for the telling. On a cold evening, while we were in the midst of our important session, Aftab’s emotions were static. After we prodded him, he finally spoke.

“I was coming back from school. It was a sunny afternoon and I was crossing the fields. The stream glittered; the water bent around my feet like a shy thing. I was searching for my lost glass marbles, when I saw a grasshopper, hovering over the green blades. I crept closer, it spread its transparent wings in the warm air. A rustling spooked it away. Annoyed, I turned and saw the headmaster’s daughter running. I hid behind the bushes, to see what scared her.

Amidst the gentle, dying chimes of her anklets, a hoarse voice called. A man came stumbling through the grass; his shirt half-buttoned and his belt loose. The man stood perplexed. It was the peon.”

We had a hearty laugh. The forbidden love story of peon became famous; he was shunned, the headmaster was transferred, and the girl was married soon after. Aftab missed her; she had helped him with his studies. Our group was more ignorant than the blind. Slowly, our meetings thinned out.

One afternoon, the two of us were alone, when Aftab said,

“She was not running away from him – I was”.

He looked at the ground. “The peon tried to touch me. I was so scared and so angry. I wanted him to
die. I didn’t know how, so I made him suffer. I didn’t want her punished. I thought if people heard
what a poor girl had suffered because of a pervert, they’d support her. Why was she punished too?”

The words hung between us. The sound of the stream outside came back to me, faint and cold. For the first time, I didn’t believe his story. I opened my mouth to laugh again, but nothing came out. I did not know what to feel.

Pic: .chicken
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16/10/2025

The mountains rose like unanswered questions, each ridge a silence my soul could never scale. The dusk spilled across their shoulders, as the memory of light, like a candle that had burned itself into smoke. I walked the curved road, a pilgrim of shadows, chasing horizons that bent away each time I drew near.

The sky did not glow for me, it bled, softly, like a wound too old to ache. Orange surrendered into grey, as if even the heavens had grown weary of pretending to be eternal. I thought of my own desires, each one beginning like a dawn, only to fade into the mist of unkept promises.

Here, the world seemed both infinite and indifferent. The mountains did not move, yet they carried the weight of countless lives. I, in contrast, moved endlessly, yet carried nothing that endured. Perhaps that is the cruelest truth, that stones outlive prayers, and horizons outlast hope.

Still, I walked on. For in every fading sun there is the lie of tomorrow, and I have never been brave enough to call it what it is.

Pic: .chicken
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05/09/2025

I stood before my death knells – those very bells that once rang in my new beginnings. Their lustrous waists glimmered under the spring sun, and a cool, melodious breeze brushed against my ears. The clapper gently kissed the lips of the bell, and their joined harmony soothed my aching soul. The beginning I longed for never truly began.

My far-off town was devoid of emotions and divided by society’s creatures. I wanted to grow and live a life of real, civilized people. I came to the city in search of something that surpassed every moral value these mortal beings held – wealth. The divine harmony rang every evening as I stood outside, praying to the Master to bless me with a life untouched by even the smallest sorrow. My folded hands held all my wishes. As they opened like a blossoming bud, the lines of destiny drifted into the air like the fragrance of roses – only to merge with prayers soaked in vice. Each strike on the bell was in vain,
and my prayers screamed to be heard.

On winter nights, I curled beneath tattered blankets, shielding myself from ravenous moonlight. Every ray pierced my skin, and through bleeding pores seeped the blizzards. Each morning, my frozen flesh
trembled with pain. Clad in deep red linen over its shoulder, the bell struck on – ignoring me. Sitting outside my Master's dwelling, I saw every ring driven by greed – more money, more security. They
swam in the filth of ill-gotten riches, crushing fragile hands like mine, just to ring the bell first. The city was merely a polished reflection of my broken town. I never had any respect or power; however,
I had lost everything. I was ignored like an ill-forgotten patient of an asylum.

Wearing the same sacred cloth, I tied a noose and hung it over the bell. The voice that once uttered prayers was now bound—but would soon be released from this deceitful world. I removed the support; my body panicked. I seized control, and let go. With every swing, my body struck the bell, sounding the loudest call to my Master. At last, I was heard.

Caption:
Pic: .chicken

12/08/2025

Spiraling through, the hardships of life, one can never know if they will succeed or not. Each step taken with caution, each move with the possibility of collapse. Days, weeks, months, years, decades and even their entire life goes by without comprehending, the passage of time. On the journey to reach the zenith, one can never know, when the trail terminates. When will they be compelled to take a detour, or worse, go back to the starting point, and begin again.

If not forward, then they must at least go backwards, to not stay stagnant. And what if then, it is like getting sucked into a vortex with no way out, where the depths and darkness, are beyond the realms of reason. Each step becomes a plunge into the unknown, into the abyss of uncertainty. Engulfed by the shadows of fear and doubt, of insecurities and anxieties, will they ever be able to get out.

If one were to relentlessly, climb again, no matter the number of times, then they, are the true warriors of life. They will conquer all their blues, and reign over skies and seas. Rather than succumbing to melancholy, they view failures as opportunities for growth, hence serving as an inspiration to others. Their embodiment of serenity and stability provides a steady anchor amidst life's storms, while their wisdom guides them to navigate challenges with grace and resilience.

Caption: .x_xh
Pic: .chicken

13/06/2025

The roses spread their fragrance in the dim moonlight, blooming gracefully under its care. Yet, their beauty recoiled from the soft touch of his wife’s hand, as if they carried a venom, masked by sweetness. The water in her eyes flowed into every chamber of his heart, flooding his mind with her angelic reflection. The singing cherubim filled the night with their melodies of love, filling the air with a pious gleam. But in that mystic night, her image gradually blurred in his fickle mind, like a
distant memory slipping away.

The knock on the door came just as the clock struck midnight. The wife kissed her lover – the man she called salvation – and whispered for him to hide. Forced into marriage by family pressure and
societal norms, she longed to start fresh with her pariah lover. Their plan was simple; kill the husband and let the loan sharks bear the blame. The wife faked a smile and turned to open the door.

A thorn pierced his fingers, as he clutched the roses. These roses were his final offering of love; a gesture of surrender. His tainted blood trickled on the red petals, blending seamlessly, hiding its
impurity. The stars blinked faster than a restless heartbeat. In that darkness, he saw a vision: himself being devoured by loan sharks. But the image quickly faded, replaced by his wife – radiant, wealthy, distant. He needed money. Hidden among the roses was a pistol, loaded with a single bullet.

Deceiving himself, he told himself it was her fault – his ruin, his withered dreams, his helplessness. The music of love turned to a sonata in darkness. Every piano key decided the destiny of the wounded hearts. He had to satisfy his hunger for salvation. And for that, she needed to die.

At midnight, his hand trembled as he raised it to the door. The pistol felt heavy, its cold weight sinking into his palm. Tears blurred his vision as the knock echoed like a death knell. The latch turned.

[To be continued in the comments]

Writer:
PC: .chicken

08/04/2025

A Cathartic Release

Living here is a difficult dare.
Shall we too rise from our forgetful sleep, climb up the tree, and watch the stars?
My wishes ask, keep one still spot for me in your heart.
For these dreams outgrow the brain’s decay.

I worrily dwell in the possibility of a black hole of them.
Each day, the same faces painted in monotone,
Monuments of ageing intellect.
Sometimes only gormless wit
But when another New Year morning arrives, we tell our babies about life’s sweetness.
Yet you lay in its deep Illness.
Barely thriving but even more,
bravely alive.
Watching your tears’ luscious edges,
crying of forgotten pursuits.
Nobody realises their pain bare.
You cannot leave a barren field, but thankfully you can forge there.

So in today’s prayer, I asked for myself, not for Hughes and Plath or forgotten lore.
Distinctly over the sky, I see bibliomaniacs where they studied Ptolemy and Galileo.
I decide to celebrate the advent of my spirits. Again.
This time, even lost scientists hum celestial songs,
Their whispers of reason still echo where I belong
Divine sense is truly exhaustive prettiness.

Caption by -
Picture by -

22/11/2024

I sit here at night, writing this piece with a candle flickering beside me on the verandah. The once heavy rain has now diminished to droplets, carving rivers on the roof shade, leaking in gentle beads. These stars falling before me are even more enchanting than those embedded in the night sky. Maybe, if I stretch my lethargic arms like never before, if I put in a little more effort, I could hold them in my hands. And so, I did.

I reached out to grasp one star, only for it to dissolve the moment it touched my hand. It seeped through the creases of my palm, slipping away, extinguishing my initial joy. For now, it bled through the coarse soil, erasing my touch, my presence, and the very evidence of our fleeting interaction. Yet, the droplets continued to fall, and the cadence of a weeping sky echoed in my ears. I turned my attention to my candle, my luminous companion, flickering in the darkness, as if in sympathy with the disappearing stars, offering a small, constant light amidst the night’s deceptive beauty.

My burning friend is now entranced in a dance with a moth. I was too absorbed in my thoughts to notice at first. The dance has grown more intense, the wanderer seemingly in a trance, unable to take its eyes off the glowing beauty, yearning to be closer, to bask in its warmth. And as they finally kissed, the traveler ignited, burning brightly, adding a final flourish to the passion of my fiery companion. It lasted only a few seconds before it was all over, both for me and the drifting wanderer.

Caption by: .x_xh
Picture by: .chicken

17/09/2024

the soft hum of the hospital machines filled the room, she lay still, her frail hands resting
gently on the once crisp white sheets, now tainted with use, disease, and the attempts of
masking those stains. She understood that this is how life is meant to be lived. You fill yourself
to the brim with whatever the world demands from you, and when it spills over, you spend the
rest of your life attempting to conceal those blemishes, until you realize they’ve become too
comfortable residing with you. She didn't mourn what her life could’ve been or even what it was;
she was content with how she had lived it, knowing she had given all she had to offer. Now, she
simply no longer wished to live it at all.
Her muscles had stiffened, robbing her of the once powerful gait she had and made her
permanently resigned to this bed. Her lively features were now perpetually frozen in a look of
quiet resignation. She felt more like a burden with each passing day, her once vibrant presence
reduced to a helpless weight. And yet, despite the pain, she didn’t feel regret—just the desire to
pass on, to let go. Her eyes, although deeply sunken into their sockets, were the only windows
to the emotions she could no longer easily convey. Speaking had become increasingly difficult,
her voice growing softer and more monotone, each word a struggle to express...
Continued in the comments

Writer:
PC: Amreet

18/03/2024

The warm lights emanating from the signs bathed the streets in mesmerizing hues, casting intricate shadows on your face. Each shop beckoned with the promise of a new pleasure that money could acquire, tempting you to enter every one of them and buy every single thing your eyes could spy.

The sweat on your palms glued mine to yours, and as I held your hand, I felt the dirt trapped beneath your fingernails—dirt you collected when you fell from the swing. I had only looked away for a moment. Why did you want to kiss the ground so painfully?

The rumble of distant passing vehicles reverberated through the street, punctuating the end of your curious questions with the calls of street vendors hawking their wares. Amidst it all, I could hear the faint squeak of your pretty pink shoes against the pavement—the same ones you wore on your first day of school. They seemed so tiny. Why haven’t you outgrown them yet?

The tantalizing aroma of freshly made food from nearby restaurants wafted through the air, accompanied by the unmistakable scents of oak, spice, and something darker and more elusive. My gaze fell upon the bottles lining the window, their glasses glimmering with the golden sunlight captured within. I needed another drink.

Leaving the bar with the purchased bottle in hand, it slipped from my hand and rolled onto the sidewalk. Retrieving it, I drank the last remnants of the sun it contained, adding to the fragments I had already consumed. Something within me felt finally complete, whole.

I can no longer hear your squeaky pink shoes, the only pair you own. The dirt from the pavement sticks to my hands harshly. I miss the weight of your tiny palms already. Perhaps another bottle of sunshine would bring you back to me.

(Continued)

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Caption by:

06/03/2024

Agreement becomes a nebulous concept to broach. Must it have ended this way? The way he deceived himself into soaring higher, only to be tethered by the weight of a sorrowful spirit that could never find true release.

Nope, there's no other rationale as to why I chose that particular silver-coated ring adorned with beads. As I attempted to open it, the beads slipped and fell. He glanced at me, maybe finding amusement in my naivety. The shopkeeper, with faint wrinkles, asked, "It's alright, Gudiya. You can select another one. I'll fix it." One could glimpse the adversities he put up with while crafting these three rings, each possessing its own distinctiveness. He gently pushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear and placed the ring in my ear, remarking, "These look perfect on you." I beamed and exuberantly demanded, "Chachu, please wrap these up!"

Desperate for this promising trinket, he had left me in this dark, dank room. I stood there bare, naked for the unperturbed innocence. Bruises of desires, yet no regrets about what I went through when I was 16? They said he was a lawyer. The soft fur of his beard brushed against my cheeks, reminding me of the intimacy I was beginning to resent.

How come he thrives while pursuing what he believes is superior, growing stronger, and skillfully deceiving the world, while I end up labeled as a worthless and selfish individual?

Restlessness has become synonymous with my being. While others trample over me, oblivious to the pain they inflict, I growl in frustration. Yet, he continues to believe he can glide through life unscathed, like a child narrowly avoiding a tumble with each turn. He remains gentle, kind, and respected, especially in moments when I found myself mired in disgrace.

You know what? She would never regret whatever she brought into existence. These perilous hearts, ambiguous smiles, and the relentless closeness shared between them— for her, a bond that holds no desires. But her unapologetic hands yearn to break free from the cages of mistakes and ungratefulness.

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Caption by: .gwfkxzhf

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