Eunoia. (2025)

22/06/2025

The year was 1942.

India was burning with the spirit of freedom. Across India, the voice of “QUIT INDIA” was echoing through the streets and villages.A final call of the Indian Freedom Struggle with a rallying-cry of “DO OR DIE” was commenced
The tyranny of the British government had broken the final barrier.

In midst of these, stood a small town of Amritpur, full of plucky and Valorant youths, protesting against the Firangi Raj. In a tiny mud house lived Arjun, a 12 year old boy having heart of a lion in the body of a child.....His father was a freedom fighter, often away with the revolutionaries..... His mother, kind and loving, taught Arjun about the dream of an independent India.

One stormy night , things went at odd for Arjun…….British soldiers raided their house and dragged his father away…..His mother wept and her health deteriorated……A few weeks later, she passed away leaving Arjun all alone, shattering his world….
The boy who once dreamt of kites and mangoes, now wandered the streets with a shattered heart and an empty stomach……
“Papa , please come back…”was the only thought that kept him alive…..Arjun, on one hand wanted to see his motherland independent….whereas on the other blames it for deprieving him of the basic necessities….
“Why must we be treated like this in our own country?” Arjun wondered…

One day while sitting under an old banyan tree, he read a thrown pamphlet stating “India belongs to us … We must fight with courage and not fear”…
Arjun’s soul caught fire with courage…. Though small, weak and bereft , he joined the freedom struggle with a tattered tricolour that her mother had sewn……As he stepped forward, with a tricolor in his hand, his fears fell silent – he was emboldened, heart roaring louder than any war cry…..He became a secret messenger……..Stood at the front, ablaze with courage, his voice louder than fear itself…Many times he was chased and beaten up but his father’s word of “NEVER BOW TO INJUSTICE” kept resonating…..The days were hard, Arjun often went hungry but the thought of seeing India free filled him with hope.
[Continued in comments ....]

22/06/2025

The year was 1942.

India was burning with the spirit of freedom. Across India, the voice of “QUIT INDIA” was echoing through the streets and villages.A final call of the Indian Freedom Struggle with a rallying-cry of “DO OR DIE” was commenced
The tyranny of the British government had broken the final barrier.

In midst of these, stood a small town of Amritpur, full of plucky and Valorant youths, protesting against the Firangi Raj. In a tiny mud house lived Arjun, a 12 year old boy having heart of a lion in the body of a child.....His father was a freedom fighter, often away with the revolutionaries..... His mother, kind and loving, taught Arjun about the dream of an independent India.

One stormy night , things went at odd for Arjun…….British soldiers raided their house and dragged his father away…..His mother wept and her health deteriorated……A few weeks later, she passed away leaving Arjun all alone, shattering his world….
The boy who once dreamt of kites and mangoes, now wandered the streets with a shattered heart and an empty stomach……
“Papa , please come back…”was the only thought that kept him alive…..Arjun, on one hand wanted to see his motherland independent….whereas on the other blames it for deprieving him of the basic necessities….
“Why must we be treated like this in our own country?” Arjun wondered…

One day while sitting under an old banyan tree, he read a thrown pamphlet stating “India belongs to us … We must fight with courage and not fear”…
Arjun’s soul caught fire with courage…. Though small, weak and bereft , he joined the freedom struggle with a tattered tricolour that her mother had sewn……As he stepped forward, with a tricolor in his hand, his fears fell silent – he was emboldened, heart roaring louder than any war cry…..He became a secret messenger……..Stood at the front, ablaze with courage, his voice louder than fear itself…Many times he was chased and beaten up but his father’s word of “NEVER BOW TO INJUSTICE” kept resonating…..The days were hard, Arjun often went hungry but the thought of seeing India free filled him with hope

[Continued in comments...]

11/06/2025

New chapter, new energy - and now, new roles!
Say hello to the team taking Eunoia into its next era:

🖋 Editors:
📣 Marketing Head:

You’ve already been such a big part of the journey, and we couldn’t be more excited to see you take the lead. Big things ahead - and we know you’ll absolutely crush it! ✨

10/06/2025

She's right:
it never ends.
Overthinking
yeah, that's one lethal habit.
Lemme explain.

I'm trapped inside never ending thoughts,
worries,
caught in the constant spiral of unwanted ideas,
baseless assumptions
and countless accusations.

Echoes of what ifs,
doubts on thyself.
walking a bit, then stumble
again and again
this low self esteem surely costs a lot.

Deep rooted anxiousness,
terrified by the unknown,
not knowing what's next.
make false stories, kill my peace,
cry in the chaos.

Who knows where the right way is?
'Cause all I can feel
Is a never ending maze.

Temporary sadness or negative energy?
is it really there,
or am I just hallucinating?

Whatever this is, it’s ugly as hell.
escape does not seem to work.
the walls expand,
It is not my territory anymore.

Caught in this loop,
struggling to find a way out.
hitting another built-up wall,
no mercy in this mind.
and now I remember
She said it

"Look... it never ends."

She’s me and I’m her
The one who amplifies the dark,
The one who feels empty and still carries on with a smile.
who doubts everything yet still loves the world as it is
You’ll get it
and the sooner you do,
you’ll realise
"It never ends"

Credits:
Writeup:
Illustration:

29/05/2025

There was a time when life felt unbearably heavy. I was drowning in a sea of sadness, and no one seemed to notice. My smile was a mask, my eyes dry from holding back tears, and my heart — hollow. Every day felt the same, until one evening, while looking for a book in my closet, I noticed something strange.

A soft glow leaked through the wooden cracks. I touched the back wall — and to my surprise, it gave way. A door. A secret door.

Curiosity led me through it, and what I saw left me breathless. It was my dream world — everything I had ever wished for, waiting for me. Beautiful landscapes, luxury, success, applause, freedom — it was all mine. I didn’t have to try; things just happened for me. No expectations, no failures, no judgment. Just perfection.

But there was one catch — I was alone.

Days passed. At first, I felt peaceful. But soon, I started missing voices, laughter, arguments, hugs — people. I had everything I wanted, except someone to want it with. That’s when it hit me.

Dreams mean nothing if you can’t share them. What’s the use of a perfect world when there’s no one to call your name, no one to hold your hand, no one to say, “I see you, I’m proud of you.”

I returned to my world — still flawed, still hard — but now, I treasure it more. Because love, even when messy and imperfect, is what gives life its meaning.

That secret door still exists. But now, I no longer need it.

Credits:
Writeup:.15
Illustration:

05/05/2025

[BASED ON TRUE EVENTS]

1945. Okinawa. Hacksaw Ridge.

They say a man changes when he goes to war.
Private Desmond Doss knew that the moment his boots hit the mud at Okinawa.
But what do you call a man who refuses to change?
Not out of pride.
Not out of stubbornness.
But out of a trembling resolve to stay true to his ethics—
in a world that had long since forgotten what that meant.
To the men in his unit, he was an outsider. A coward.
“What kind of man walks into war with nothing but bandages and a Bible?”
Desmond believed that if he picked up a gun, even once, he’d lose more than just his convictions—he’d lose himself.
To him, killing, even in war, was not something God had put him on Earth to do.
He didn’t judge those who did.
But for him, healing was the only way forward.
That was his battle. That was his weapon.
The ridge rose 400 feet high—a near-vertical wall.
American troops had managed their way to the top, only to be met with a hellfire of mortar and bullets.
Soon enough the battlefield had turned into a graveyard made of broken bodies.
Command gave the order no soldier ever wants to hear: “Fall back.”
And so they did—rushing down the ridge, leaving behind injured men who were still breathing, still crying out in agony, still dying.
But Desmond didn’t flinch, with only one thought bothering his conscience:
“If I leave now…who will help them?”
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw their faces.
Young. Terrified. Screaming for mothers they’d never see again.
The gunfire had begun to fade, replaced by an eerie silence that never meant peace.
Night fell without mercy.
Whatever light the stars could offer was swallowed by the smoke of war.
Japanese troops were still out there, sweeping the battlefield, checking for survivors. Not to save them, but to finish the job.
Desmond pressed himself to the earth and began to crawl. Every step forward was a risk.
The ground was soaked with blood—most of it from the shattered remains of men he couldn’t save.
No Fireteam, No Backup, No orders.
Just one man with a heart that refused to stop beating for others.
[Continued in comments]

22/04/2025

शीर्षक : धरा

धरा जो जीवन से भरी है,
आकाश, पर्वत, नदी, वन सारी,
सागर की गहराई इतनी,
नज़रों से न पूरी उतारी।

रहस्य और आशा की शक्ति,
पृथ्वी के अंतर से आती ,
पर हम उसकी उदारता को,
अक्सर नज़रअंदाज़ कर जाते हैं।

शोषण, विनाश और अत्याचार,
अन्याय से क्यों करें हम भार?
धरती ये सब नहीं सहेगी,
वो प्रेम और सम्मान की अधिकारी है।

कृतज्ञ रहें, आभार जताएं,
श्रद्धा से हम शीश झुकाएं,
कर्तव्य है हमारा ये सच्चा,
धरती का मान सदा बढ़ाएं।

शीर्षक : सुरक्षा की पुकार, पृथ्वी की और से।।

जन्मो तक हमे सवारा है, मानवता को इसने निखारा है, जन-जन को इसने पाला है। पेड़ो की छत, फुलो की माला, सब इसका वरदान है।।

मत कर इंसान इतना (गलत), तू फिर आकर पछताएगा, घमंड मे जो तू आसमा मे है, धरा पर आकर गिर जायेगा। जिनके वृक्षो को तुने काटा, उसी ने तेरा जिवन सवारा है।।

धरा पर सुन्दरता देखनी हो तो स्वार्थ मिटाने आगे बढ । और स्वार्थ मिटाकर आगे बढ।

जो पक्षियो का चह चहआना,

चिड़चिड़ाहट मे बदल गया। चीख सुन ले प्रकृती की, आशा धरा को आज भी है ।।
थोडा खुद को बान्ध ले, लालसा को मर दे । तेरे अंदर की ये बे बुनियाद इच्छाएं, धरती के विनाश का कारण बन गई।

सब पता फिर भी अनजान बनता, ए मानव कब मानवता लाएगा प्रकृती की यह पुकार है !!!

शब्द से नही मौसम के बदलाव से, ओज़ोन की सुराख से, और न जाने कितने सुराग से। यह प्रकृती की पुकार है, सुरक्षा के विश्वास से ।।।

धन्यवाद !! जय धरा ।।
credits:
writer:
illustrator:
🌍

18/04/2025

30244 Maplewood Avenue
Apt 10W

Date: Friday, January 4, 1943

Dear Anna,
I know you must not be doing well. Truth be told, I’m not doing great either. It’s terrifying and suffocating here. The living conditions are worsening, and survival has become almost impossible. I’ve gone into hiding to escape them. They roam freely, hunting us down one by one.

With war raging outside, I’m left with no option but to take shelter in this concealed space with barely a shred of hope left. I survive on limited food, nearly starving every day. Fresh air is rare, and the constant fear of being discovered is unbearable.

I’m hearing terrible things. If they find you, they’ll watch you too closely - all day, every day, and try to force you to convert. To become thinner, smarter, more obedient, more outgoing. Less loud. Less sensitive. Less distracted. The list never ends.

Them - the self-declared know-it-alls, the so-called people of society. They will compare me constantly. Even if I do my best, it will never be enough. My successes will be expected. My failures, magnified.

I don’t want to carry the weight of everyone’s hopes and insecurities on my shoulders, Anna. I’m too terrified right now. There’s no room to breathe, no space to just be myself. If I don’t meet their academic and career expectations, they’ll dig a river of regret - and drown me in it. We, the ones in hiding, call it a genocide of creativity.

I just want peace. The freedom to explore, to fail, to heal, and to grow on my own terms.
Why can’t they accept me for who I am? I look in the mirror and I can’t find you, and that hurts. All I see are judgments. Am I pretty enough? Successful enough? Desirable enough?

I don’t want to lose you to these monsters. That’s why I’m writing. To remind you I love you for exactly who you are, and I will always stand by you.

No matter what.

Yours truly,

Anna

30244 Maplewood Avenue
Apt 10W

Credits:
Writeup:
Illustration:

14/04/2025

A voice hits within my mind,
A conversation between me and I.
The point I questioned, the point I realized—
What am I doing?
Where am I?
Neither on the ground I once played,
Nor in my dream's sky.

12 hits, the clock starts questioning my life.
Am I stuck between dead and alive?
Day and night, dark and light, happy and crying,
In the perfect bowl of balance called life,
I’ve messed it up, struggling all the time.

To distract, I look outside,
Talking to the people nearby.
The moment I tried to share,
The moment a question surrounded my mind—
Are these people really mine?
Should I trust them this time?
Is it me overthinking, or
Is this really alright?

The moment I decided,
People had already left me alone
In this burning hive.

Questioning my beliefs,
Questioning my life,
In the screams of sound,
A sudden silence passes by.

Credits:
Writeup: .vats55
Illustration:

01/04/2025

Some announcements are harder to make than others…

This one wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.
After much thought, we’ve made a difficult decision about Eunoia Magazine.
We’re growing! 🚀✨💙
Excited to announce that we’re now on Medium, bringing you even more stories, creativity, and ideas.

Check out our new space: [Link in Bio ⛓]

23/03/2025

Under the unrelenting sky of Delhi, where the air hums with movement, a thousand lives converge at the railway station, a heartbeat of the city. Dreams are packed in suitcases, hopes ride on iron tracks, and the pulse of life quickens as each person journeys toward an unknown future.

But in one fractured moment, that pulse falters. A stampede erupts, a torrent of human bodies caught in panic, rushing not toward destinations but toward chaos. The air is thick with desperation, the ground trembling beneath frantic feet. In the space between lives, time seems to fracture, leaving only the frantic rush for survival.

It is not the sound of trains that fills the air but the staccato of hearts breaking, crushed by the invisible urgency of haste, ambition, and the fragility of life. The names of those lost in the frenzy blur together, swallowed by the relentless tide of a city that moves too fast.

The trains still run, unaware of the silence in their wake. The city resumes its unyielding pace, but we are left with the echo of lives that should have been, swallowed by speed and indifference.

Perhaps it’s the speed of the world that blinds us—in our haste to reach, we forget to stop and see. Each soul is a delicate thread in the fabric of life, and when one is lost, we are all undone.

In the wake of the stampede, may we learn to pause, to hold, to listen. For the journey is not measured by how quickly we arrive, but by how tenderly we walk together, mindful of each step, each life, and each moment we share.

Credits:
Writeup:
Illustration:

21/03/2025

She walked through the ruined halls of Hastinapur, the weight of a thousand gazes pressing down on her. Their eyes followed her, whispering her name like an omen, like a curse.
Draupadi - the woman who set the world on fire. The woman for whom a war was fought, for whom countless sons and fathers got buried into the red soil, their bodies left to rot under a red sky.
They did not see the woman,
They saw only the legend, the prophecy fulfilled, the fire that could not be tamed. She had become a story one that did not belong to her anymore.
But if they had truly looked at her, if they had seen beyond their own grief, what would they have found?
Would they have seen the girl who had once dreamed of love, of a life where she was not bound by duty and war? Would they have seen the woman who had stood, powerless, as her dignity was torn from her in a
court full of men who called themselves kings? Would they have seen the mother who had lost her sons, her flesh and blood, to a war she had never wished for but had been forced to own?
She was a stranger to them, though they spoke of her as if they had always known her. They carved their own truths, gave her a thousand names, a thousand meanings, and yet not one of them ever asked who
Draupadi was, truly?
She carried an entire universe within her, a world that no one sought to enter. A world where she was neither a queen nor a cause, neither vengeance nor prophecy. A world where she was simply a woman, unchained, unseen, unclaimed.
But they never looked deep enough
And perhaps, they never would.

Credits:
Writeup:
Illustration:

Eunoia.

22/06/2025

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11/06/2025

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29/05/2025

05/05/2025

22/04/2025

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14/04/2025

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