Career of Evil - Robert Galbraith

What if somebody derived pleasure off murder? What if killing somebody became a fetish? What if that fetish doubled up with framing somebody you absolutely hate? Would you risk yourself getting into such a situation? Is the hate worth destroying your whole life over? And what if that somebody turned out to be ex-army, ex-boxer and a highly skilled detective? Welcome yourself into the labyrinthine world of murder, thrill and deceit. Good lucking finding whodunnit...

It Was Meant To Be

They were friends since high school. It was not love at first sight. They became good friends with time. Love blossomed gradually in her, only she didn’t realise it.

One day, he introduced his best friend to her. The best friend fell in love with her, and as is obvious, expressed his love to her. Only not directly, but through a card, which ‘he’ came to hand over to her. That’s when she realised she hoped it had been him, and not the best friend, who meant those three words written on the card. She, of course, returned the card, with a firm no and deep disappointment.

They finished high school. Nobody said a word. They went their ways. She studied graduation and he went abroad. They lost touch. She found somebody in college. A couple of years later, when he returned home, one day he came to meet her. She was elated, yet nervous. She was surprised she still felt for him the same way. Yet again, she could not say a word. She was already with somebody else. Moreover, she was sure he did not feel the same. Why else would he have acted as mediator to his best friend all those years ago?

However, they talked for a while, and then he went his way. Later, she received a text from him expressing how he enjoyed talking to her and claiming his love for her. He explained how he could not profess his love all those years ago as he had to respect his best friend’s feelings and did not want to get in the way (typical Bollywood style). She read the text elated, scared, nervous. She was already with somebody, and this seemed like cheating. She blocked his number. They again lost touch for a couple of years.

Time went by; she had now completed her studies and was working with a media company. One fine day, she came across his profile on social media. With trembling hands, she sent him an add request. He accepted it almost immediately. They exchanged numbers and began talking. The talks just would not end.

Heaven only knows what they talked about but you could see her on the phone all the while chatting, giggling, and talking to him. He made her happy like no other. Yet there was one complication. She was still with the guy from her graduation days. So neither he nor she made an initiation about their feelings from years ago, which was still very much existent. Yet they could not stop talking to each other.

However, there was this niggling feeling inside her that she was probably cheating the guy she was with. She had to confront her feelings and figure out what was happening to her. She decided to speak about this to ‘him’. He was her best friend. He always meant well for her. He would suggest something that was good for her.

It was also time to confront her feelings about which she had never done till date. But how could she break this news to her boyfriend? How could she hurt him by saying that she was in love with another guy, and had been so for the last so many years? Nevertheless, she could not stay with one person and love another. Mustering all her courage, she confronted him. Things ended on a bitter note, but they ended nonetheless.

It was finally time to tell ‘him’ how she actually felt about him. He had no idea. He was in a different city for the week. She tried his number. The call went to voicemail. She tried contacting him for the next few days, but could not. Now she was extremely worried. A few days later news reached her through a common friend that ‘he’ had been through an accident, and suffered severe injury to the head, and was admitted in the hospital. She rushed to meet him. When she saw him, covered in all those bandages, her heart went out to him. She went closer, sat next to him, and called out his name. He opened his eyes, looked into hers, but there was no recognition whatsoever.

The doctor later informed her that the brain injury had led to complete memory loss, and he remembers nothing apart from the first five years of his life. She was shattered. How could she have let him be away from her for so long? This was meant to be...

Things don’t always turn out the way we expect them to. Yes, this was exactly how it was meant to be....

Of Late Nights and Hangovers

It was 4 am. I had a flight to catch at 5.30. With minimal traffic, I could still make it on time. Understandably in a hurry, I rushed out of my apartment, into the lift, and pressed the ground floor button. But as luck would have it, the lift ground to a sudden stop only a few minutes later. 

Affording little time to lose, I pressed the emergency button, as one would do in such a situation. There was no answer. The security guard, it seemed, had had a long night like myself. I reached out to my phone, but as is inside a lift, there was no signal. I tried to calm myself. I could still get out of this situation unscathed. After a few uselessly achieved meditative seconds, I started banging on the lift door. Stupid, I know. But what else could I do? I was only hoping against hope that somebody, on that particular floor, might have come out of their apartment for a 'really early' morning jog. Obviously, there was no answer. Luck seemed to never touch me.I started sweating and feeling nauseous. That's when I remembered, I was claustrophobic as well!

Just as I had started losing hope, I heard somebody yelling back at me at the other end of the door. Bingo! Somebody was awake! From the shrill shrieking, the voice seemed to belong to an old lady who seemed to want to help, but lacked the presence of mind to actually go and call somebody - the security personnel, per se. After what seemed like millennia of back and forth yelling, I passed out, thanks to my claustrophobic self.

After sometime, I came to to the sound of the yells. I was jerked awake, only to find that it was no woman yelling, but the sound of my alarm going off. Whew! It was only a dream. The time on the clock said 3.30 am. I still had time. Heaving a sigh of relief, I woke up and got ready. I rushed out of my apartment, got into the lift and pressed the ground floor button. With only a few minutes to spare, I could still make it on time. No reason to panic. After a few minutes, the lift ground to a standstill. Shit just got real....

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

More than your quintessential war-time love story. Pulled together by the love for books, across from two different parts of England, one being London, and the other an island on the Channel. A connection which otherwise would never have happened, had it not been for the love of books. Serendipity in the real sense. A man writing a letter to the owner of a book he loved so much, just because he found her address on it. A kind of chivalry which seems missing in present day society. Not to ignore the pain that is brought about by war-time destruction, leading to deprivation, starvation and loss of life and loved ones. To hold on to one's sanity at such times of hopeless bereavement which seems to have no end is an extremely difficult thing to do. In times of frustration, people do anything to hold on to the last shred of dignity and serenity. That's what the people of Guernsey did, by making up a book club, just so they can come together to share whatever little ounce of happiness they were able to muster through, meagre amounts of food acquired through 'unlawful' means, hidden from the Germans and what not. Amongst all this, a sudden blossoming of love comes as a welcome change like a fresh shower of rain. A must read and a welcome change to everyday romance which will change your perception of reading and romance all together.

Reminiscing

Can I ever stop reminiscing, can I ever stop to hope,
Standing underneath looming shadows,
Flickering lights tend to mope.
Hiding beneath the greenish hills,
Lies a plethora of dinge yearning from my heart.
Rains had just ceased to bash,
Blue skies were starting to splash.
Rainbow had only come to peep,
Dark clouds had seemed to clear off.
Life had begun to become beautiful,
When karma came to clash.
Leaning against the coppice gate,
Once again I dig the past,
Old deeds long forgotten,
Came bolting and wrecking havoc
The chains which had gathered rust.

If Only...

If only words were enough to tell you how much i miss you..
Nothing can stop the tears which flow at the thought of u with her..
Your nights were mine but now all you crave is her arms...
Pain flows down my spine like molten volcano, enough to last an eternity...
I keep looking for traces of you in anyone who claims to have known you...
Sometimes they lie, just to be in bed with me..
Sometimes i let them, thinking they must have come across you sometime, somewhere, unaware, carefree...
Just for that one night I pretend I can sense you in their flesh..
To crawl and reach the trapped energy your touch might have left on them..
For that single moment i make you my heaven...
And yet again i get back to dreary days until I find someone who claims to be your friend again...

Only if I could have been yours... Darlin' only if you had wanted to be mine

- Shradha Bhatia

Autistic Whims

When sleep does not seem near at hand,
When calmness is the last thing I ever achieve,
When all I want is to melt into a blissful slumber on a fluffy cloud,
When the clock keeps ticking by and time runs away way too fast,
When I crave for that solitary cottage of my dreams I call home,
That's when I hope to find a lake of peace, a river of contentment, and an ocean of tranquility,
Yet the ebbing tides seem too brutally impatient to settle down and cater to my autistic whims...