“…end. The world would come to an end. If thou can, save thine own a**.” God was never so forthright. This time, Noah realized, He meant business. “Go build yourself an Ark”, He advised. “What about the Kyoto Protocol? The environmentalists would sue me if I fell so many trees…”, asked Noah. “Don’t care, neither would they be there, nor would there be any Environment… Ha ha ha”… and by sounding these thunderous laughters He vanished into thin air.

Noah opened his eyes. He could not believe himself. Can God be so cruel to ask him to build an Ark at the age of 600? He wanted to go back to God, but did not know where He lived. So, he searched in Google, but even Google could not answer. God’s home was nowhere found in Google Maps and even his GPS (God Positioning System) failed!

Cursing his bad luck, Noah sat down brooding. A tall well-built young boy with too many muscles, was passing by. On seeing Noah crying, he asked, “Hey Ol’Gran’pa… why’re u cryin?” On listening to  Noah’s story he agreed to help. He introduced himself as Arnold T-O. “God has sent me to save Humanity for Judgement Day”, he added.

So with Arnold’s help Noah built an Ark. Now he was supposed to wait for the doomsday. Days passed, weeks passed, and even months passed, nothing happened.  Finally one day, when he had almost given up, the earth beneath his feet started shaking. He realized that the doomsday has come. Hurriedly taking all the birds, animals, and Arnold inside, he closed the doors of the Ark. The sky was getting darker, and violent winds were blowing from all corners of the earth. Noah realized, everything that has a beginning has to come to an end. And then after the violent earthquake, the Great Tsunami came and pounced on Noah’s Ark. For days and nights the Ark floated and floated, and one day it landed on the Mountains of Ararat. Noah sent out a dove and it did not return. The water has subsided. He opened the gates of his Ark and came out to see the bright sunshine on the lush green fields of the earth. Trees have grown and fruits were ripe. Fresh breeze carrying the scent of blossoming flowers filled his heart. It was Spring again. “After every End there is a new Beginning”, Noah said to himself.

I could see their lives unfolding in front of my eyes – just moments ago, so perfect. And now, it was like the whole world had come crashing.

Beth was perfect. I had come to like her from the very moment I came across her. She was charming, effervescent.  And Jude was her soul mate in every sense of the word. Just to see them together was a joy unto itself. It was like they were coordinated – the twinkle of her eye that only he read, his smile to her across the room that only she saw, and knew was for her alone. And I, on the wrong side of the big ‘30’, felt admittedly jealous of this sort of love I hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever.

It had just seemed another ordinary day. Beth came home from her teaching job at the local school when she found the doors unlocked. Panicked, she walked in on them. The image of her husband, her Jude, sprawled onto her? Vanessa? The nanny? She reeled onto the doors for support. It was only then she noticed the blood.

The detectives found Beth still clinging onto the walls, ashen faced.

Everyone in the neighborhood tried to be there for her. But she seemed to be… unhinged, disconnected. The rumors were strife, yet Beth seemed too calm. And then they came for her.

This was just unbelievable! No one could believe it could be Beth… and yet the evidence. At this point, I found myself thinking hard, contemplating on what I could do. Should do.
‘Should I? Shouldn’t I? Oh Hell. The very last time I am doing this.’ Then I press END. Straight to the last page of the PDF eBook.

What? It’s the spurned lover of the nanny who..? And wow! Beth ends up doing the detective. Great! And the author so couldn’t resist the whole Jude – Nanny angle.

This is the absolute LAST time I am reading a bloody chick lit.

Mother gave him the name of Isaac, but he preferred calling himself by the English surname Newton.  It sounded somewhat like the unit of Force, and imparted his name some Gravity, he used to say. Day and night he played hide and seek with the sun, the moon and other celestial bodies, and tried to contemplate their movements and advances. One day in such a contemplative mood, while sitting in the Garden of Eden, under an apple tree, he fell asleep.  Satan seemed to pass by when he saw Newton asleep. By his very satanic nature he decided to bring eternal tribulations on mankind. He took the shape of a Cupid and climbed up the tree and one by one dropped three red apples on Newton’s head. And that was the day in human history, when miseries of hard intangible mathematics were written on every newborn’s immature forehead.  Newton fell in love with those apples. He brought them home and placed them at the centre of his table. Every day he used to muse at them, and whenever he ran out of ideas, he used to take a bite and shout, “How do you like them apples?”

She poured out her regular cup of strong tea and lightly sniffed at it. But it was more out of habit as her ability to smell had weakened with the appearance of greys. She sat heavily with the cup by the window that overlooked the street. While she sat calmly sipping on the tea, everyone on the street passed her by in a blur of movement. There was urgency in every step, a fear in every eye. They were all blind to her withered old structure in the dilapidated construction; their only concern was moving ahead, their eyes only looked upward in the search of a heaven.

She was growing restless by now. Then the doorbell rang. She smiled and gently dragged her tired feet to the door. The young postman smiled, “Sorry grandma, there were a lot of letters to be delivered today.” She smiled affectionately and led him to the old dining table. As the young boy set down his bag and retrieved the letter addressed to her, she neatly started cutting the apples kept on the table.

The postman squinted at the letter, “Your son’s writing is becoming more illegible by the day.” The woman let out a hearty laughter, “Of course, he has become a doctor now.” “It is just the usual. He is fine. So is his wife. Their child misses your stories. He will come to meet you soon.” The woman gave a weary smile as she placed the chopped apples on a platter and passed them to the boy. “Don’t mind grandma but I have been reading out these letters to you every single day from almost a year. It is always the same. But never have I seen your son or his wife visiting you.” The woman stared out of the window for a long while as though wishing an answer to fly past. After what seemed like ages, she looked back at the boy and said, “But you will come, won’t you? You will come whenever a letter has my address on it. You will come when you get married. Your children will listen to my stories if not my own grandchildren.” She looked at him with such intense expectation that he just smiled, unable to speak.

As he picked up his bag, ready to leave, the woman glanced at the full plate. “Take those apples home, son. They are for you.” The boy looked at the plate and forced another smile. He gingerly picked up a couple of pieces leaving the rest on the plate and walked out. The woman took her place at the window as the young postman rushed out of the date in a hurry, pausing only to shove the apple pieces into the dustbin.

The woman’s thoughts zoomed back 8 years in time when her son and daughter-in-law walked out of the same house with her grandchild in their arms, vowing never to return back to her stifling presence. She felt a sudden pang of loneliness as she wrote yet another letter to herself. She had to take immense effort to ensure that the tears didn’t roll down on the letter, so that the young boy wouldn’t have any problems understanding the address.

The evening was spent in cooking her son’s favourite food and watching fatigued people return home to their families from that window. Before she retired to a night of fitful sleep, there was one last chore to complete. She wiped a stray tear as she laid fresh and ripe apples on the table.

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A Fighting Chance by Ric

Barbarian Style by Aniket

“Aa-ooch! That must’ve hurt!” His hands methodically reached the popcorn bucket as his remained focused on the boxing match.

“I don’t know what you guys see in those fights.” She squinted her eyes as one guy kicked his opponent on the face. “All this sweat, blood and people hitting each other. Thats not entertainment. We are not in the barbarian era any more. Why can’t you guys have normal form of entertainment like watching a movie or something?”

A bell marked the end of second round and Mark turned to Helen. “Sorry hon. You were saying?”

“Nothing. If it were up to you, you’d bring the gladiators back and turn our home into an arena.”

“Whats with all this negativity!”, he winked. He’d been wanting an opening to push her buttons about her new found spirituality.

“You really want to go there?”

“I’d rather not. But you have to accept the facts. Gladiator was such a hit movie for a reason. You would never admit it but girls love it too. It was the barbarian way to please women after all.”

“I still don’t get it. There is never a good enough reason for hitting someone.”

“I disagree. A girl worth fighting for, is always a good reason.”

“Remember the battle of Troy? Much good that did, right?”

“Remember that guy Big Joe, back in college,” he defended, “the one who threw water-balloons at you and made you cry in freshmen year?”

“You did not! You were the one who broke his nose? Oh, Mark! I now remember you having a black eye around the same time too.”

“Well, I aint no ninja. You hit some, you get some.”

“But you never said anything to me till I asked you out later.”

“What can I say.. I was playing hard to get.” He grinned.

“Well, in the light of new evidence I’m beginning to see your point in the barbarian way of impressing a lady.” She hiked up her skirt and sat on his lap crossing her arms around his neck.

“I’m not going to get to see the match tonight, am I?”

“Trust me. After I’m done with you, you’re not going to have any regrets”

“I’m sold.”