So, here we are—Cyclone Fengal is barreling toward Tamil Nadu, and we're all bracing for impact. The winds are picking up, and the rains are getting heavier. I’ve got the essentials ready—flashlights, food, water—but wait... I’m on a candle hunt! How could I forget the one item that makes power cuts a little more bearable? While I search for it in the dark, I can't help but chuckle at how well-prepared we've become... except for this tiny but essential detail. Let's just hope Fengal doesn’t mind the lack of candles!
✍️ By Subhasri Devaraj She didn’t believe in coincidences, which is exactly why she went alone. The Sherlock Holmes Museum had always seemed kitschy in pictures—pipes, deerstalkers, wax figures frozen mid-puzzle. But as Anika stepped inside, everything felt... off-script. The air was colder than London’s July deserved. Her emerald chiffon saree rustled as if it too sensed something unspoken. Near the fireplace, a magnifying glass lay on a velvet cloth—no display tag, no protective case. Just waiting. She picked it up. The museum remained quiet, too quiet. As she looked through the lens, the world tilted. The modern clutter dissolved. Warm gaslight replaced LEDs. The parquet floor shimmered like it had just been polished. And the sound—horse hooves on cobblestone, a steam whistle slicing through fog. She blinked. Still in the museum. But now the fire was crackling. And then she saw it: carved faintly into the stone above the mantle—her name. Anika. It wasn't graffiti. It was...

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