Whose wine is it, anyway?

The shores of Juhu Beach are strewn with litter. Plastic waste and other pieces of garbage are belched ashore by the sea. Amid the filth, hawkers establish food stalls. People flock these eateries, gorge on missal pav and pav bhaji. Half the food is consumed; the other half is dropped on the sand. Paper plates are dumped on the shore, waves swallow these plates, lick them clean and again the sea belches them out. This process is continuous.  In the colony of dung heaps, there was one particular heap of filth that stood out. It towered over the other piles of garbage and was rich with excreta. This particularly large heap was the home of Count Cockroach. He was young and handsome. His tentacles were long and indicative of his sharpness. His silky black torso was a subject of envy among his peers. "The sand softens the texture of his torso", said the Cockroach of the Sewage drains.  "No, he's born with handsome features", said lady Locust in his defence.  Lady Loc

It was like any other day, ordinary in every sense. The tapestries were tidied and the carpet was rolled to one side. The floor under the carpet was mopped clean. The carpet was then unfurled and vacuumed. The Silk cushions on the teak sofa set were brushed. A thin coat of varnish was applied on every visible piece of wooden furniture, even the slim legs of the piano were scrubbed till they sparkled. My cover was taken off and carefully folded. I knew, of course, that that would be sent for laundry and then dry cleaning. My covers were replaced every day. The surface beneath my cover, which was always out of sight, was wiped clean with a damp cloth. Then wiped again with a dry cloth. A new, freshly laundered crimson red table cover was fluttered open and thrown over my wooden body. It fit perfectly, it hung off my edges with womanly grace and completely covered my legs. Stems of freshly plucked jasmine flowers were dropped into a bluish white China vase and then placed at my centre. Or

They should never have crossed paths! It wasn't my doing, do not for the love of god blame me. It was entirely because of my brother, he happened to take my arrow and try his luck at matchmaking. Needless to say, he struck the wrong people.   Where are my manners! I haven't introduced myself. I am Cupid, the God of love and contrary to popular belief, I am not a naked child. Well I was, but I've grown up since. I have a twin brother named Stupid, who is the god of Idiocy. So when he took up my bow and arrow and struck them, you can imagine what happened. Oh why did he strike her?   Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself, let me therefore tell you what happened, and I promise I will under no circumstances exaggerate or downplay facts. Let’s call them ‘him’ and ‘her’. This is their story.   Part 1 (The Meeting)   Nothing good can come out of masturbation. I say this for two reasons, one because I am a firm believer in love. The seed of a man's love must germinate in the

What are rocks to mountains?  What are pebbles to streams?  What are droplets to fountains?  What are thoughts to dreams?  What is a termite to a tree?  What is our sun to the universe?  What is chocolate to bee?  What are flowers to a hearse?  What is silt to a river? What are waves to the sea? What is a chill to a shiver?  What are you to me?