Whose wine is it, anyway?

I live around 20 minutes from the nearest train station. To be honest 20 minutes is an estimation on the higher side. If I take an high speed auto rickshaw I reach the station in 10 minutes. If I walk, it takes about 45 minutes. These figures are averages I've drawn up based on my experiences. If however, I take the infamous 206, aka the local bus, the time to reach the station would be roughly 30 minutes. So here's my problem. I am just a bit slower than the 206. If I were Ussain Bolt, I'd probably overtake the bus. That's unnaturally slow for a bus that operates on an engine and has four wheels. I've often found myself seething as the 206 crawls through traffic and trudges through by lanes. The problem here, cannot be the BEST because, 206's counterparts like the 240 and 203 zoom ahead and assert their dominance over arrogant auto rickshaws and reckless bikers. The 206 on the other hand submits to the authority of its peers. The 206 obliges everyone. It wou

After being diagnosed with diabetes, life changed quite a bit. I wasn't allowed to indulge in sinful desserts. I had to eat optimally and regularly to keep my blood sugar level in control. It broke my heart to know that I'd never be able to eat an entire slice of cheesecake again or drown my sorrows in a tub of ice cream. I confessed to my stoic doctor that my future as a gourmet was bleak. “Woe to me” I said hoping I’d stir her emotions. She simply shrugged and said "you can have one spoonful of ice cream or a tiny block of chocolate now and then. But I'd advise against it". "Why?" I cried "Because you're young and I want you to control your diabetes through a balanced diet! Why do you want to depend entirely on medicines?" "But is this fair? I have no family history of diabetes and here I am being told to stop putting sugar in my tea! What have I done to deserve this?" She scribbled something in her writing pad, tore i

A bell tolled tirelessly in a distance. The rooster who had, hitherto been asleep crooned unapologetically. I watched the rooster through the bars of my window. The rooster was oblivious, of course, to the fact that his wake up call wasn’t needed. No one in the house had slept the previous night. From a distance, through the morning mist, I saw two young men approach the front yard. They were dressed in white and wore somber expressions. I turned from the window to look at the crumpled dupatta on the floor. I had made an attempt to sleep, but had failed. On the floor, beside the door, was a plate of uneaten rice and pickle. My sister in law, Laxmi, had pushed the plate through the gap, under the door. I had made no effort to pick it up, so it lay there, cold and forgotten, just like me. I remember distinctly what my sister in law had said "Eat this food, it’s the last you'll get". I rested against the wall and slid down into a seated position. The floor was cold but