Whose wine is it, anyway?

I boarded the 10.25 pm Borivali slow train. In hindsight, it was a mistake to have got into an empty compartment. Anyway I wanted to lounge leisurely on the cushioned first class bench and watch an episode of modern family on my laptop. So I threw caution to the wind and got into the compartment. The train was an old model, with little to no ventilation. I threw open the train doors and took a seat. I scanned the compartment for rats, nothing prowled below the seats. I was completely alone. The train crawled towards Borivali. Till Andheri, thereabouts there were people on the station platform. After Andheri, the platforms were deserted. A few people slept below the bridge, but by and large, the stations were empty. I kept my laptop away and extracted my cell phone. I browsed through news feed. The first write up was about the elections, followed by Aalia Bhat's nutrition chart, then details of a recent rape case. I shut the chrome browser and called up my boyfriend. I told him I...

Do you know it causes a fit? Among my hormones When I see him with a racquet, Aggressive on the court, Sighing and grunting, Back and forth sprinting, His back hand tilting, Not a sign of wilting, Like he's courting the sport! His eyes oscillating, While he watches the ball, His stance invigorating, Ready to attack and maul! His eyes smouldered, The opponent: cold shouldered, His spine elevating, He’s ready to serve, Twist and swerve, With athletic gyrating, He'll unsettle and unnerve. And While at play, This king of clay, Will scratch his nose, In a decided way, He will arrange his bottles, Before he throttles, His opponent Murray, Or let it be Djokovic, Or some other chap, Because to think of it, they’ll all face mishap, at the hands of the bull, until he’s had his full. Come Federer, Ferrer, Or any new play-er, He will disarm and defeat, And use his chiseled feet, to run to and fro, and build up his score, and what is more, he...

When you're old, weary, forgetful and dreary, your grandchild will sit on your lap, And insists you narrate your story, before he goes for a nap, Perch that kid atop your knee, and tell him your delightful story. Tell him how you studied biology, And the science of the body, And the wonders of economics, And how to make accounts tally, Bore him silly with math rules, And crap you picked up in schools, how algebra helped you land a job, And physics helped you convince a mob, On your first date, You dined with your certificate , And all those sums in calculus, Helped you during your first kiss, How law helped you win your wife, And grammar stopped you from taking your life, Tell him when down on your knees, You were uplifted by degrees, When overcome with emotions, You narrated equations, Tell him when nights got colder, Geography gave you its shoulder, Tell him medicine cures all aches Including the vacuum of heartbreaks, And when you're dead in you...

To maintain peace and sound reflexes, Sever every possible type of nexus, With ex’s friends & friends exes, Regardless of their sex's, Above all, consider your cerebral plexus, And know that wounds get infectious, If unhealthy connections are maintained with one’s own exes.

Maturity and age have no correlation. You can be fifty years of age and indulge in childish behaviour or you can be twenty and show signs of being the bigger person. So let us be the matured ones. Let us not set rules for others or smother them with our opinions. Let us give the people we love, wings to fly and freedom to make their own decisions. Let us not pass judgement or gauge their actions. Let us ignore acts of rudeness and overlook harsh words. Let us instead focus on being self assured and confident. We have no time to waste over monitoring another people's movements, second guessing the things they say and filling our head with frivolous self doubt. Our time must essentially be spent in working towards building confidence. We will feel secure only if we think highly of ourselves. So let’s be the matured ones, let us read and build knowledge. Let us interact and build social skills. Let us exercise and maintain a healthy body, let us explore undiscovered corners of our...

Dear Dog owners I dashed out of home today and was in a hurry to catch the local bus. I sprinted down the staircase, hopped over flowerpots, hurried out of the front gate, jumped onto gravel and landed in a pile of poop. The poop was fresh, recently excreted out of a dog's behind, and it was a plentiful pile. So I surmised the dog was well fed; definitely not a stray. I scanned the street for the guilty excreeter. My eyes landed on a smug man walking the ugliest pomeranian I had ever seen. It could've been that dog or some other, I couldn't tell. But I had to go back home and wash up. The callousness of a dog owner landed me in poop. I completely understand that dog owners love their pets, I love dogs too; but that gives me no right to litter the pavements. What if I owned a pet bird and allowed it to shit on your car windshield, would you not protest? Being a "dog lover" doesn't absolve you from your duties as a citizen. You cannot inconvenience an unsusp...

An unintelligible verse, Is worse than a curse. A badly worded rhyme, is a literary crime. Instead of rhyming ‘bird', With a word like curd, Some people are plain absurd, And will use lacquered. Poetry is emotion, Expressed through lines, Not word commotion, Going off like mines. The rules of grammar, Have to be in place. So please don't anger, The grammarian populace, By confusing their and there, And misusing you're and your, And using any word anywhere, And thinking your poetry is pure. Big words make not a poet, Hyperboles won't add to the meaning, So when you poeticise please know it, Short stanzas are more appealing.