A Glass Of Red Wine

By Nitya Kumar

Holding the glass high, I look through the window, almost peeking into the tiny cars moving in an ordained fashion much like most of our lives in this city.

I take a sip and with closed eyes, I feel it weeping down my throat wondering if I could have missed it more.

Not many moments pass before the anarchy on the road catches my fickle attention, the breeze struggling to block my view with hairs all over my face.

As I stroke them back, I’m reminded of how long it has been since I enjoyed the company of my red friend with an abandoned promise of never drinking alone.

Before I lose myself in further introspection, the gleaming lights flashing through the tiny cubicles of a tall office building blind me as I take another sip.

I could never really put a finger on the exact moment this city switches from being liberating to suffocating, it’s a realization that creeps in gradually rather than a sudden choke.

Bored of the banal view of the deserting lifelessness around me, I start admiring how appealing the wine glass looks with a single drop left.

After cherishing it enough, I keep the glass down, take a quick glance at the half-filled bottle and look away before it begs me to be poured into the pit I feel inside on such evenings.

I try to look closely to observe the people out there, their actions, almost anything that could give me a hint of how their day was, did they meet their targets or are they still thinking about achieving them, each time they push the brakes every other minute in this eternal madness which some people affectionately call traffic.

Disappointed by how little I could decipher, I take another sip (oh, of course, that glance was enough to trick me). Now, I don’t feel the same rush I felt with the first drop, perhaps I feel nothing, maybe it’s the time to stop and go back to my laptop buzzing with work emails.

But I’m too hooked onto the city lights which drain me as much as they used to enchant me once.

I gulp down my wine at once, smile at the glass which now looks pretty again, and wonder if I would feel as pretty after I have depleted myself in the pandemonium of this city.

By Nitya Kumar