It was Christmas of 2008. As per tradition, I took my seat next to my best friend at her house. She was a Konkani Christian, and since we’d become friends, I had celebrated most Christmas nights with her family. The dinner table menu rarely changed. There was always a fragrant, light-yellow chicken biryani brought out in a large patila, a vegetable raita, plum cake, murukkus, and a glass of homemade red wine—barely half a glass for the kids.
The night began with a quick prayer led by her mom. Her “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” is a Christmas memory that remains vivid even now. Initially, the wine wasn’t meant for us. But as we grew a little older, we were allowed to have it too. A deep, bloody red, served in a goblet-like glass. Drinking wine at a friend’s house as a young kid, without my parents around, felt like a thrill. A quiet, secretive moment that made me feel like an adult. That was my first brush with wine. I don’t remember the taste anymore, but that hue of red is etched into my memory.
Years passed, and once I turned fifteen, my dad allowed me the occasional sip of wine in a small shot glass when family friends came over. Whiskey and rum for the men, wine for women and children. Alcohol, therefore, was never a novelty growing up. So when it was finally time to step into adulthood — college, sneaking drinks with friends in shady bars, happy hours that stretched too long, I didn’t automatically reach for vodka or whiskey or rum. I chose wine.
Over the years, wine became my go-to drink, whether at home or at a bar. On days when I didn’t want to commit to a cocktail, I’d pick from the red, white, rosé trio. When I first started drinking wine as an adult, I gravitated towards red partly because that’s what wine looked like in pop culture, and partly because I didn’t yet understand the vastness of the wine world. So it went from Shiraz to Merlot, with the occasional Cabernet Sauvignon.
And then I tasted rosé. It felt like discovering my personal cocktail, the one that represented me. A beautiful hue of peach, light enough to drink through an entire afternoon and still feel present, yet complex enough to make me slow down and savour it. Rosé didn’t demand attention the way red wine did, nor did it feel overly celebratory like sparkling wine. It sat comfortably in the middle, much like I often do with my “terrific” decision-making. It felt like a drink that didn’t need an occasion, just intention.
As the years went by, wine continued to grow with me, adapting to different phases of my life without ever feeling out of place. College nights that began with cheap glasses of port wine shared between friends, poured into mugs and savoured under the glow of fairy lights. First heartbreaks soothed by sitting on the floor with a bottle of wine and nowhere to be. House parties where I didn’t want to pass out, just get tipsy enough to feel that warm, happy buzz. Early work dinners where ordering wine felt like the safest, most adult choice on the menu.
Wine even became a bonding ritual for my dad and me during the lockdown. Evenings slowed down as we shared a glass over the incredible meals my mom cooked. For the first time in years, we sat together as a family—no meetings, no assignments, no rushing. Just food, wine, and a movie playing in the background. A glass of wine also became my companion on the rare occasions I put on my chef’s hat to cook a decent aglio olio, making the act feel ceremonial rather than stressful.
Wine taught me patience. Unlike shots that hit you instantly or cocktails that demand excitement, wine asks you to wait. To swirl, to smell, to sip slowly. To notice how it opens up, how the first glass tastes different from the second. Somewhere along the way, I realised wine mirrors life in that sense. You don’t always understand it immediately. Sometimes it needs air, time, and distance before it reveals itself fully.
A glass of wine also gives you just enough courage to open up without hesitation. Whether on a first date or sprawled on my best friend’s couch, some of my most meaningful conversations have happened over wine, unplanned, unfiltered, honest. As I grew older, my taste evolved too. Whites on hot days, crisp and refreshing. Reds when I craved depth and warmth. Rosé when I wanted ease. I learnt there’s no correct wine for any situation, only what feels right at that moment.
What I love most about wine is that it doesn’t ask you to be anything other than who you are. You can drink it dressed up or in pyjamas, at a fancy restaurant or on your couch, alone or with people you love. It doesn’t demand performance. It simply accompanies you, steadily, reliably like an old friend who doesn’t need constant conversation but always understands your mood.
Today, wine is still my first choice. Not because it’s trendy or sophisticated, but because it feels familiar. Because it has quietly been there through so many versions of me. From that first half-glass poured by a friend’s mother to the bottles I now choose for myself, wine has been a constant thread, weaving through time, memory, and growth. Wine was my first drink, yes. But more importantly, it became my constant and I don’t think that’s changing anytime soon
