My cup of tea

Tea is intricately woven into my daily routine which includes a lot of mental calisthenics. I am sure, as Indians, nothing really turns us calmer than the thought of a nicely brewed cup of tea; anything that goes on for pretty long durations starts affecting our lives from inside out, and tea holds no exception. I Have memories of my childhood days when we, the close-knit members of our family, used to gel over cups of tea, some snacks and abundant affection. Those foggy mornings of winters, those picturesque evenings of springs, those breezy nights of summers – all embraced us in the prevalent aroma of tea; the bonds got stronger and the joy associated with tea also grew manifolds.

I am basically a TEA person; give me any variant of tea and I would tell you about the secrets that have gone into preparing it. Some of my colleagues would prefer a cup of coffee with rich lather and richer aroma any given day, but a coffee is not my cup of tea. Everyone has affinities, the close callings; I need my daily supply of tea to be able to feel in sync with my systems. I don’t consider my self addicted to tea; it’s just that I am a tea-lover. The sight of monotony-breaker whirls settling in the cup, the anticipation of first slurp while bringing the edge of cup to your lips, the fragrance that can only be appreciated while you close your eyes – a cup of tea can make this world appear even more warm, stimulating and homely. 

Before moon, Afternoon

What a better joy than stealing a subtle snooze after succulent lunch, to watch the catapulting crowd from the glass pane of your sky scraper, to listen to frenzied fracas of your kids on phone, to await the pleasant knock of evening with luscious, foamy coffee amidst an disorganized whirl of chirps, to plan for the arcane of approaching activities for the day ahead, the afternoon fills the vacuum of our life and gives us some tame time to replenish our minds with the scuttled supply of freshly secreted neurotransmitters.

Post pubertal phase of the day, afternoon, is like middle age of our lives. It is passed with little realization of its presence and we seldom halt our hollering steps to appreciate the effervescent efficacy of afternoon. With the superfluous streamlet of fresh morning before it and the sulky shadows of nubile night after it, the afternoon is mostly shorn of of its existential importance. But I love to soak myself in the rapture of immeasurable perspectives that aftermath of morning provides.

The afternoons provide us a much needed buffer from the pulsating mornings full of fuss and frills and from the esoteric establishment of mystifying nights. It’s so pleasant to appreciate the slow pace of clock pendulums, to feel the tender tentacles of easy-flowing breeze, to organize the disordered cords of dust-worn guitar, to cuddle up with the cushy soft toy you were gifted by your spouse, to sip the fizzy lemonade and let your taste buds bathe in ecstasy. The afternoons are big-hearted and breathtakingly sensuous, provided you make some attempt to swirl your soul from the accustomed attachments with mornings and nights.