Archive for January, 2012

Dream job!

Maybe bankers are rewarded just for that  -choosing reality over dreams.


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A Nice Cup of Tea!

Sometimes, when things move too fast..

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..and everything is a blur

I put a full stop and leave my desk

..to make some tea

to get myself out of those gray cold glass chambers..

…to see the colors outside

for that whiff of fresh air..

..and the glorious evening sunlight

to look at the really long shadows..

…and little things on the floor

For the world out there..

..with people not too different

to watch the never ending traffic..

..which I could do forever

If only my cup was that tall..

This post is a response to “this


Here’s a quote from an essay, which I think is a must-read for all tea lovers.

First of all, one should use Indian or Ceylonese tea. China tea has virtues which are not to be despised nowadays–it’s economical, and one can drink it without milk–but there is not much stimulation in it. One does not feel wiser, braver or more optimistic after drinking it. Anyone who has used that comforting phrase ‘a nice cup of tea’ invariably means Indian tea.

– George Orwell, A Nice Cup of Tea(1946)


No. That’s not the same as ‘I hate anything Chinese’.

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Self effacing worship, watercolor, A1

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So it was a Saturday afternoon and I was alone in my apartment. I could have gone out and met some friends. Should have gone to my cousins place to see his new baby. I really could have finished some of that work which is going to kill me in a week. Or I could have gone for voluntary work. I could have been to the club and played Tennis. On my way back I could have got my cycle repaired. And once back, I could have done my laundry. At least  I could have finished that book I was reading for over three weeks now…

The list of productive things I could have done on that afternoon that would make my life (or anyone else for that matter) better is endless. I knew this all along and yet I sit down to make this painting. It is not as if the painting is for sale or for any exhibition. Only people who would actually see this painting are my roommate, I and a few random visitors to our apartment. Nobody’s life gets any better or worse because of this painting. Absolutely nothing in the world changes because of it. It is as useless as anything can get. And yet, I make this painting and go to sleep happy and contented.

Why this obsessive compulsive painting? Why such blind love? This self-effacing worship!

I am actually asking. To be clear, I am looking for an evolutionary psychology answer.


P.S: To be fair, painting is far better than sitting idle – at least from a mental health perspective. Last time I was alone and did nothing, I was so bored, lonesome and depressed that I ended up painting on my face. Ironically, the situation was comical enough to set my mood right 🙂

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