phantasmagoria- Psychol a shifting medley of real or imagined figures, as in a dream

I think I realized why some women hate being called feminists. One does not have to be a 'feminist' to want/demand for equal rights. That's how it is just supposed to be, ideally.

Perspectives

It really bothers me when I see old people on the streets. Something about the droop in their shoulders, the gait that seems like they've given up, but mostly their wrinkled skin. Pity is a terrible emotion I always think, but this is exactly what I feel for them. More often than not all that I do is scoop a few coins that I find in my bag, deposit it that weary old hand and walk away. As I walk away, with every step there is growing guilt. I walk away. I do nothing about it.

I know people who do not understand why I "encourage begging". Bottom line is, if he pretends to limp or actually is lame, he needs the money. Begging isn't necessarily anybody's lifestyle choice. An accident of birth and I could be the teenager with a drugged baby, tapping on car windows for pity.

This very interesting logic was put to me by an auto driver. I'm terrible at bargaining. Every time an auto driver demands exorbitant amount rather than going by the meter, I end up paying what he demands. On one such occasion, I was told "Meter mele twenty madam", meaning I'd to pay twenty rupees more than what the meter showed. I mildly remonstrated and his answer was this- When you don't mind spending so much on one cup of coffee in Barista, why not twenty rupees here?

Not everybody might have been impressed with this line of reasoning, but for some reason it stuck in my head. It puts things in perspective for me, a compulsive spender.

I got into the auto.

The anti lemon tea campaign

M is my colleague and a very dear friend. I like her. A lot. She gives me her share of coffee everyday. That makes it four doses of coffee per day for me. Life was sweet then.

Ever since the accursed lemon tea forayed into the coffee man's beverage list, I have not been able to wean M off them. My coffee fixation aside, this lemon tea for starters, looks disgusting.
It looks like black syrup and tastes bitter to boot.

My coffee dosage is now down to two per day. Ban the lemon tea I say!

Alright nobody's getting hurt! I got my coffee!

With a pseudo serious expression M asks me if there is any relationship between temperature and aggressive thoughts. Normally I would have had a disparaging reply but I couldn't agree with her more now. You see, the air conditioner is out of order and my everyday cuppa coffee, while it gives me reasons for staying alive, makes me extremely hot around the neck AND makes me sweat more.

If I wanted to sound optimistic, I would have said, "Thank God for deodorants". As it is now, I'm worried why other people aren't thankful for the same. Life would have been a umm.. a little more fragrant right now.

Reading through several research articles on humanities is part of my job description and my first article for the day tried to prove that thoughts of words that indicated high temperature induced violence. I had to agree. What I did not agree with the writer, was the number of pages I had to scan through to grasp this one fact. I wished I could subject him to thirty degree Celsius in a room with glass walls. He wouldn't need fifty pages to prove his hypothesis then. The heat is getting to me. Obviously.

for the love of coffee and everything around it thence

After a regular day of cubicle farming, I wonder what makes me so happy at the end of it.

Three shots of caffeine spread out evenly over the day certainly helps. The entire place seems to be three watts brighter once the door swings open and I hear the familiar "Coffee madam?"

The man seems to be mildly dyslexic though. "Two coffes and three teas" are often interpreted as "Two teas and three coffees" and more often than not, he ends up bringing one cuppa coffee more. Not that I'm complaining about this. Now who can hate somebody who brings flavored coffee to your cube?

This unique flavor is something that only I can seem to identify. Reminds me of jaggery, though it tastes nothing like it.

Irritably shooting daggers at the door until the dusky liquid arrives; what exquisite agony! I can continue waxing eloquent till the wafting aroma finally grants me reprieve.

I have been caught darting covetous glances in the direction of my co-workers' coffee more than once.

What can I say? Coffee spawns greed after need.

I think I can now mention that I wrote this in my coffee break. I've been told I have to work during this weekend and I'm grinning. Go figure.