Feb 11, Already?

Waking up every morning is an arduous task. Even if the alarm is set for 8am (Karisma Kapoor sings very poignantly in the magnum opus Hum Saath Saath Hain: Aath baje tak jo hain sotey, badey kahan log aise hotey? This is utter bullpoo, because I am growing in size everyday). By the time I am de-paralysed (anyone else out there goes into semi-rigor mortis while sleeping?), the darling husband has usually inaugurated the kitchen with his world-class tea. It's the only tea that can charge me up for the day, and it has to be had with 2 Parle G biscuits, 5 badams, and gmail. Ever since we bought Red Label Natural Care tea by mistake once, we're addicted to it. This was the only thing that could make me give up my lifelong love for Darjeeling tea, which I have grown up drinking, and whose fans are impossible to please easily, as this blogger/columnist says so wonderfully:

A cup of tea is unacceptable to me unless the water has been just shy of boiled,a pinch of long-leafed Darjeeling tea added, and the infusion steeped for exactly three minutes (timed with a proper kitchen timer) before being strained into a large cup in which I want to be able to see both each molecule of the liquid and the bottom of the cup, after which one may add two teaspoons of milk and one spoon of sugar. That is the Perfect Cup of Tea, and the only one I will drink.

We have 2 red and 2 yellow cups in our austere kitchen. During IPL days, I always drink in a red cup and the dude in a yellow one, to show our loyalty to the Delhi Daredevils and the Chennai Super Kings respectively. I'm not naming names, but some of us (ok, I) are not above hexing the other's cup in case the two teams are clashing on the field.

This morning tea serves many wonderful purposes, not the least of which is transforming me from a ghost into a person (or as close to it as possible). There's even a song about the kind of thing I am when I get out of bed:

Pre-tea woman, walking down the street: