Orange Pekoe Tea

Arun Kumar

Be it winter, spring, summer, or fall, if I am home and not zooming around in some distant part of the galaxy in search of nirvana, the day begins with a cup of loose-leaf orange pekoe black tea. 

Holding a warm cup of freshly brewed tea with palms wrapped around the cup as if trying to hold a fragile baby bird that had fallen out of its nest, is such a wonderful start to a day. In the months of winter, the feeling is even more sublime.

Making Orange Pekoe tea each morning follows the same ritual. From the dark recesses of the kitchen cabinet, pull out the jar of tea, take a spoonful and put it into the infuser. This is while every passing moment, water in the electric kettle edges towards its boiling temperature. 

Once the electric kettle lets me know that it has done its job, water gets poured in a cup in which the infuser also sits. I set the timer on the microwave for four minutes, and when the timer goes off, it is time for ...drum roll... My Very First Cup of Orange Pekoe Black Tea. 

The tea has a beautiful deep brown color, and the translucent cup in which it sits brings out its glory; a wonderful aroma wafts up with the steam that rises from the cup. The cup of tea whispers to me to slow down and take time to appreciate and enjoy its company.

The main story, however, is about the jar that holds the loose-leaf orange pekoe tea.

Once I fill up the jar with tea, taking a spoonful each day hardly registers on the amount of tea that is remaining. In the beginning the change in the amount of tea is barely discernible; the level seems to stay the same. My mind never goes to the thoughts that there might come a day when the jar would be empty. 

But sooner or later, illusions get broken and reality settles in.

Today morning after taking out the usual spoonful of tea I noticed that there is only few more spoonful worth of tea was left in the jar. With that realization came the thought that after a few more days, the jar would be empty. 

The thought also led to the epiphany about how similar the process of jar of tea slowly getting empty one spoonful a day is to what happens with our life also.

In the beginning, life starts as a full jar. All through childhood, youth, days of building a career and slowly getting too immersed in it to the extent that it becomes our definition and identity, it is hard to realize that each day a spoonful of time is being taken away. 

Initially the emptying the jar of time is so gradual that it does not seem like we are ever going to run out of days. 

But one innocuous day going over the 60th birthday or having an existential moment of reckoning while sitting at some random spot or realizing pain and aches in the knees when temperature drops, or the humidity rises or when the work is no longer all-consuming, comes the awareness that the jar of time is suddenly whole lot emptier. The amount of time left in the jar is suddenly close to the bottom and there are not that many more spoonfuls left to take out.

That is when we say – where did the time go?

That moment of epiphany is the moment when a whole lot around, and within us, changes. 

The transformation is like waking up one day and seeing the world around us with different colored glasses, or suddenly starting to see things that did not register on our consciousness before. 

Foremost among them being that if you drink orange pekoe tea one day at a time, the jar will eventually get empty. Or alternatively, as you live one day at a time, the jar will eventually get empty. 

And with that, different aspects of life that sat high on the totem pole of priorities start to inch downwards and lose relevance they once held.

That point in time when the awareness of the limits of our existence gels is a milestone and how we handle the awareness shapes our future journey.

Today I also broke another myth I held. It turned out that there is no orange in the orange pekoe tea. Really? 

Contrary to what I thought, the tea does not have extract from the orange peel. Here is what ChatGPT had to say: 

“The term "orange" in "orange pekoe" refers to the color of the dried tea leaves used to make the tea, rather than the fruit itself. "Pekoe" is derived from the Chinese word "baihao," which means "white hair" and refers to the young leaves and buds of the tea plant...The use of the word "orange" in "orange pekoe" can be traced back to the Dutch traders who played a significant role in the early tea trade. The Dutch term for a high-quality, whole-leaf tea was "oranjebohea," which over time, was anglicized to "orange pekoe,”” At least, that is one story behind the name.

Oh well. I also once thought that turquoise is the name of some fruit!  

Ciao.

Orange Pekoe Tea

In the dark recesses  

of the kitchen cabinet 

sits a jar  with an airtight lid 

of the Orange Pekoe, loose leaf  

aromatic black tea. 

 
Each morning from that jar 

a spoonful gets taken out 

to help start the day 

with warm cup of a tea 

sitting in a wooden tray. 

 
The same happens 

be it winter, spring, summer,  

or fall. 

 

One spoonful a day 

the jar gets little emptier

and emptier. and

emptier.
 

Then one day  

hits the awareness 

there is only few more spoonful 

of the Orange Pekoe tea  

are left in the jar, and then,

there would be none.

 

 Is it not very much alike 

what happens with life?

A polyamorous threesome

 

Past, Present, and Future

are forever engaged in

a polyamorous  threesome

where rules of engagements 

constantly change;

a machiavellian game;

except one -

Present is navigating

a tightrope between 

what is memory

and what is there

but yet to come.

Love and Hate for Chemistry

 Arun Kumar

Chemistry. Chem·is·try.

It was one of the subjects among few others that I disliked during my halcyon days of high school years. Chemistry felt different from physics or mathematics where after learning a few basic principles, the rest could be deduced using hierarchical reasoning.  Physics and mathematics seemed logical. All I needed to do was to learn a few axioms of number theory and use them as the building blocks of lofty structures of increasingly complex theorems.

Chemistry, on the other hand, was a different beast – dark, mystical, magical. I never figured out the rhyme and reason of balancing the left- and right-hand side of the chemical reactions, and never understood what the basic principles were.

To barely manage passing grades and advance into the next class, I memorized the chemical reactions to the extent the neurons would hold, gave the exam and the very next day promptly forgot everything about them. 

There was no pleasure in that process of trying to learn chemistry.

Perhaps it was because of the chemistry teacher we had, but that might just be deflecting blame.

Whatever the reason, I never developed an interest in chemistry and was thrilled that after 12th grade, I did not have to take any chemistry classes or prepare for annual examinations. It was an amicable separation. Little did I know that later in life I would begin to appreciate chemistry, and I do not mean the chemistry between me and other fellow beings. 

Throughout the history of my youth and decades that followed, the relevancy of chemistry in life did not catch or hold my attention. 

In the torrent of youth and following that in the years of building a career, lots of trivial and important aspects of life, and about who I am, took a back seat. It is only now that I am past 60 and the single-minded focus on my career has receded leaving me with the feeling of the spaciousness of time and space that I realize the importance of chemistry, and of chemical reactions in life that I so much disliked.

And now, now, I see the profound influence of chemistry of small molecules, their interactions, and their contributions to the intricate steps in dance of life. Perhaps now being more aware of the world around, and world within, has brought the working of small molecules to the fore.

Take the grass in our front yard. One serving of fertilizer, and it turns from pale green to looking like a lush green carpet. All I am giving it is a 21-22-4 mix of Nitrogen-Phosphorous- Potassium (NPK) and with one serving, grass is all smiles.

Being a diabetic, I can see the fingerprints of what I eat at dinner on the blood sugar the next morning. A meal with a larger amount of carbohydrates, although so pleasing, comes back to haunt with higher level of blood sugar the next morning.

Take a small pill of medication, or some other mind-altering chemical, and like a magic potion the entire body reacts as if I have taken gobs of a chemical that are not part of my daily regimen. 

It is only now that I am beginning to realize that the biology of life is all made of chemical reactions. The proteins that genes create carry on the task that is assigned to them by shape determined by their molecular structure. Molecules act as messengers in every kind of process going on within my body and have magically allowed me to celebrate my 65th birthday which will be coming soon.

Now I am so much more cognizant of what my hands bring to my mouth. If I am not mindful, the hands are always singing the siren song that plays along the lines of - come my love, it is just one more honey glazed donut, how bad could it be when it feels like heaven above? And to those lyrical words, our hearts cave in.

Oh well. There is not much I can do about the youthful indulgences and fallacies of the past. But in the present, with new respect for chemistry and what it means for the cellular functions in my body, now we head out to organic food stores, and thankfully, have the financial wherewithal to be able to do that.

I now stay away from loading my plate with carbs – no rice, no pasta, and yes, no donuts, no fun. Well, not really. With creativity such food still tastes good.

Perhaps, I should also be more cognizant of what I am feeding the grass in the front yard. The 21-22-4 NPK mixture may ultimately turn out to be what donuts are to my body.

It is time to let go of my aversion to chemistry and learn the meaning behind you are what you eat or realize that meaning behind what Hippocrates said, "Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food."

Ciao.

Lines on my palm

 

Arun Kumar

When going through occasional rough patches in my life, I look upward towards the sky for solace, but if the day is cloudy, I turn to find comfort in the lines criss crossing my palm.

According to palmistry, different lines indicate different traits in our life — health, intellect, dominant nature, fate, sensuality, marital happiness, etc. etc. and etc.

These lines on our palm are supposed to commence from one side and terminate on the other with the beginning of the line foretelling our years in childhood and ending of the line our outer years. It is hard to conceive how the notion of beginning and ending of a line came about. After all, beginnings and endings, left and right, up and down, are human constructs.

If a section of a line is clear and unblemished, the corresponding trait during that chronological period in life is supposed to be heightened.

A set of clear lines, like a not so busy highway one certain day, bodes well for our journey in life.

Although as training I am a scientist, having grown up in India and surrounded by astrology, palmistry, seeing people wearing all kind of gemstones on their fingers for better luck or to ward off the bad influence of some planets, occasionally do I get swayed by their power to foretell the future and want to a peek to see what is coming.

Sometimes during periods of stress, I will gaze at my palm, and relying on my rudimentary knowledge of palmistry, try to find a silver lining.

Is my action just an example of wishful thinking; an attempt to draw comfort and seek a straw to hang on to?

I look at the lines on my palm and search for solace that life is going to be alright.

A sense of finding comfort is heightened by the fact that my father had a good knowledge of astrology. He had prepared my astrological chart and based on the alignments of planets, gave me his interpretation for what my future may entail. His interpretation included a summary of timeline of major events in my life (marriage, education, general health etc.), and by whatever reason, coincidence or because major events in life occur for most of us around the same time, some of his readings about my future, and timing of events were close to what he foretold.

Maybe by interpreting my chart he was also trying to comfort himself that even though I did not seem too bright when young, in the end I am going to be alright.

Bits of memories of those conversations with my father sometimes also provide me with solace during periods of stress. Perhaps in his wisdom he also knew that someday I would need the comfort of his words and wisdom that in general, my life would be okay.

Is my tendency of drawing comfort by looking at the lines on my palm any different than if I was religious and had the faith that brought me comfort and provided me with anchors to hold me in place?

Granted that astrology, palmistry, reading tea leaves are vastly different from tenets of organized religion — not much social interaction, no following ten commandments, no full day fasts during certain phase of the moon, no daily rituals, no specific attire — and yet the purpose is the same — be it the line on my hand or faith in a deity, what I seek is some sense of comfort that I am going to be okay.

I don’t quite know how palmistry, astrology etc. came about or evolved over time. It is hard to imagine that over the millennia of human civilization, a group of people built up a huge sample of lines on palm, plotted the corresponding trajectory of lives of people they belonged to, ran an AI/ML algorithm or just simple regression analysis to draw general conclusions about patterns of lines and the corresponding events in life.

Was it purely an exercise in fitting a regression curve, or doing a cluster analysis between various wiggles and blemishes in the lines on our palm and events of the life of people on whose hands those lines belonged to? It is hard to conceive of that possibility.

Even now with access to scientific and computing advances, study of human traits is difficult to perform and interpreting the data can be fraught with errors.

Maybe the origins of palmistry, astrology and other occult sciences reside in our innate desire to reduce uncertainty in the future, to find meaning and purpose for our blip of an existence in space and time. It is the same desires that led to the birth of to various religions around the world.

One common thread connecting the origin of occult sciences and religion could be human suffering in the present moment and our attempt to find solace by some means.

Maybe Buddhism or palmistry are inventions to alleviate our suffering and an attempt to reduce the measure of uncertainty where we might be heading.

We may never know how the notion of palmistry evolved over time but in the end, if palmistry gives me a blade of grass to hold on to and keep me from getting blown away during a storm in the darkness of night, that is all that matters.

Ciao.

Really, there is no place like being home

 

It is not easy be a guest, particularly,
when you are always feeling
a need to tiptoe around,
and be apologetic for the sound
your feet make,

or when

you are the first one up in the morning
rummaging through the kitchen cabinets
trying to find a pot to boil water
and have the first cup of Earl Gray,

but one rebel
decides to turn over
and lets out a loud clunk
it has been holding within
to make someone,
someday jump.

Few more days
of feeling chained,
and somewhat constrained
trying not to breathe too loudly
or have a hearty sneeze
that opens portals to your soul,

one relearns the truth
that there is no place
like being home.

The lost ritual of shaving

 

Arun Kumar

It is a beautiful day outside. One of those days when one wonders why the powers to be not wake up, take some time out from their political bickering and declare it a national holiday and give their citizens a chance to celebrate life. Doing so would be a nice boost to their own political rating.

Looking outside, what greets the eyes is a stunning blue sky without a sliver of cloud to disturb its pristineness.

High above, there are few contrails though. People sitting in the belly of a metal contraption that transport them from point A to point B. Some are traveling to see their loved ones, some to get away from the drudgery of life and escape to Maui hoping that few days in the paradise is the balm that soul needs. 

Whatever it may be, almost everyone has some hope in their heart except for a few who may be rushing to beat the dying breaths of a loved one or are on the way to attend the last rituals of someone they loved, or are leaving a promised land behind, which after all, did not turn out to be so promised.

It has been six months of winter and along with the crisp blue sky there are other signs of spring. New leaves on the honeysuckle are beginning to open bringing promises to spread their aroma in the summer mornings in a month from now. 

Daffodils have already sprung up and are gazing proudly at the world around them.

An anticipation of spring is also a time when vague nostalgia of times gone by stir inside. 

The transition of seasons – from summer into winter and then from winter to spring – rekindles the awareness of the passage of time. The feeling is so much stronger than New Year's Eve. The rituals of that day are so formalized and orchestrated that it hardly stirs any emotions anymore. 

New Year's Eve no longer holds promises of mysteries to come, or of memories of the moments gone by.

In the nostalgia brought up by spring I am transposed to the days of transition of summer to winter while growing up in India. When that transition happened, there was something different in the air. A distinct feeling that time and life are on the march. 

In that nostalgia I also see a man sitting on the verandah of our home about to start one of his rituals. The ritual of shaving. 

In front of him on a table sit the sacred items that are part of the ritual – a razor blade, a box of shaving cream, and the centerpiece of show, the shaving brush. Alongside there also sits a small bowl with warm water in which the shaving brush is tipped over to get its bristles softened up.

After a while, the precise steps of the ritual begin.

The man picks up the shaving brush and let it travel across his face to moisten bristles. Next the brush dips in the shaving cream, and when enough foam is gathered at the end of its tips, starts to decorate his face with a whiteness that looks at odds with his brown skin.

After foaming of the face comes the next step of using the razor blade; with smooth motions of his hands the bristles on his face start vanish, and with that, paths of clean-shaven skin emerge,

The fun part of the shaving ritual is the gestures he makes to get to the hard-to-reach parts of his face - the nook and crannies under the chin and the nose. Accompanying the effort are odd facial expressions in attempts to stretch the skin taut so the blade can run smoothly over the skin.

Finally, the ritual is over and there is a twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes; the pride of a job well done. Yet another ritual performed to its perfection. No nicks and cuts and the task is accomplished.

That man sitting outside on the verandah and going through the ritual of shaving is my father. 

I wish I had the foresight to take some snapshots of those moments and frame them for posterity. 

I have inherited his beard, the bristles that every couple of days, if not every day, need tending, however, I have lost the ritual of shaving.

For me, shaving is no longer a standalone task as it used to be for him. For me, it is using my fingers to spread shaving foam on my face. After that, wait for a minute and use a supposedly high-tech blade to get the appearance of the smooth skin back.

Instead of being a twenty-minute ritual it is now a five-minute chore. For some, it could be using the electric razor while waiting for the red light to change. I have seen that happening too.

Living in the cities and maybe living in high-rise apartments, many similar rituals of life have been lost. One can no longer light the sage and hope to push negativity away lest the fire alarm goes off.  When warm drops of summer rain come down, we no longer step outside and feel its touch on our faces.

So much is lost or has changed. Remembering my father going through the ritual of shaving, however, something may have survived in my subconsciousness. It just happened that a few days back I had the urge to buy a shaving brush, and as always, Amazon was there to oblige. 

Now, I am a proud owner of a shaving brush. Perhaps over time, I will bring back one of his rituals, and in some ways my father's memory will carry on.

Ciao.

Newton’s Fourth Law

 

It is the advice
we give to others
that sooner or later
comes back to test
our own resolve.

A chapbook of verses

 

Should I be searching
for the fountain of youth
ascending among the rocks
or look for
occasional shower of verses
falling from the summer sky?

The former
may bring immortality
the latter,
some peace,

and

a chance to live
on the cover page of a chapbook
printed beyond its first edition.

Building a framework for living #14: The starting point

 

Arun Kumar

Once again, I am back on the trail walking through the woods on a sunny afternoon that occasionally comes to grace us when transitioning from winter to summer. It is a beautiful crisp sunny spring afternoon.

Spring is the time of the year for our souls to thaw from its introspection during the winter and embrace the prospects of soaring again.

On the trail, there are signs of resurgence of life. Like our souls, everything else wants to soar. 

The trail also has a quaint wooden bridge to walk across a narrow creek. 

Walking over creek sometimes I wonder, where did it begin? From a spring beneath the surface? From the collection of small drops sliding down the slope coalescing into a fledging thin stream? It is something like when drops run down the side of a glass filled with chilled water on a humid day, and along their journey downward pick others to form a small puddle at the base.

The thought of the beginnings of the creek reminds me that everything has a point of origin. The ultimate beginning for everything around us is the Big Bang from which we all originated. Because of that, like a genealogical tree but vastly more intricate, the Big Bang is also the point of universal connectedness.

Another and much more personal beginning is the day I was born. Starting from that moment, sixty-five years later I am sitting on my laptop, lost in introspection, occasionally touching the keyboard to put my thoughts into words.

Between the day I was born and now, there is much that has come and gone by. Sometimes though I think that I still have not grasped the right perspective of time.

The years of childhood feel so far away, and yet, months and years seem to pass in a hurry. We are already near the end of the March and ¼ of the 2023 is now behind.

But let us stay with the discussion about the beginnings, particularly about where to begin in the context of building an appropriate framework for living for ourselves and be successful in achieving that goal.

The framework for living I have in mind is finding a way to live that reconciles my awareness of mortality with my need to live.

If I do not have the framework for living it could be hard for the rest of the journey that remains. 

Knowing that it is all going to end, and now having that awareness, I must find a way to feel engaged and have a sense of fulfillment as moments tick by. If I fail, life would be filled with cynicism. Each step someone within would ask - why engage in anything, when it is all going to end? What is the purpose of what you are doing?

And so, I am trying to build the framework for living and need to know where to start?

My goal is to have a framework of living that makes me feel that my life is, and will be, well lived. With that goal in mind, finding appropriate engagements that bring that feeling has the potential to reconcile the awareness of mortality and the need to live. 

Why so?

Having the sense of fulfillment does not leave a void inside that could be exploited by the trickeries of the awareness of mortality that can leave us feeling lost. To counteract, what I need to have is the right portfolio of engagements (PoE) enacting which makes me feel that the day that just went by was well lived.

With a lengthening sequence of such days, their sum would be a life well lived, and I would have achieved my goal. 

What goes in the PoE is an individualistic choice, the process of finding the right activities, however, is the same. The process is to ensure that activities that go in my PoE aligns with my values. Having such A PoE would bring a sense of involvement in what I am doing, and further, would also give me a sense of purpose and direction and would shield me from discrete random meanderings. 

So, the starting point is to build the right framework for living is to know what I value. It may not be readily evident but looking back at personal history may help. In your past, search for activities that brought fulfillment, satisfaction, flow, and joy. Was it learning a new subject or skill, coming up with a seemingly new idea, finding connection in seemingly unrelated things?

A part of activities in the PoE are those that help us achieve a healthy lifespan which is the foundation on which the rest of me stands. Without health, everything else falls wayside. Such activities in the appropriate PoE would be exercising, eating well, having social interactions over pleasant dinner, and having a glass of wine.

Ultimately, activities in my PoE would form a healthy ecosystem that supports and feedback on each other.

And so, at the center of finding the right framework for living is understanding what I value, and once I have the grasp of that, the next step is trial and error to find engagements that align with my values. Once that happens, nagging existential questions of life fall into place.

As I walk along the creek, it is gradually getting wider, and I know soon it will reach its end merge into the lake. It would realize its mortality. 

The passage of the creek reminds me of Bertrand Russell said: An individual human existence should be like a river — small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over waterfalls. Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being.

Ciao.

Summary:

1. My goal is to have a framework of living that makes me feel that my life is, and will be, well lived.

2. To do that, I need a starting point.

3. A general starting point would be understanding what I value, and once I have the grasp of that, by trial and error, finding engagements that align with my values.

4. A collection of such engagements would be the correct portfolio of engagements for me.

Related:

Building a framework for living #1: Becoming aware of mortality

Building a framework for living #2: The basic premise for its need

Building a framework for living #3: Follow the advice from stoics

Building a framework for living #4: The basic principles

Building a framework for living #5: Working with the fundamental unit that makes a life

Building a framework for living #6: The alchemy of fulfilling days

Building a framework for living #7: The yardstick for fulfilling days

Building a framework for living #8: What makes a day anyway?

Building a framework for living #9: A strategy to make a day well lived

Building a framework for living #10: Choosing right engagements to make a day well lived.

Building a framework for living #11: Need for aligning engagements with our values

Building a framework for living #12: Other consequences of portfolio of engagements

Cliffs above the ocean

 

Arun Kumar

Cabo de Roca, Portugal.

Diamond Head, Hawaii.

Point Udall, St. Croix, US Virgin Island.

All three are different specks on the sphere of the globe. They are far apart but have something in common. All three are cliffs high above the ocean and provide a view of infinite vistas. From all three, I have looked at turquoise blue waters of the ocean below. Waters that blend into distant horizons. 

If I let my eyes travel across the line on the surface of the ocean, it reaches the horizon. From there, it moves upward into an equally stunning blue sky, and then, continuing its onward journey it descends to travel back to where I stand.

Standing high above the ocean and looking at the sweeping vista, at all three places I have felt the vastness of space and time. Within that vastness, there is also the feeling of how insignificant I am compared to what is out there.

Standing in these places, one can feel the magic of two opposites merging into one. One is the unfathomable extent of the universe, and of the space and time within. The other is the realization of my insignificance. 

These are places where I can feel larger than myself, and yet, feel small.

The merging of two opposites – the expansiveness of space and time, and the sense of my own insignificance – also brings a sense of connectedness. 

I may be a speck, but I am still part of the infinite. 

If I close my eyes, I can see threads that emanate out from me and reach immeasurable distances in space and time and connect me with everything that is out there. 

Standing on these cliffs high above the water, within me there is both a feeling of awe and a feeling of peace. Perhaps, both go together.

It is not often that we feel connected with everything that is out there. The feeling of connectedness is having the realization that being in here and now is a long progression of events that started from the moment of the creation. 

Starting from that beginning, an infinite sequence of random events made it possible that I stand here, that I breathe the air I breathe, that I am staring back at that distant point in the sky which might as well be in the point where it all started.

Standing on these cliffs makes me realize that in the larger scheme of things, how miniscule are the chances of us being here. And even more, how miniscule are the chances of you and me both being here. 

Standing on these cliffs makes me comprehend that if I were to run time backwards then starting from the moments back in time, I relate to everything else that currently exists in now. In that movie, slowly the form I have will become the forms I had earlier. If I play the movie forward, many other forms will emerge from my present self.

It is like watching squirrels running down a branch on a tree, reaching the point of bifurcation and climbing back up on a different branch. The end point of two branches may be far apart, but somewhere in space they are connected.

Perhaps, that is the meaning of the word reincarnation and of universal connectedness. The forms we were and the forms we will become, and between them is me that provides the link.

The atoms that make me now were part of something else before and they will be part of something else tomorrow.

Standing on these cliffs, for a moment I question, why should I be afraid of my mortality? 

I do not even know where my beginning has been and where my end would be. I emerged from a progression of events in the past, and I will be part of a similar progression of events in the future. In that continuum, there does not exist a point that defines my end.

In that realization, there is a sense of peace of having a self that lives, albeit in a different form.

One day, you and I can return to these cliffs for one more time and gaze at the infinite. But let us try not to go to Diamond Head. Our old knees can no longer bear the effort of climbing those steps. We can just drive to Point Udall and call ourselves the armchair seekers.

Ciao