I’m a teaholic and I must first confess that it didn’t happen naturally. I forced myself into this habit.

Because… why not?

I had no aadat as such, no addiction, no desperate need for caffeine to function. Sure, I went out with my colleagues for tea at tea time, but the tea itself was almost incidental. It was more of a pastime, an excuse to step away from the desk, stretch the legs, and catch up on the latest office gossip than “needing my cuppa to stay awake and help concentrate”.

Some of my fondest memories from those days are attached to those tea breaks. There was a certain cast of regulars who would almost magically assemble at the same time every day. The conversations were rarely profound, but they were ours. We discussed everything: production incidents, impossible deadlines, office politics, cricket, movies, food, and occasionally, actual work.

As my resignation approached, those tea breaks began to feel different.

At first, only I knew I was leaving. So I would sit there, listening to everyone talk about next month’s plans, future releases, upcoming projects, and silently think, I won’t be around for any of that.

Then came the awkward phase when everyone knew.

Every tea break somehow found its way back to the topic.

“So, when’s your last day?”

“Found a replacement yet?”

“Don’t forget us after you become rich.”

The jokes remained the same, but there was an unmistakable undertone to everything. The countdown had begun.

Without realizing it, I started mentally collecting lasts.

The last tea break before a major release.

The last birthday celebration.

The last time I would complain about the cafeteria food despite eating there almost every day.

The last walk back from the tea stall with colleagues whose company I had taken for granted.

And then, suddenly, there it was: the final tea break.

No dramatic background music. No emotional speeches. Just another cup of tea on another workday.

Funny how the moments we remember forever often look completely ordinary when they’re happening.

Then I joined my present company.

And of the many things that did impress me (because let’s be honest, in the first few weeks of a new job, everything feels bright, shiny, and wonderful), one thing stood out unexpectedly:

Free tea.

Now, in hindsight, that sounds ridiculously easy to impress.

But allow me to defend myself.

The company didn’t stop at free tea.

There was free coffee.

Free snacks.

Free fruit.

Free biscuits.

Free this.

Free that.

The pantry looked less like an office facility and more like someone had accidentally installed a convenience store and forgotten to attach a billing counter.

Every new employee goes through a phase where they try to estimate how much value they’re extracting from these benefits.

“Technically, this biscuit is part of my compensation package.”

“This cup of tea is employer-sponsored.”

“If I have another packet of chips, am I increasing my effective CTC?”

Naturally, I did what any financially responsible employee would do.

I started drinking more tea.

After all, if the company was giving it away for free, refusing would almost feel disrespectful.

One cup became two.

Two became three.

Soon, I found myself taking tea not because I particularly wanted tea, but because tea was available.

And somewhere along the way, what had started as a social activity quietly evolved into a habit.

The company gave me projects, responsibilities, learning opportunities, career growth, and professional development. But perhaps its most enduring contribution was convincing me that tea should be consumed whenever it is within arm’s reach.

There was something oddly delightful about it. Free tea in the morning. Free tea in the afternoon. Free tea whenever a meeting should have been an email. Free tea when the code worked. Free tea when the code absolutely refused to work.

And because human beings are exceptionally talented at maximizing free things, I slowly started drinking more tea than I ever had before.

What began as curiosity became routine.

What began as routine became habit.

And before I knew it, I had changed sides from the side who looked down upon on teaholics… to the…well…other side.

You could drink drink tea first thing in the morning, and then drink tea with breakfast, after lunch, evening tea (is a must in every household), after dinner (not everyone likes it but our family is different), to wash the spicy food down, to stay awake, to help fall asleep.

Nothing beats the tea you have that “you” make at 2:15 in the morning, when the house, the neighbourhood is asleep, except for the noise of dogs, frogs and crickets to accompany you. The tea I like should be cooked well, heavy on tea and light on sugar so it tastes bitter.

At dawn when sleepy eyes still stray,
The kettle calls, “It’s time for tea today!”

With breakfast too, the cup appears,
A faithful friend through all the years.

Then lunch concludes, the plates retire,
Yet tea arrives with fresh desire.

By evening’s hour, there’s no debate,
In every home, chai holds its state.

And after dinner? Some may flee,
But our strange family votes for tea.

Too much mirchi? Tongue aflame?
A cup of chai will tame the game.

A mountain of work? Deadlines in sight?
Pour some tea and win the fight.

Sleepy at work? Eyes turning gray?
Tea stands guard and keeps sleep away.

Yet when the moon begins to peep,
Some drink that very tea… to sleep!

Now logic pauses, quite confused:
“Am I alert, or am I snoozed?”

But chai just smiles and takes its seat,
A contradiction warm and sweet.

Morning tea and breakfast tea,
After-lunch tea, as it should be,

Evening tea, the nation’s creed,
After-dinner tea for those in need,

Tea for spice and tea for sleep,
Tea for promises we cannot keep,

Tea for waking, tea for rest,
Tea somehow does both jobs best.

And if one truth I must decree,
It’s this: We don’t find reasons to drink tea.

Tea is your friend for every season.
We drink tea, and then invent the reason.