Purpose. What is purpose? Drinking coffee when you wake up and making a habit of drinking coffee only when you wake up? No. Trying to drink coffee when it’s hot and trying conscientiously to make it a habit to swallow it hot? No. Blowing white, shivering steam off the surface and then, guttering it down immediately so that it’d fall lightly against the cylindrical walls of your gorge? No.

Purpose is about drinking tea.

It is not ambition. It is not about making money. It is not even about fame. In any of them, almost every human being will be privileged without any effort at all in some portent or another. Purpose is not borrowed or decided or concluded or made, for heaven’s sake! Purpose is extracted.

But how do we extract? Or do we need to worry, at all, about such concepts when our individual interests are being conflicted in the pandemonium of daily life and when there is nothing more we’d like to do than to sit beside a bonfire and have tea and crumpets with a rather chummy neighbor.

If we might have tea, we might as well, have purpose.

I wish to apprise you of something and let me assure you that it’s the most secretive secrets of all - there is hope. And if I said that it’s for mankind, it’d be too banal and I would be probably lying or talking in a sphere that I may not include myself in. I mean, that there is hope that we can still extract it out.

Every country, every city, every town, every alley, every home has a deep corroded, squalid and bacteria-encroached well somewhere on the near outskirts. Deep in this staling, chalk-dusted pit, down in a very small weathering corner, there is hope. And there, just besides it is – purpose.

If I am not being able to fool you with anecdotes and word-play and poor allegories, I might as well come out in the brave yellow of the constant open sun and feel it vibrate my flesh with humanness. People, I am taking of purpose.

Crude word it is, I know. And it means so little in this insensitive world. But I believe that it, hardly, has anything to do with the world or with humanity or cruelty or man, himself. Allow me to explain –

I never understood why any man who has nothing to or for the entire world, as a whole, would consider to amass it in himself everyday. What happened at the football match? Who won the election? What is the solar system? How does the knowledge that the earth revolve around the sun twenty four hours a day, we are made of cells which in turn are made of monosaccharide, Red Sox play better than any other team on the planet, there is a new movie on pay T.V. - supply us with anything but entertainment and how can entertainment provide us with anything except illusions?

It comforts and eats on vanity. The comfort, the temptation that our will is succumbing to every time, it provides not to our ignorance but to the bliss that is so attached with it.