Who Stole My Tea Bags?

Today I was at my desk to see my tea bags were stolen. Every single one of them, that were remaining. The packet was left on my desk, more like a souvenier.

What makes some one steal others things? Is it perforce? I don't think that could be the only reason. If so, how rich, or happy can one get stealing a bunch of tea bags! It could be that the person derives a kind of pleasure, a feeling of success, in achieving something that only a few can do (literally).

"Opportunity makes a thief. " - Francis Bacon

That seems a good enough explanation!

If jealousy, greed and all such sinful emotions could be traced back to the beginning of societies, theft should have been a part of prehistoric life too. And the day thieves were born, cops should also have been. Then when did cops start playing thieves themselves?
"But there's a certain mindset to playing a thief that differs from playing a cop." - Andre Braugher

OK. All these thoughts have got me tired. And, I heard coffee is better than tea. So who wants a tea bag (atleast I wish if I could say so).

I was almost in tears. Seeing my father behind the glass-pane that seperated him from me. He was asleep in the half reclining bed, in the intensive care cardiac unit. But I knew I had to be strong. My mother was standing next to me, in tears. She held my hands so tight. I could feel the sorrow. Every bit of it.

It was that morning my mother had called me up. The words that came across from the otherside of the phone, shocked me. Father is serious, had a heart attack, and he is in ICU. I did not know what to do, or what to say. Millions of thoughts flew across the mind. Tears refrained from falling down. I rushed to the airport. The flight was to take off in another fortyfive minutes. That gave me ample time to cry off my sorrows. I tried calling up a few of my dearest friends. Couldn't talk at all. I had to cut the call in between as my tears overpowered my words.I reached the hospital by evening. By the time, my father had crossed the river and was now almost near, at a hand's reach from the island of safety. I had a word or two with his consultant cardiologist. He told my, "In your father's case, he never missed the bus. But he just got delayed in between. That is all!!". I didn't know what to make out of it.

Finally after a week, and an angioplasty surgery later, my father is now doing fine. A little rest, a break from his office pressures; that is all what he requires right now.

The kind of psychological impact it had on me was totally different. I had the feeling that I am still behaving like a kid under the protective wings of my father. Now I can't transfer any of my concerns to him. And finally there was one of the major decision which I had to take, without my father's intervention. That was about his surgery - where it had to be done? Would some other hospital be better than this. Finally after the surgery, I felt that I had taken a decision about which my father would never have to regret. Thank heavens!!