Life from a lunchbox

Ever since the imposition of emergency fiscal measures resulted in an abrupt end to the halcyonic days of hedonistic revelry that included unbridled spending and mind numbingly expensive meals cum entertainment; I’ve settled in quite comfortably to the life of a pauper. The things that should have gone down have done so (expenses, waist line etc) and the one thing that should have gone up, has (bank account balance). Apart from the bewildering array of questions ranging from the polite (wa so healthy eating sandweeech?) to the knowing (wa so broke eh) to the downright ludicrous (eh 妹妹 not around so you need to lunch in?) that I’ve encountered since I started packing sandwiches to work for my semiweekly lunch ins, the transition from a princely lifestyle to a decidedly more pauper-ish one wasn’t as bad as envisaged.

Naturally, the said transition from extravagant 50 bucks a pop lunches to home packed sandwiches took a while to get used to but it was a necessity that was embraced with alacrity after one look at the appalling balance in the bank account. Having settled into the semi weekly sandwich routine, I’ve discovered that it comes with certain benefits, of which increased productivity appears to be one. All these short lunches and getting by on a barely filled stomach appear to translate into increased productivity by clearing more work in the same period of time.

Apart from the obvious benefits of having more time from forsaking long lunches and escaping the sluggish aftermath that inevitably follows on the heels of the said lunches, there are other benefits. Sandwiches don’t fill you up but manage to sate the hunger of sorts. A combination that produces an interesting effect. It’s as if surviving on this state of semi-starved consciousness where everything seems sharper and clearer, right down to the more pronounced buzz of silence, somehow enables you to function more effectively.

Thoughts are clearer and concentrating on a dreary piece of work is less of a chore such that a reply is churned out sooner rather later. This esophageal nirvana of semi-starvation is akin to being connected on a subliminal level to a higher dispassionate consciousness by a thread. A consciousness unrestrained by the demands for the need for food, the pleasure of taste and texture. Even the air that you breathe seems more rarified.

This state of mind usually persists till the end of the day or a couple of hours there after at most, often just enough to last the by now familiar daily journey back on the train and bus as well as the long walk back home. By which time, I’m usually fully starved and would succumb to the call of the stomach by scavenging for leftovers or just cooking something simple.

It’s all nice and dandy to function on a semi-starved consciousness at work where everything appears so brittle and clear and the air is decidedly more rarified but I’d rather be adequately stuffed and sated by something other than bread at the end of the day. And when being sluggish or sleepy is the least of my concerns.

For was it not said?
Man shall not live by bread alone. He also needs a little butter.