Dostoevsky Had His Tea. What’s Yours?

Hello dear readers, welcome back to another week of Think About It.

This week is a bit different and special. Joining me is Chinar, a writer I’ve known since 2018, whose gift lies in weaving soulful verses and prose. A lifelong reader and art enthusiast, she carries the same sensitivity into her photography, capturing golden hours, moonlit skies, and the narratives tucked between them.

With that said, let’s begin.

Sooner or later, we all realise that life is not smooth sailing. It feels like life rarely gives us ease. We lose people we love. We stumble into loneliness. Plans collapse. Illness strikes. Wars rage on in the background of our newsfeeds. We are all constantly dealing with something. And we all carry the weight of our disappointments. 

And yet, amidst all this chaos, somehow we keep moving. We may not realise, but often it’s the smallest rituals that steady us. That’s why it’s good to be reminded of that. 

So this week, let’s sit with a deceptively simple line from Fyodor Dostoevsky:

Yes, this is the same Dostoevsky who wrote Crime and Punishment, The Brothers Karamazov, and many more notable works of fiction, known for their profound psychological depth and insights into societal and human behaviour. And here he is defending something as simple as tea. The contrast is almost comical, until you realise it’s also deeply human.

Haven’t we all experienced this emotion at some point in our lives? Maybe it’s something we go through every once in a while too.

Let’s dive deeper into what could cause a man of extraordinary understanding of human behaviour, to say something that might be dismissed as a triviality but means so much more.

Tea as rebellion, tea as ritual

Dostoevsky’s life was nothing short of chaos. He survived a mock execution, years in Siberian exile, crushing debt, and epileptic seizures. And yet, he clung to tea, a ritual so ordinary it almost feels out of place in his world of despair and philosophy.

But maybe tea was his rebellion. The world could fall apart, yes, but as long as the kettle boiled, he still had one small thing that was his own. 

In modern psychology, this is called an anchor habit. It is a consistent, foundational routine that acts as a stable base for developing other good habits and maintaining positive momentum in life. It’s also something that steadies us when chaos hits.

The wisdom that one may not realise immediately, in this Dostoevsky quote, is: it’s not the size of the act, but its repetition, that keeps us afloat.

Aren’t we all seeking the very same kind of solace, a moment of peace amidst all the madness and noise of life? For most of us, it’s almost a necessity and for some of us, a quick fix to our problems, our anxiety.

Now, you may wonder: Why tea, though? Why does it hold such power?

It’s because tea slows us down. Unlike coffee, which jolts us forward, tea insists we wait: water boils, leaves steep, the steam curls. That pause becomes a form of meditation.

For Dostoevsky, tea might have been the one ritual that tethered him to the ordinary. 

And for billions of us today, it remains a coping mechanism. It’s a reminder that no matter how overwhelming the world becomes, a cup of tea is still within our reach.

Let’s look at how tea became a ritual for people, wherever it traveled. 

When chai entered South Asia

Dostoevsky lived in 19th-century Russia, where tea culture was already deep-rooted thanks to the trade routes with China. 

But tea wasn’t just Dostoevsky’s ritual; it became a global one. And nowhere is that more visible than in South Asia.

Chai wasn’t always “ours.” Tea leaves were introduced to the Indian subcontinent by the British East India Company in the early 1800s.

Their goal was not comfort, but commerce. They wanted to break China’s monopoly on the tea trade. By the late 19th century, tea plantations in Assam and Darjeeling were flourishing under colonial management.

Initially, locals didn’t embrace tea. It was only in the 20th century, when the Indian Tea Association aggressively marketed tea-drinking to the masses, that chai as we know it began to spread. 

Vendors (the beloved chaiwalas) started adding milk, sugar, and spices to make the bitter leaves more palatable. What began as a colonial cash crop transformed into a cultural heartbeat.

Fast forward to today, and chai is no longer just a drink. It is an identity, nostalgia, and a social glue.

The most serious talks to the most light-hearted exchanges can happen over a cup of tea. That’s the power of tea in South Asia.

Meanwhile, in Britain

Of course, none of this history makes sense without mentioning Britain itself. If Dostoevsky turned to tea for solace, the British turned it into a national obsession.

Tea first arrived in England in the mid-1600s, imported from China and Portugal. At first, it was an expensive luxury enjoyed by aristocrats. But by the 18th century, thanks to colonial trade (and, controversially, opium smuggling to fund it), tea became widely available.

Afternoon tea was pioneered by Anna, the Duchess of Bedford, in the 1840s that turned into a full-blown cultural ritual.

So while South Asia transformed tea into spiced, soulful chai, the British made it a badge of identity, a ritual of stability, and a cornerstone of daily life.

Different flavors, same function: the ritual as anchor.

Something to ponder about

When Dostoevsky said, “Let the world go to hell, but I should always have my tea,” he wasn’t being whimsy. He was pointing at something profound: that our survival is often built on small rituals, repeated daily, across centuries and cultures. Something that intangibly binds us and anchors us.

So maybe the question isn’t why tea? But what’s your tea?
That one ritual you cling to when the world feels too much.

For Dostoevsky, it was tea. For Britain, it became a culture. For South Asia, it became chai. For you, it might be something else entirely, and it matters just as much.

That’s all for this week.

Good luck having your tea or discovering it!

Until then
Stay curious

Chinar and Zaid