Too Much Stuff: The Story of Letting Go
It was not easy to buy things when I was growing up. We had minimum furniture and a few bed rolls. My father went to the library to read the daily newspaper. I do not recall having books or magazines in my house. We borrowed magazines from my neighbours. I borrowed textbooks from Subhadra, who was my neighbour and also my senior. When my parents left my native place, they had nothing to take with them except a few clothes. My mother gave away a few kitchen vessels, and my father donated the furniture to his students. They had a blissful sleep as they never worried about any of their possessions.
My uncle gave me a ballpoint pen in my sixth standard. I was not allowed to write our examinations with such pens. I had to take care of my ‘prized’ possessions daily. I always carried the pen with me, not just because it was a gift but because it represented a sense of security and control in a chaotic world. I checked three to four times daily to ensure my friends did not steal the pen. I did not realize that I spent a lot of daytime worrying about my pen. I kept the pen under my pillow when I slept, a constant reminder of the responsibilities and anxieties that came with ownership.
My worries started when I bought an apartment in Bangalore. I had to move to Bombay, and there was constant anxiety about EMI payments, maintenance, and tenants who changed every year. It meant new contracts, fresh coats of paint and additional expenditures to meet the new client’s needs. I was in a total mess until I sold the apartment. This experience taught me the actual cost of ownership, not just in financial terms but in the mental and emotional toll it took on me.
As the story goes, Baha-ud-Din Zakariya once travelled with several valuable books and other possessions loaded on a donkey. On his journey, robbers attacked him and took away all his possessions. Instead of resisting or showing distress, the saint reacted with unexpected serenity and compliance. When the robbers took the belongings and were about to leave, the saint called them back. He told them that they had forgotten to take the books. The robbers, puzzled by his behaviour, questioned why he wanted to give away something so valuable. He explained that he had all the ‘valuable’ lessons in his head and the books were useless. This story resonated with me deeply, as it mirrored my journey of realizing that the actual value of possessions lies not in their physical form but in the lessons and experiences they represent.
From him, I learned that each significant purchase, commitment, or investment had brought not joy but anxiety and distraction. The wisdom of letting go of physical possessions came to me late, but it now guides my approach to a simpler, less encumbered life.
