Weekday Musing – In the Middle of Things

 We, the great Indian middle class, have a PhD in making the most of what we have. Our homes are little laboratories of thrift, where no toothpaste tube is left unsqueezed and no soap bar dies alone, it simply merges nobly into the next one. Nor is any liquid soap or shampoo spared without coaxing the very last bubble out.

 Old clothes never retire; they are reborn as mops, dusters, and floor-wipes. A T-shirt that once saw disco lights on a dance floor will one day see the bathroom floor. Rubber bands may snap, but our spirit doesn’t. We tie a knot and voilà—one more inning!

 Plastic bags? They live longer than us. Folded neatly and stored under mattresses, behind kitchen doors, and in secret drawers, they stand ready for duty like loyal soldiers. And gift-wrapping paper? Smoothed out, stacked, and reused - because why should a good ribbon shine only once? Even at the bank, when depositing a cheque, we don’t use our own pin,  we use the one kept in a box at the counter.

 Our cupboards are museums of quiet ingenuity. Empty coffee jars become spice containers. Horlicks bottles store dal. A dabba full of buttons, a box of wires, an old tin of screws - “just in case.” Newspapers are never mere newspapers (they’re useful for at least 57 things): shelf liners, fruit-ripeners, parcel wrappers, or impromptu fly swatters. Big cardboard boxes guard woolen sweaters, while old paint buckets are reborn as plant pots.

 And then there are the little touches that give our lives colour. The old toothbrush, retired from dental duty, becomes a warrior for bathroom tiles and window sills. The backside of a used tablet strip does double duty as a scrubber for stubborn stains - pharmacy meets housekeeping. A belt remnant under a shaky cupboard leg quietly upholds the dignity of furniture. A once-fierce kitchen knife, too blunt for onions, still spreads butter loyally. Old batteries are coaxed back to life—rubbed, cleaned, rearranged, hoping for one last spark. And of course, the grand sport of bargaining, where every rupee saved feels like a personal triumph, and walking away from a shop is as much theatre as strategy.

We don’t just save electricity; we treat it like gold. “Switch off that fan if nobody’s in the room!” “One tubelight is enough, beta - Diwali hai kya?” Even gravies are not spared; every vessel is scraped lovingly until the last drop of flavour finds its rightful place on a plate or palate. Leftovers are never “left over”; they are tomorrow’s “buffet”, or promoted to “variety rice.”

Unused pages of old school notebooks are bound together for a new avatar. Equality is practiced - the shortest pencil works as hard as the tallest. Both sides of paper get equal respect. No white paper goes waste: envelopes, bills, scraps - all find honourable use for notes, grocery lists, or calculations.

But look closely, and you’ll see these are not just quirky habits. They are lessons: in thrift, in care, in not letting go easily - whether it is a rupee, a resource, or a relationship. They speak of resilience and of the art of finding joy in little things. In every knot on a rubber band, in every carefully folded plastic bag, lies a quiet story of family, of continuity, of love.

So if you’ve ever smoothed out gift wrapping paper to use again, or pressed that tiny sliver of soap into the next bar, smile. You are part of a culture that knows the worth of things - and more importantly, the worth of not wasting.

And perhaps, in the middle of these small, practical acts, lies the heart of who we are: middle-class, yes, but always right in the middle of values that matter. What are your “Middle Of Things” (MOT) moments? I’m sure your cupboards, corners and old memories hold some gems. Share them - let’s celebrate together!