Track: Obokuri Eeumi [Transl: Obtain Our Bearings]
Artist: Ikue Asazaki
Language: Ryukyuan
Genre/Year: Ryukyuan folk music/2002
An essay on generosity, minimalism, and the importance of keeping people in your life during uncertain times—By Nikhil Rajagopalan
On Minimalism
On a hot summer day in the late 90s, my maternal grandfather asked me if I’d buy the Taj Mahal for 100 rupees if proffered. The thoughts of owning one of the wonders of the world for that low price overtook me and I nodded my head. He adjusted his brown-rimmed spectacles, took from me the imaginary sum, and then asked me to pay him for the Taj Mahal’s monthly upkeep—indeed tens of thousands of rupees which I didn’t have nor consider in my calculations. It was one of the earliest lessons in minimalism that I learned: the things you own end up owning you.
At university, I read about Diogenes of Sinope who is claimed by some people on the internet to be an architect of the minimalist philosophy. He lived in ancient Greece (412 BC to 323 BC) and told the truth under all circumstances.
He practiced active homelessness and lived out of a barrel, predicting 2000 years in advance the state of the lower middle class in the State of California. Diogenes had an obsession with owning only what was needed. Legend says that he only had a wooden bowl on him, but after seeing a young boy drink water with his cupped hands, broke the bowl because he didn’t need it anymore. If the Stoic philosopher Epictetus is to be believed, Diogenes was documented walking around the markets giving ordinary Greek citizens the finger because he thought ‘etiquette’ was a social construct that, well, deserved the finger. All said and done, his ideas founded the Cynic school of philosophy, but he was hardly a role model for a modern-day minimalist. I had to look elsewhere.
I turned to the internet for inspiration and guidance (yipes). Steve Jobs experienced decision fatigue and decided to wear the same outfit every day. Minimalism over individualistic self-expression? No way, Steve. Next? I saw this wonderful lady named Marie Kondo who went from YouTuber making videos on folding socks and t-shirts to becoming the Queen of the Modern Day minimalist movement. But something was eating away at me, like a hungry termite going to town on a piece of plywood. Kondo had this rather unorthodox method of hugging each piece and asking if it “sparked joy”—if it did, it stayed, if not it was discarded.
She also anthropomorphized clothing items and bid them emotional farewells, thanking them for their service. The first problem is that if I tried the ‘KonMarie method’ with say, a kitchen knife, to see if it sparks joy, I’ll need a ride to the emergency room. Second, her approach seemed a little too wooey. Finally, if she has her own Netflix show where she travels to the US to help declutter closets of rich Americans, someone done fucked up. That’s like selling out to capitalism. And don’t even get me started with YouTuber Matt D’Avella, who ended up ditching the minimalist scene when it went cold and started doing trendy “I quit some random substance for 30 days and THIS is what happened”.
I was about to give up when I went through my collection of handwritten postcards that I’d collected from 2012-2016 for inspiration. And I found it. A postcard from Thailand with Japanese poet Kenji Miyazawa’s “Be Not Defeated by the Rain” written on it.
Be Not Defeated by the Rain
Not losing to the rain
Not losing to the wind
not losing to the snow nor to summer’s heat
With a strong body
unfettered by desire
never losing temper
always smiling quietly
every day four bowls of brown rice
miso, and some vegetables to eat
In everything
count yourself last and put others before you
watching and listening, and understanding
and never forgettingIn the shade of woods of the pines of the fields
being in a little thatched hut
If there is a sick child to the east
going and nursing over them
if there is a tired mother to the west
going and shouldering her sheaf of rice
If there is someone near death to the south
going and saying that there’s no need to be afraid
if there is a quarrel or a lawsuit to the north
telling them to leave off with such waste
When there’s drought, shedding tears of sympathy
when the summer’s cold, wandering upset
called a nobody by everyone
without being praised
without being blamed
such a person
I want to become.
The postcard remains one of my most cherished personal possessions; it’s laminated and taped to the side of my wooden armoire. Miyazawa paints one of the most humane depictions of minimalism and legacy: eat simply, live frugally, think of others even when you are hurting, and receive what comes your way with humility and gratitude.
Nobody else comes close.
On grace in times of discomfort
I moved to Canada in the middle of the pandemic. I had little money on me, no bank account, no tax number, nothing. I had to quarantine for 14 days without stepping outside. I wasted no time—I continued networking, up-skilling, and sharing on LinkedIn and soon enough I landed a job. Then I moved to another job but that didn’t work out. I realized that my writing skills didn’t have the avenue of expression that I craved for. So, I started this newsletter and built a brand around it. I’m starting to see the data points on the graph, it’s just a matter of finding the line threading them together, and getting a decent-paying copywriting gig.
But being time-rich comes at an expense. With rising inflation and the scare of a recession on the horizon, I’m feeling the pinch at the supermarket. I think twice about eating out. I wonder if I need that online subscription. I’m at my creative peak, but until I find a freelancing gig or a 9-to-5 job that’s not a pharma writing gig, I have to be careful with my dollars. It’s stressful. And that’s where Ikue Asazaki’s haunting folk song gives me solace.
Asazaki hails from the Amani islands in Kagoshima Prefecture, Japan. She sings in the language of the Ryukyuan people— an indigenous community of the Ryukyu Kingdom, annexed by Japan in 1879. The history of these people is filled with strife, poverty, and subjugation. Reduced to a mere prefecture and forced to assimilate into the Japanese tradition, present-day Okinawa is tinged by cultural loss, poverty, alcoholism, and suicide.1
At two minutes in, a solemn piano recital plays for a minute and a half and as I’m wiping tears from my eyes, Asazaki sings2:
August draws near
But I have nothing to wear
I want to dress up
Brothers, lend me a sleeve
I want to dress the children and those I love
with the single kimono I own
I will wear vines
That I picked deep within the mountains
The spirit of charity even when you have so little gives me the strength to bear my own troubles with grace. It’s a song I’m grateful to have discovered during my years of listening to music.
On friendship
At 80, you are merely a youth. At 90, if your ancestors invite you into heaven, ask them to wait until you are 100—then, you might consider it.3
Some Okinawans celebrate a century of life. Besides a clean diet, genetics, and exercise, there’s an emphasis on forming and maintaining lifelong friendships called “moai”. These are social groups where members keep in touch consistently, check on one another, and help with financial or other social obligations. Members of an Okinawan moai help raise money for medical emergencies, watch each other’s children, and help the others network.
It’s paradoxical that in today’s ever-interconnected world loneliness is a leading cause of stress and mental health issues. We are connected by the immediacy of social networks, but social networks are rarely social. They have turned into dopamine factories—the brain craving for the red notification bubble. But ask yourself: for all the connections you have on WhatsApp, LinkedIn, Meta, Instagram, and Discord, how many of them actually talk to you and have a kinship with you? And for those of us who are living far from our immediate family and whose friends live in another time zone, who have their own families to worry about, how are you doing?
I’m blessed to know a small group of lovely copywriters and creatives that meets every week on Zoom. We talk about work, our lives, our successes, and our failures. I’ve never missed a call and I look forward to seeing and hearing from them. My day could be an utter wreck, but I get a sense of family and belonging there. They are my moai and I’m grateful to have found them.
My move to Canada has been the best thing that’s happened to me. It’s taken me out of my comfort zone more than I could have ever anticipated. It has driven me to despair in recent months, yet also inspired resilience, and heights of creativity I wasn’t capable of before. I have people who love and care for me.
August draws near—perhaps I’ll find my bearings.
-Nikhil.
Japan’s Paradise Island is Rife With Poverty. Hanako Montgomery. Vice. Published September 10, 2021. https://www.vice.com/en/article/v7ekwb/japans-paradise-island-is-rife-with-poverty
A reportage on the Ogimi Island by Rob Goss. National Geographic Magazine. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/article/uncover-the-secrets-of-longevity-in-this-japanese-village
Well done, Nikhil! Welcome to long-form! You wear it well....plus, you've got so much to offer from your cultural perspective that would be fun to experience through your....well, pen. It's why I write what I write...1) I love it 2) few, if any, have been where I've been. If you're my age, it's likely you didn't have the access; if you're your age, you weren't even here yet! As they say after the opera, "More! More!"😉
Beautiful piece, thanks for sharing.