I had been unwell for quite some time and was unable to care for myself or the space I was living in. One of my musician friends, Amnath, who knew about my condition, decided to send a helper to clean my place. A small, elderly woman from Bengal arrived at my door, holding a short broom and a bucket. She stood tall like a pillar—her face radiant, her eyes warm and kind, and her smile truly beautiful. As she began cleaning, I was struck by her agility, flexibility, and graceful strength. It was clear that these qualities had been cultivated through years of traditional cleaning—the “old way”—squatting, bending, lifting, and moving. Watching her, I received a profound lesson in the art of cleaning and in the forgotten wisdom of primitive movement. In that moment, I saw her as an incarnation of Śītalā, the Goddess who teaches humans simplicity and healthy habits. I bowed at her feet and sent her home, resolving from that day onward to clean my space in the same mindful way every morning. When my friend Amnath heard I had sent the helper away, he asked if she had done something wrong. I explained that she had done nothing wrong—on the contrary, she had inspired me deeply. She reminded me of the importance of daily movement and the dignity and well-being found in simplicity and self-care. I asked for her address and, later, visited her home, bringing a few fruits as a gesture of gratitude. She lived in one of the poorest areas of Varanasi, near the Ganga. Entering her home, I received the second part of my lesson. Her living space was the most minimalistic and clean environment I had ever seen. A jar of water, a couple of saris hanging neatly, and a small fireplace with only the bare essentials. Nothing more. Her lifestyle was as pure and intentional as it was humble—and it moved me profoundly. That day, I made another lifelong resolution: to live with only the essentials, and to keep my space clean and clear at all times. This encounter with the “Goddess of Simplicity” left a lasting imprint on my life. She taught me not only the importance of cleanliness and simplicity but also the power of detachment and freedom. After leaving her home, I walked back to my room with a renewed perspective of life. I carefully chose only a few essential items and asked the people living on the street to empty my room. Since that day, I have continued to uphold this resolve—living with only what is truly necessary. It is a spiritual virtue and a form of liberation that I still deeply treasure. It’s a mental attitude of letting go—of not accumulating things that are not truly needed. Even now, decades later, I still manage to fit my entire wardrobe into a single suitcase. This choice doesn’t only offer me freedom—it continuously helps me cultivate non-attachment, every single day. The art of traditional cleaning—alongside the art of living with dignity, purpose, and freedom from attachment—has also been absorbed into the holistic teaching of Navakaraṇa. It is not merely about hygiene or creating space, but also about cultivating clarity, discipline and mindfulness in every moment.