Things I use regularly
The things I use regularly rarely save me time. More often, they lower the activation energy required to begin. And every now and then, they also solve a small mystery and add some unexpected delight into everyday life.
Cooking isn't hard. Reading isn't hard. Going for a walk isn't hard. But each of these activities comes with tiny moments of friction: a decision to make, a plot to remember, a small uncertainty to resolve. Not individually significant, yet it's somehow exactly where motivation goes to die.
Here are some things that've fixed that.
Souper Cubes
Starting, for me, is hard. Sambar is objectively not a complicated dish. Yet for years I found myself postponing it because of tiny annoyances. Soak the tamarind. Extract the pulp. Figure out whether I have enough. Wash another bowl. None take very long. But they create friction at precisely the moment motivation is weakest.
Souper Cubes have completely solved this. Every few months I make a giant batch of extract, freeze it into cubes, and forget about it. Making sambar has stopped feeling like a chore. Complete game changer.
My biggest lesson about meal prep has been that reducing effort matters less than reducing hesitation.
Shokz Headphones
As if walks through absurdly green trails weren't already one of life's better deals, I somehow found a way to upgrade them further. I spend most walks listening to long-form conversations, podcasts, and the best thing on planet earth - PuLa. But that also means I'm somewhat oblivious to the outside world, which is fine until a cyclist appears behind me and says, "On your left" and makes me jump out of my skin.
Bone-conduction has solved this beautifully. I get the laughs and the birds. And really, it's probably the cyclist that has the last laugh: from their perspective, they're passing someone randomly chuckling to themselves on a trail with no visible headphones to explain it.
Nescafe Gold Jars for Premixes
Most of my cooking anxiety comes from tiny judgement calls and my habit of winging it. Was it one spoon of ajwain or two? Did I add enough salt? Was there rice flour in this recipe?
Opening and closing a gazillion different dabbas takes ten minutes. The actual mixing takes thirty seconds. The uncertainty about whether I've remembered everything correctly somehow takes another ten.
So now I make giant dry premixes every few months and store them in old Nescafe Gold jars. Thalipeeth. Akki rotti. Besan tomato omelette. Idli mix. Dosa mix. Future me only needs to add water and occasionally vegetables.
It turns out that standardization is deeply underrated in home cooking. Bad news for people like me who can't follow instructions. Oh well.
Bounce Dryer Sheets
Growing up in Bangalore, relatives returning from America always carried a particular smell. Not perfume. Not odonil. Just... America.
My brother and I used to recognize it instantly whenever someone opened a suitcase. Before the gifts came out. Before the stories started. There was simply a distinct "US smell."
Years later, I discovered the answer was simply dryer sheets. Lel.
I enjoy the fact that every now and then, while putting away laundry, I accidentally unlock a childhood memory. While I'm on the subject of fragrance, my jasmine agarbatti serves a similar purpose. Some smells instantly collapse time and geography. I've come to appreciate these little rituals lately that make a place feel more like home.
Midori Bookmark Clips
I have terrible retention. I'll pick up a book after a few days and realize I vaguely remember the argument or the details of the plot, but have no real clarity. The pieces are still there. The bigger picture has gone missing.
So I use two bookmarks. One sits where I stopped reading last. The second sits thirty pages earlier.
When I return to the book, the earlier bookmark gives me a runway. I skim until the story or argument clicks back into place and then continue.
Also, these clips are absurdly cute. Tiny cats peeking out from the pages.
A Letter Opener
I have a small letter opener made by a Bidri craftsperson that handles an endless stream of junk mail, bank communication, and credit card offers. All with ZERO paper cuts.
And along the way, I've come to appreciate a craft tradition from Karnataka that I knew almost nothing about growing up.
Not every useful object needs to be revolutionary. Sometimes it's enough that it quietly does one small thing well, every single day.