On a recent day, a big plastic donation bag that had ‘Clothes for Compassion’ printed on it accompanied the day’s newspaper.

Some unfortunate people of this world have stood witness to nature’s fury as their lives have been toppled and stripped of their basic necessities; others have fled man’s fury as they wade through troubled waters and tread on difficult paths, clasping tightly on to a thin thread of hope that appears to soften the intensity of the looming darkness ahead of them.

This thought was enough to be grateful and thankful for all that we — in this part of the world — have been blessed with. Hoping to share a little of what I have, I embarked on the task of combing through the cupboards and collecting clothes that I hoped would warm a deserving human in another part of the world this winter.

As I skimmed through the clothes, there were some that were a delightful find as they tickled a long-lost memory, some were the privileged firsts that brought forth fond memories with a painful reminder of the time that has elapsed since and the others were a jab on my self-esteem, reminding me of the hopes that I still harboured of fitting into them some day.

I suddenly found myself in a dilemma that even though I had a pile of unused clothes before me, the sentiments attached to every piece of clothing superseded the need to part with them — even for a good cause. Recently, I visited an old friend at her home. While her daughter was away pursuing her studies in another country, the proud mother had transformed her home into a museum dedicated to the many accolades and pieces of memory that celebrated her only daughter’s childhood — complete with the dates inscribed behind them.

Mother believes that her sole purpose of existence on the phase of the Earth is to put her culinary skills to test. Decluttering is a hobby she picked up during our growing years out of lack of space rather than interest, when our sometimes ‘lucky’, otherwise precious or simply priceless possessions that lay gathering dust exceeded the things that were actually in use.

We knew that the piling collection of favourite books, lucky charms, misfitting clothes that lay hidden in the dark crevices of our cupboards, dresses that we had outgrown but remained our favourites, diaries that guarded our many secrets in bizarre coded scripts were just some of the many ‘unused’ objects that ate space and collected dust, but the thought of parting with any one of them was unimaginable.

So, choosing a deserving owner from the maid, the watchman, the man who exchanged a big bundle of clothes for a small steel vessel and the kabadiwala (junk dealer) was a task she undertook during our absence.

Sharing is caring says Little Princess, a new term that has been introduced at school and is put into use when she expects her brother to part with a toy, a piece of chocolate or just about anything that rightly does not belong to her. Although said in jest (or greed), the nugget of wisdom in her words cannot be overlooked.

So, finding myself somewhere in between my friend and Mother, some precious memories and hopes have been (painstakingly) parted with, for these unused clothes will not only provide warmth to some less-fortunate person this winter, but may be a reason to light up someone’s face with a smile and create a beautiful memory once again!

Pranitha Menon is a freelance writer based in Dubai.