FINANCIAL DIARRHOEA — THE CHRONIC CONDITION OF THE MODERN MIND
- Madhukar Dama
- 2 days ago
- 5 min read
INTRODUCTION:
THE DISEASE WITH NO DIAGNOSIS
It’s not taught in schools, not warned about by doctors, and never listed on insurance claims. But it’s more widespread than diabetes, more destructive than cancer, and more contagious than the flu. It’s called Financial Diarrhoea — the compulsive, mindless, unconscious urge to spend money to feel relief, importance, identity, or simply… alive.
Like physical diarrhoea, it isn’t logical. It’s messy. It’s embarrassing. And yet, instead of curing it, society celebrates it.
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SYMPTOMS ACROSS LIFE DOMAINS
1. FOOD
You have five food delivery apps but can’t boil water.
Monthly groceries cost more than your grandparents’ wedding.
You buy “organic” imported quinoa wrapped in three layers of plastic — while ignoring the farmer next door.
2. CLOTHING
You have 28 t-shirts but wear only 4.
Your clothes are chosen by influencers, not weather.
You own a wardrobe full of “self-expression” and yet don’t know who you are.
3. HEALTH
You spend more on fitness gear than on actual fitness.
You buy diet plans from Instagram ads, but can't walk up stairs.
You need medication to digest your supplements.
4. BEAUTY & GROOMING
There’s a face wash for each day of the week.
You spend more on hair than on books.
Your pores are tighter than your budget.
5. HOUSING
You rent a flat that you can’t breathe in — and then spend to decorate it with oxygen plants.
You take loans for square footage you barely occupy.
You pay EMIs to prove adulthood to people who aren’t looking.
6. TRANSPORT
You drive 2 kms to a gym, then walk on a treadmill.
Your car has a voice assistant, but you ignore your spouse.
You pay Rs. 20 lakh to avoid sitting next to the poor.
7. EDUCATION
You spend Rs. 10 lakh on tuition but outsource your child's questions to ChatGPT.
Degrees are bought, not earned.
Real learning is feared — because it questions spending.
8. CHILDREN
You throw theme birthday parties that cost a worker’s yearly salary.
Your baby has a better pram than the average rural home.
You spend to keep them busy so they don’t ask you anything real.
9. WEDDINGS
You spend 25 years saving for a 5-day event.
Your food is Instagrammed more than tasted.
Marriage begins in debt and ends in detachment.
10. DEATH
You buy “premium” coffins.
Spend lakhs on feasts no one digests.
Cremate your father in imported sandalwood, but never let him rest while alive.
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THE PSYCHOLOGY OF SPENDING Spending gives temporary relief from an unbearable truth: we have lost meaning.
We don’t know who we are without consumption. We cannot be still without stimulation. We cannot be useful without a receipt.
So we spend — to prove we are alive.
Like scratching an itch that never ends.
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FINANCIAL DIARRHOEA LOOKS LIKE:
Treating weekends as “deserve to burn money” days.
Treating stress with e-commerce.
Laughing at minimalists to avoid your own shame.
And when someone suggests an alternative? You sneer — not because they’re wrong.
But because you secretly know they’re right.
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COST OF THE CONDITION
Financial anxiety masked by gadgets.
Environmental waste beyond repair.
Emotional disconnection within homes.
Spiritual exhaustion no vacation can fix.
This is not a spending problem.
It’s a soul constipation.
You spend so you don’t have to sit with yourself.
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CURE? NOT YET. BUT THERE’S HOPE. Not in budgeting apps.
Not in credit counselling. But in truthful living.
In growing something.
In cooking your own food.
In wearing one shirt with pride.
In saying no.
In becoming someone who doesn’t need to prove anything — not even their poverty.
Financial diarrhoea isn’t about money.
It’s about meaninglessness. And the only real cure…
is meaning.
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HEALING DIALOGUE:
“THE CURE ISN’T CHEAPER, IT’S DEEPER”
Characters:
Ramesh (38): Corporate manager, compulsive spender, always mocking minimalists.
Madhukar (71): Minimalist hermit, lives debt-free, grows 80% of his needs.
Setting: Under a neem tree near Madhukar’s mud house. Ramesh arrives with sunglasses, smartwatch, and branded sneakers — visibly agitated.
Ramesh: You live like a sadhu. No car, no AC, no Netflix. What’s the point? I work hard so I can enjoy life.
Madhukar (smiling): You work hard to forget that you don’t enjoy life.
Ramesh: Excuse me?
Madhukar: If enjoyment required spending, a bird would be bankrupt by noon.
Ramesh: But I like my comforts. My gadgets, my Friday nights, my orders from Amazon.
Madhukar: That’s not comfort. That’s dependence dressed in EMI.
Ramesh: So you think spending is wrong?
Madhukar: Spending isn’t wrong. Spending to escape yourself is.
Ramesh: But I feel good when I shop.
Madhukar: So does a man with diarrhoea when he finds a toilet. Doesn’t mean he’s healthy.
Ramesh (frowning): You just hate modern life.
Madhukar: No. I hate that people are drowning in bills to prove they’re not failures.
Ramesh: But your way isn’t practical. My family won’t agree.
Madhukar: They won’t agree until your loans become their inheritance.
Ramesh (sighs): So where do I begin?
Madhukar: Not with saving money.
Begin by not fearing silence.
Spend one evening without buying, scrolling, proving.
Sit. Watch. Listen.
You’ll meet the only person who can cure this disease — you.
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“THE ONE WHO SPENDS TO FEEL REAL”
i saw a man with a gold-trimmed iPhone,
complaining about stress
while his fingers trembled from the caffeine
of his fourth 300-rupee mocha.
his watch could track his heartbeat
but not his heartbreak.
he bought a smart fridge
to store factory bread. he paid for meditation
because he forgot how to sit.
his child had a tutor, a tablet, a helmet,
but no questions.
he bought candles to feel natural
in a room lit by five apps.
he threw a 2-lakh birthday party
for a dog
and skipped his father’s funeral
because of a Zoom call.
his joy was a cart
on a sale day, his purpose was tracking packages, his healing was returns and cashback.
he wasn’t evil. he was just hungry. for silence, for simplicity, for himself.
he didn’t need to spend less. he needed to be held once
without being asked to prove he deserved it.
and when i told him— "walk barefoot in wet grass,
cook your own damn rice,
let your mother oil your hair,
spend nothing and just exist…"
he laughed— as if i’d told a man with diarrhoea
to stop searching for new toilets.
he didn’t want to be cured.
he wanted permission
to keep leaking money
so he wouldn’t notice
how deeply his soul had dried.
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