"YOU NEED", IS A LIE

You have been brainwashed to "need".

INTRODUCTION: THE MOST PROFITABLE SENTENCE EVER TOLD

"You need this."

Three words.

A full-blown system of manipulation.

It’s whispered by salesmen, shouted by advertisements, printed on hoardings, wrapped in pink ribbons, spoken in the soft voice of self-help gurus, and echoed by your most well-meaning relatives.

But what it really means is:

“You are incomplete. And we have something to sell you for that pain.”

The tragedy?

Most people believe it.

And not once.

But daily.

This essay dismantles that lie — in all its forms — across every aspect of life: physical, emotional, intellectual, social, spiritual, and financial.

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1. THE LIE BEGINS: WHEN SUFFICIENCY IS MADE TO FEEL INADEQUATE

You didn’t need a whitening cream.

Someone showed you a photo of a lighter-skinned model with soft background music. Now you think you do.

You didn’t need English medium coaching at age 4.

But another mother’s child is learning three languages and has a violin coach. Now you’re panicking.

You were doing fine in your regular home.

Then you saw an ad: “Upgrade to Luxury Living.”

Now your perfectly working bathroom feels like poverty.

Need is created.

Insecurity is planted.

Urgency is injected.

And your peace is stolen.

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2. “YOU NEED THIS” IN DAILY INDIAN LIFE: 20 LIES YOU’RE FED

Let’s list some common lies, all beginning with “You need…”

Recognize any?

1. You need fairness.

2. You need fast internet.

3. You need a bigger fridge.

4. You need a coaching center.

5. You need a temple donation to fix your life.

6. You need a two-day resort to relax.

7. You need a gym membership for self-worth.

8. You need a degree for respect.

9. You need a wife/husband to be complete.

10. You need a car to be safe.

11. You need diapers for cleanliness.

12. You need milk for calcium.

13. You need protein powders to grow.

14. You need a job with a brand name.

15. You need a child by 30.

16. You need branded clothes for a wedding.

17. You need a honeymoon in Maldives.

18. You need fast food to celebrate.

19. You need insurance to feel secure.

20. You need school admissions that cost 5 lakhs.

None of these were ever real needs.

They became “needs” because everyone else started believing they were.

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3. THE MANUFACTURING OF NEED: HOW THIS LIE IS PLANNED

It’s not random. It’s systematic.

Step 1: Create a gap

Make people feel like something is missing — in their skin, body, life, marriage, work, wardrobe, breath.

Step 2: Shame them for it

“You don’t know English?”

“You didn’t put your child in Abacus?”

“You don’t have a white-collar job?”

“You’re still living in a rented house?”

Step 3: Offer a savior product

One cream, one course, one app, one machine, one insurance, one idol, one tour package — one fix for your inferiority.

Step 4: Make it urgent

“Limited time offer.”

“Only 5 seats.”

“Your child’s future depends on it.”

“Do it now, or regret later.”

And boom. You’re hooked.

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4. FROM REAL NEED TO FALSE NEED: THE SHIFT NOBODY NOTICED

Real Needs:

Water

Rest

Touch

Purpose

Fiber

Community

Clean air

Movement

Truth

Silence

Replaced by False Needs:

Packaged energy drinks

Paid relaxation retreats

Relationship workshops

Motivational content

Laxatives and colon cleanses

Paid friendships (networking)

Air purifiers

Smartwatches and fitness bands

PR coaching

Noise-cancelling headphones

We replaced instinct with instruction.

And became blind to what we truly need.

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5. THE CONSEQUENCES: HOW THIS LIE DESTROYS YOUR LIFE

Financial damage: Most middle-class families are drowning in EMI — not for essentials, but for needs created by society: bigger house, newer car, premium school, branded gadgets.

Emotional emptiness: You keep buying, yet feel nothing. Because what you truly need — meaning, connection, honesty — can't be bought.

Decision fatigue: You’re constantly deciding what to buy, upgrade, or fix — and never deciding who you want to be.

Loss of self-trust: You no longer trust your gut. You wait for influencers, astrologers, doctors, and salesmen to tell you what you “need.”

Perpetual dissatisfaction: As soon as one need is met, another is planted. You are never at peace. Always wanting, always running.

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6. SPIRITUAL & SELF-HELP MARKET: THE GENTLEST LIE WITH THE BIGGEST PROFIT

“You need this mantra.”

“You need this healing course.”

“You need to attend this retreat.”

“You need to awaken your inner goddess by attending a 3-day online event for just Rs. 9999.”

When pain becomes a business, healing is sold in units.

You are told that you're broken, but fixable — only if you follow “this method.”

But the truth?

Your body knows how to heal.

Your soul knows how to cry, rest, laugh, and return.

You don’t need permission.

You don’t need packaging.

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7. CHILDREN ARE THE NEW TARGETS: “YOUR CHILD NEEDS THIS” IS THE MOST CRUEL LIE

Parents are now told:

“Your child needs phonics at age 2.”

“Your child needs coaching by age 6.”

“Your child needs gadgets for learning.”

“Your child needs personality development.”

But the child just needs

Love

Soil

Play

Attention

Honest adults

Unstructured time

And space to be messy.

By feeding false needs into children, we create self-loathing adults who always feel inadequate — and keep buying to compensate.

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8. WHAT YOU ACTUALLY NEED (BUT NO ONE PROFITS FROM)

Sleep without guilt

Friends who ask nothing in return

Morning sun on your skin

Meals grown close to the earth

An hour with no screens

A good walk with silence

Permission to rest without performance

A full breath

A body that moves, not to shrink, but to feel

The strength to say, “I have enough”

No one can sell these.

That’s why they’re never marketed.

But they’re the only real needs.

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9. HOW TO ESCAPE THIS LIE: PRACTICAL STEPS

1. Every time you hear “You need this”… pause.

Ask: Who profits if I believe this?

2. Return to your body.

Ask it what it needs — not your phone.

3. List down 10 things you’ve bought that gave only short-term satisfaction.

You’ll realize your mind has been tricked, again and again.

4. Practice sufficiency.

Say this aloud:

"I have enough. I am enough. This is enough."

5. Observe nature.

A cow, a tree, a bird — none of them thinks they “need” a lifestyle change to be at peace.

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CONCLUSION: THE LIE ONLY WORKS IF YOU BELIEVE YOU'RE UNWORTHY

The lie — “you need this” — only works if you already feel lacking.

It’s not about the product.

It’s about you thinking you’re not enough without it.

So the deepest rebellion isn’t to stop buying.

It’s to start believing in your own sufficiency.

Not perfect.

Not polished.

But enough.

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SUMMARY QUOTE:

“When you believe you are enough, every salesman becomes powerless.”

“The lie needs your emptiness to survive. Wholeness is your freedom.”

—

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HEALING DIALOGUE

“WE HAVE EVERYTHING WE NEED — THEN WHY DO WE STILL NEED MORE?”

A Kalaburagi family meets Madhukar the Hermit. The silence has finally begun to itch.

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CHARACTERS:

Mallappa (72): Retired engineer, patriarch. Built the family’s reputation and assets. Suffers silent insomnia.

Kamala (66): Wife. Pious homemaker, always organizing, always tired. Secretly questions her rituals.

Rajesh (45): Son. PSU officer. Lives in Bengaluru, always rushing, always anxious.

Shobha (42): His wife. MBA, runs a boutique. Obsessed with perfection, constantly shopping online.

Chinmayi (19): Their daughter. Studying medicine. High performer, internal wreck.

Aditya (17): Their son. Obsessed with “personality development” content, addicted to productivity hacks.

Lakshmi (38): Mallappa’s daughter. Unmarried, lives in Kalaburagi. Runs an NGO. Feels invisible in family.

Sujata (35): Cousin from Bidar, visiting. Calm, observant, recovering from her own breakdown.

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[Scene: A quiet morning at Madhukar’s mud house, nestled amidst neem trees near Sedam road. A line of footwear outside — Kolhapuris, Adidas, Skechers, Bata sandals, and one lone barefoot print — Madhukar’s.]

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Mallappa (clears throat):

Madhukar… sorry to disturb your solitude. We just came for a visit.

No health issue. No emergency. Just… curiosity.

Maybe even a little discomfort. We don’t know what’s happening.

Madhukar (smiling):

When the itch is not on the skin, but in the soul — it’s time to talk.

Come, sit. All of you.

What’s been bothering you?

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Kamala:

We have everything. Own house. Generator. Filtered water. Landline and mobile.

We do our morning poojas. Our children are educated.

Still… it feels like someone is whispering “This is not enough” all the time.

Shobha (half-laughs):

True. Every time I open Instagram, I see someone with a better body, bigger kitchen, cleaner sofa, or a foreign trip with white bedsheets.

And suddenly my day feels like failure.

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Madhukar:

Hmm.

You have what the world told you to get.

But still you crave.

That’s because you never asked whether the world was lying.

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Rajesh:

We didn’t have time to ask.

We studied, we saved, we upgraded.

By the time we could breathe, the next need had already arrived —

home loan, child’s admission, health insurance, mutual funds…

Madhukar:

Tell me something, Rajesh.

Has even one of these “needs” given you peace?

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Rajesh (long pause):

No.

Only temporary relief.

Then new pressure.

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Chinmayi (timidly):

I got 96% last year. They said I needed 98%.

I got into MBBS. They said I need a gold medal.

Even now, I study all night… and still feel like I’ll never be enough.

Aditya (interrupts):

I keep watching these videos — “Wake up at 5am,” “Outwork everyone,” “Read 50 books.”

I try all of it. I’ve built a six-pack.

But I still feel weak.

Like there’s a better version of me just out of reach — and I hate the one I am now.

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Madhukar (quietly):

That better version is a carrot tied to your own neck.

You keep chasing it, never realizing the trick:

you were never meant to reach it — just run endlessly toward it.

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Lakshmi (sarcastically):

And if you don’t run, they call you lazy, wasteful, or “wasting your potential.”

I stayed back in Kalaburagi. Didn’t marry, didn’t chase.

They all think I’ve failed.

Even though I sleep well and know who I am.

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Madhukar (nodding):

Because society is not built to reward peace.

It only respects performance.

You didn’t fail, Lakshmi.

You refused to buy what others rented their lives for.

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Kamala (half-smiling):

But Madhukar… in our time, we used to just do things — no questions.

Make rangoli, cook for 12 people, teach children, save rice, wake up at 4am.

Now I ask myself — for whom?

And that’s when the sadness begins.

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Sujata (softly):

I once asked that question too.

My breakdown came not because I didn’t have what I needed —

but because I had everything they told me I needed,

and still felt hollow.

That’s when I realized…

the need was never mine.

It was installed.

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Madhukar:

Yes.

Needs today are like apps pre-installed on a new phone.

You didn’t choose them.

But you live by them.

You let them run in the background, draining your battery.

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Mallappa (finally speaking):

So we were never free?

Madhukar:

You were domesticated.

Trained to obey silent advertisements in your head.

They said:

“You need better clothes to feel confident.”

“You need a bigger house to feel secure.”

“You need insurance because life is dangerous.”

“You need marriage to be whole.”

“You need tuition to not be left behind.”

So you bought, upgraded, sacrificed…

And now, like worn-out bulls, you're asking — Why am I still tired?

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Aditya (blurting out):

Because we were tricked.

Madhukar:

Not just tricked.

Conditioned.

You were fed a belief that you are not enough as you are.

And from that lie, a billion-dollar market was born.

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Chinmayi:

Then what do we really need?

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Madhukar (with steady warmth):

You need:

A good bowel movement in the morning.

A nap in the afternoon sun.

One honest friend.

Unfiltered laughter.

Homegrown food.

A walk without a smartwatch.

A face you don’t hate in the mirror.

The courage to say “no” when everyone wants a “yes.”

And the audacity to feel complete even if you own nothing.

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Shobha (laughs through tears):

If I posted that list on Instagram, I’d lose all my followers.

Madhukar (grinning):

Then you’d finally be free.

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Lakshmi:

But what do we do now?

We’ve lived half our lives in this trap.

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Madhukar:

Then spend the second half undoing the damage.

That is still a life well lived.

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Kamala (looking around):

You have no fridge.

No washing machine.

No internet.

No complaint.

Are you really happy, Madhukar?

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Madhukar (smiling):

I don’t own many things.

But I don’t crave more.

And that, Kamala, is real wealth.

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Mallappa (slowly):

For the first time…

I feel like I can rest.

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[The neem leaves whisper. The buffaloes groan from the next field. No one speaks for a while. For the first time in decades, the family sits — not for a photo, not for a ritual, not for planning. Just… sits. As themselves. Needing nothing more.]

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THEY NEEDED NOTHING, BUT BOUGHT EVERYTHING

they built a home

with ceiling fans that sensed mood,

bathrooms that washed them like babies,

rice cookers with Wi-Fi,

and hearts running on 4G anxiety.

they had

an air fryer,

a treadmill,

a gold-plated Ganesha,

and a dying sense of self.

the daughter got into medicine,

the son into fitness,

the father into mutual funds,

the mother into morning mantras,

but nobody got into peace.

they were

always two weeks away from joy,

one course short of confidence,

one saree away from elegance,

and one insurance policy from sleeping peacefully.

they were fed a lie

with turmeric milk and branded biscuits:

“you are not enough.”

they drank it daily.

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they chased

the "better version of themselves"

like starving dogs running after

their own tail,

confusing dizziness for progress.

one day,

they walked into a mud house

with no bell,

no carpet,

no real reason —

except that something inside

had started itching.

there,

a man with cracked feet

and clear eyes

said nothing at first.

then slowly, gently,

peeled their need off like dead skin.

he showed them

how they’d been purchasing permission to live.

how their fear was factory-made.

how their dignity was held hostage

by EMI.

and how

they could return home

without bags,

just breath.

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they wept,

not because they were broken,

but because they had never

truly

been themselves.

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they left

with less ambition

and more honesty.

they returned

not to their upgraded flat,

but to their bodies.

their hunger.

their real, ugly, unfinished laughter.

and for the first time,

they sat on the floor,

barefoot,

unimproved,

unfiltered,

and

completely enough.

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