When we think of Mahatma Gandhi, we often conjure images of the man draped in simple cotton, who led his nation to independence through sheer will and moral authority. I don’t imagine that many of us give much thought to who he was in his private life. I, for one, did not until just recently, when I had the chance to visit Gandhi Smriti in New Delhi—Gandhi’s final residence which is now a museum dedicated to the leader and the place where he spent the last days of his life before being assassinated in 1948. There, a modest showcase contains the last worldly remains of the man—a walking stick, a pocket watch, reading glasses with their case, a pumice stone, a gardening tool, and three pieces of cutlery: a knife, a fork, and a spoon. These possessions, at once so real and tangible, are symbolic of his life in ways that are almost too profound to articulate.
This collection tells us something powerful about Gandhi, and by extension, about ourselves. He carried with him only what was necessary to sustain life: tools for walking, seeing, reading, eating, tending to the earth, and maintaining personal hygiene. Each item speaks to a life devoted to simplicity, responsibility, and mindfulness. And isn’t that the paradox? That a man who led millions clung to so very little.
We live today in a world where abundance often defines success. I know this all too well, as my work as an architect in New York City revolves around crafting luxurious homes for the world’s most fortunate. Yet, standing before Gandhi’s humble relics, I found myself re-centered. These objects remind me that luxury can—and should—be about something beyond the material.
Gandhi’s handful of possessions point towards efficiency—not just for practical reasons but for ethical ones as well. They represent a broader philosophy of intentional living; a life in which every action and every choice carried weight and meaning, where every possession had a function, emphasizing quality over quantity. There was no excess, no distraction. When we apply this mindset to design, it shifts our focus from luxury for its own sake to luxury with intention. Even in grand, opulent spaces, there can be a sense of moral purpose. We can emphasize items and elements that carry personal or ethical significance. It’s less about amassing possessions and more about creating environments that reflect values—be it sustainability, conscientiousness, or history.
As an architect, I’ve come to realize that buildings, like lives, should reflect a deeper truth; that beyond being just beautiful, they can become deeply meaningful, reflecting the choices we make and the principles we hold dear. If Gandhi’s sparse belongings could embody his sense of peace, purpose, and compassion, then how we furnish our own homes can likewise embody the values that are important to us. The luxury of space, light, and material abundance need not be an end in itself. It can serve as a canvas for something greater—an opportunity to reconnect with the essential.
