The other day I stepped into a clothing shop with a modest intention. I told myself that this time I would choose something different. The shelves were full of attractive options. There were bright colours, bold patterns, fashionable checks and stripes that seemed to call out to customers with greater courage than I possess.

I spent a good deal of time browsing, touching the fabrics, holding a few shirts against my shoulder and examining them in the mirror.After all that careful inspection I walked out with what I usually buy. A blue shirt and a grey pair of trousers. The mildly embarrassing fact is that my wardrobe already contains several blue shirts and more grey trousers than I need. Yet whenever I stand before a wide array of choices, something quietly pulls me towards the same familiar corner.

Later that evening I was scrolling through the contacts on my phone. Over the years, the list has grown quite long. It contains former colleagues, distant relatives, old acquaintances, service providers, and many others whose numbers were once saved with a definite purpose. But when it comes to actual conversations, I realised that I regularly speak only to a small group of them. Perhaps one-fifth of the names receive most of my calls. A few close friends, a couple of family members, and occasionally a colleague. The rest remain peacefully stored in the phone.

A similar pattern appears in the kitchen at home.

The world of food offers endless possibilities. Cookbooks, television programmes and restaurants constantly remind us of the astonishing variety of dishes one could prepare. Yet, on most mornings, our breakfast quietly returns to a few dependable companions. Idli on some days. Dosa on others. Puttu or Poori when we feel like a slight change. These four dishes probably account for most of our breakfasts while many other interesting items remain merely ideas.

This curious imbalance has been observed by economists and given a name. It is called the Pareto Principle. The idea is simple. Roughly 20% of the effort often produces 80% of the results. In offices, one may notice that a small portion of the working day generates most of the useful work. In business, a relatively small number of customers may contribute most sales. Even in our personal lives, a small circle of people provides companionship and emotional support. It is not surprising that 20% of our clothes are worn most of the time, a few dishes dominate our dining table, and only a handful of people remain close to us despite knowing hundreds.

Perhaps the lesson is a quiet one. Life does not really demand that we spread ourselves evenly across everything and everyone. Often it is the smaller portion that carries the greater value.

If 20% of our time gives 80% efficiency, it may be worth paying attention to how we spend that small but productive slice of the day. If 20% of the people in our lives give us 80% of our warmth, laughter and comfort, then those few relationships deserve our very best attention.

jclementselvaraj@gmail.com