The new desk’s adjustable height and state-of-the-art keyboard tray promised relief to my aching wrists, neck and back, but not the heart. Moving my much loved old desk towards the door of my room, I gazed at its serene and smoky glass top, bordered by two sides of narrow dark wood -- my own Eastern and Western Ghats. As its last six inches edged out of the door, my feet slowed, reluctant to confirm the goodbye. Bidding adieu to a rock and friend who had seen me through the saddest WhatsApp conversations, happiest phone calls, toughest emails I ever composed, and my triumphant journey to an almost paperless desk. Goodbyes to things are, I find, gentler on the human spirit than goodbyes to places and people. So, each time I say goodbye to a thing, I find myself ruminating on some goodbyes from the past. Each April, when the school year ended and the report cards had been issued, my best friend and I sat down on the cool stone floor under the Khaitan ceiling fan, to conduct a "farewell party" for the notebooks we had used in the school year. Armed with red ballpoint pens purloined from my father’s desk, we decisively awarded ourselves 10 out of 10 on each test where we hadn’t scored full marks, adding the coveted "v. good" or "excellent" in handwriting to resemble the teacher’s. This masquerade assuaged the injustice our strict teachers inflicted on us the whole year. Not that the forged scores made any difference in the money we got for the notebooks from the kirana store. Wall calendars have always been and continue to be very hard for me to remove from the wall and dispose of. In childhood, it was because they had beautiful pictures on them and were glossy imported ones. More recently, the difficulty comes from seeing the reminders of appointments, birthdays, TV shows to watch, and feminine dates in code. All these notes and plans written on the calendar in pencil make me feel like I am throwing away that year of my life. As a compromise, last year I neatly cut the pages into squares to use for writing grocery lists and dire "do" or "don’t" reminders for the family. When I reach for a square, I slowly turn from the blank side to the one that has a date or reminder and try to identify which month and day it belonged to, often humming Cher’s "If I Could Turn Back Time." Children’s story books, toys and clothes -- like most new moms, I bought more of these than any child could use or need. I gave them away by the bagful's every few weeks. That process used to be a ceremony in itself. Sorting what to give away, laying them in neat piles, taking pictures, posting in craigslist and making every effort to give them away as a set like giving the entire litter of puppies up for adoption to one family only. A tough goodbye coming up is selling our faithful grey sedan. If we had the space to park it, I would never let it go. The toddlers who kicked my seat from behind are now in the driver’s seat. The countless, "Amma, how do I …" they issued from the back seat now replaced by my "How does the Bluetooth connect…" Sometimes I put my hand in the pockets behind the seats and find an old Hot Wheels car, swim class name tag, erasers, or a Barbie's head. Any time I see DH vacuuming the car, I fear it might end up so clean, he might decide to post a for-sale ad. For a while I used to think I am a crazy woman to feel so sad about goodbyes to things that are, well, things. Then, I read how Dulquer Salmaan bids goodbye to his cars -- he thanks them for the memories, kisses the steering wheel and roof, and wishes them good luck with the new owners. So, we all have our little goodbye rituals. And, no need to feel embarrassed about them. If Dulquer doesn’t, why should we. Do you have any goodbye rituals from childhood or now? . .