Уроки мудрости Тируккурала: как память о погибшей подруге учит ценить каждый день

Thirukkural with the Times explores real-world lessons from the classic Tamil text ‘Thirukkural’. Written by Tamil poet and philosopher Thiruvalluvar, the Kural consists of 1,330 short couplets of seven words each. This text is divided into three books with teachings on virtue, wealth, and love and is considered one of the great works ever on ethics and morality. The Kural has influenced scholars and leaders across social, political, and philosophical spheres.Motivational speaker, author and diversity champion Bharathi Bhaskar explores the masterpiece. Last week, our college friend group of eleven girls lost one of our own. Through our four years in college, we had become inseparable. Three decades later, we were still together. And then, Devi was no more. For two years, she fought cancer bravely. She was the first to wish us on birthdays and anniversaries. We would wake to find her messages, often at 5.30 in the morning. Her love was like dawn. It brightened the lives of all around her. Her smile seemed to rise from the altar of her heart. We wept. Yet, strangely, there is also a quiet peace in knowing that she may now be in a place without pain. Where that place is, none of us know. But perhaps the more important realisation is that all of us are travelling towards it, each at our own pace. Losing someone we love shakes up our lives. Guilt arrives uninvited, whispering about words left unsaid and things left undone. Then life, with its extraordinary insistence, pulls us back. There are mails to send, vessels to wash, clothes to fold, work to finish. We think we are moving on, until suddenly, it returns, and we are thrown back into the tide of longing. Perhaps that is because love does not leave as easily as a person does. And perhaps the people we have loved have not entirely left us. Are they watching us? Are they closer than before? Sometimes I imagine them as passengers who have quietly got down from the train before us, without the chance to say goodbye. We continue our journey, carrying their memories with us. Younger colleagues approach the world differently. At home, children no longer listen to us. But with school and college friends, time seems to freeze. That is our safe haven. When one of us leaves that circle, however, we suddenly become conscious of the passing years. Valluvar captured this truth with remarkable simplicity in Kural 334: “Naalena Ondrupol Kaatti, Uyirerum Vaaladhu Unarvaar Perin.” “Every day appears to be merely a day, but to those who understand, it is a sword quietly cutting away a portion of life.” In the Mahabharata, Yudhishthira is asked by the Yaksha, “What is the strangest thing in the world?” He replies, “Countless beings leave the world every day, yet those who remain believe they will remain forever.” What greater wonder could there be? But perhaps this need not frighten us. It can awaken us, instead. Every day is a flower that blooms for exactly one day. The July rain, the December chill, the fragrance of neem in summer; all carry a beauty that will never return in precisely the same form. The lesson is not to fear the passing of days, but to live them fully. To laugh a little. To say what we keep postponing. To savour the morning light and coffee. Kahlil Gibran asks, “You want to know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?” That is where the answer lies. Not in knowing how the journey ends, but in making every day of the journey luminous. Devi did that for many of us. I will remember her; not as someone who has left, but as someone who taught us quietly how much radiance one life can leave behind.