On choosing life, always

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.

Rithanya was just 27. Within barely 70 days of marriage, she ended her life . Before she slipped away, she sent seven audio notes to her father—apologising for the path she had chosen, unable—she said—to bear the harassment allegedly inflicted by her husband and in-laws. In one voice note, she whispered the most haunting of farewells: “I can’t live this life anymore.”

We don’t know the full story. Investigations will unearth the details, and justice, hopefully, will find its way.

Almost every human being, at some point, faces that bleak moment where they glance at the abyss, thinking, this is the only way out. But from deep within, something stirs—a raw instinct to survive. We rise. We whisper to ourselves, not yet. Not like this.

But for many, it does. India accounts for nearly 38% of global suicide deaths among women and nearly 26% among men. Suicide is the leading cause of death for youngsters. One in three of them takes the step due to family issues.

Psychologist Roy Baumeister described suicide as a response to a mind overwhelmed by failure, guilt, and self-loathing. The person visualises not only death, but the aftermath—grief, regret, even revenge. Death becomes not an end, but a statement.

What drives this despair? Sometimes, it’s as trivial as a failed exam or a teacher’s rebuke. A heartbreak. Or, as in Rithanya’s case, the crushing belief that “marriage happens only once,” and breaking it is a sin beyond survival .

Monogamy is a noble ideal. And yes, history is filled with those who have given up their lives for ideals. But a sacrifice earns nobility only when it serves a higher purpose—when it uplifts others, preserves truth, or advances justice. To give up one’s life because an ideal was challenged by personal suffering is not bravery, but tragedy.

Parents, too, must unlearn the habit of clinging to social approval. Let your children fail, stumble, choose differently. If they want to walk out of a marriage, quit a course, skip an exam—so be it. What matters is not community whispers, but their heartbeat. Let them live. Let them outlive us.

Let’s tell them that courage lies not in silent endurance, but in speaking out, walking away, or beginning afresh.

For centuries, societies glorified suicide in the name of honour. Even Thirukkural praises those who choose death over disgrace:

Ilivarin Vaazhadha Maanam Udayaar

OliThozhudhu Eththum Ulagu.

“The world will always praise and adore the fame of the honorable

Who would rather die than suffer indignity.”

But remember the context of such couplets. They were meant for warriors and tribes that fought for their identities. Extending them to individuals who are challenged by life events and threatened by societal norms may be in-appropriate.

Let the new ideal be this: Honour belongs to those who live. Pride rests with the resilient. Let us stop eulogising those who fall into darkness and instead uplift those who walk through it.

If Ridhanya had whispered to herself, ‘ one year from now, none of this will matter’, perhaps she might have lived. Her parents might have been spared a grief no justice can heal.

We owe our children a new legacy—not one of quiet suffering, but of radiant survival. Because in the end, life is precious, and to live it—truly live it—takes more courage than we ever speak of.