Of Bones and Love

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.

Recently, I visited an old teacher of mine who had been hospitalised. Her children had made the heart-wrenching decision to admit her to a palliative care centre. With quiet resignation, he told me, “She has become immobile—her bones are too weak. Caring for her has become difficult.”

As I looked at her, my eyes welled up. I could still hear the echo of her footsteps as she did the rounds in the corridors of our school—that struck fear and respect in equal measure.

To now see her curled up in a bed, frail and still, was painful.

My mind wandered back to her voice as she brought Julius Ceaser’s fall to life for us—“ O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down.”

Those words, once recited with such power, now felt prophetic.

As people live longer, we seem to be shifting our gaze from lifespan to health-span. The question is no longer how long we live, but how well we live needing support to simply stand or walk. At the heart of this lies the quiet strength of bones and muscles.

Medical professionals and evolutionary scientists alike regard bones—particularly the spine—with reverence. The moment the human species stood upright, something shifted in the great story of evolution. The feat freed our hands for creating tools and crafting civilizations.

Our skeleton does far more than give us shape—it shields, supports, and enables. And unlike what many think, bones are not static. They are in a constant dance of regeneration—replacing themselves every decade, keeping us upright, quite literally, in body and spirit.

I find it deeply poetic is that Thiruvalluvar, the sage of profound brevity, refers to bones in the chapter on Anbu (love). And it wasn’t poetic convenience of rhyming Anbu (love) and Enbu (bone).

Valluvar , the master craftsman of thought, equated bones to the soul's scaffold, just as love gives shape and meaning to human existence.

“The unloving belong only to themselves. But the loving belongs to others—to their very bones.” (Kural 72)

Commentators often draw on the tale of Rishi Dadhichi, who gave up his bones to forge the divine weapon Vajra that defeated evil. The very design of India’s Param Vir Chakra—our highest military honour—bears the mark of this ultimate sacrifice.

In another verse, Valluvar says:

“The throb of life is love. Without it, humans are but skeletons draped in skin.” (Kural 80)

And my favourite couplet,

“Enbi ladhanai veyyilpolak kaayume,
Anbi ladhanai aram.” (Kural 77)
Just as the sun scorches the boneless creature,
So does virtue burn those without love.

Here, he paints a haunting image: a boneless creature, like a worm, writhing under the harsh sun—symbolic of those without love being consumed by the very ethics they fail to uphold. In his verse, ethics is not a code—it is the omnipotent God that can destruct, and love is the only shelter.

As I sat beside my teacher, soon to be left in the care of strangers, I couldn’t help but wonder—are we slowly becoming a spineless society? One that cannot bear the weight of its own elders? Have we let love become so brittle that it fractures under the demands of convenience?

Perhaps that’s the reason Valluvar tried to connect bones and bonds – not once but thrice, in his chapter on love.