On Fading Friendships and Enduring Grace

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.

Among the many couplets of Thirukkural on human connections, one stands out - friendships not swayed by emotions but steadied by clarity and enduring grace.

Ulagam Thazheeyadhu Otpam: Malardalum

Koombalum Illadhu Arivu.

The wise remain firm in friendships that neither blossom nor wither with time—unlike a flower that opens and closes its petals.


Most of us know what it means to lose a friend; not with a dramatic rupture, but in the quiet drift of time. Bonds that once felt like lifelines slowly unravel. At times, life simply steers us in different directions. Sharp disagreements leave bruises. Or a shadow of a doubt — was something said behind one’s back— leads to a faltering of trust.

I’ve had friends who were once the heartbeat of my days, now reduced to strangers. When we cross paths, it’s like walking through a museum of memories; echoes everywhere, but no one speaks. Some recollections are warm, others cut deep. The sting of betrayal resurfaces, uninvited. In those moments, I tell myself: You have to let people go. At some point, you see who truly mattered, who never did, and whose chapter in your story is simply over. They no longer belong to yours now.

And yet, some friendships defy time, disagreement, and distance. Not because they are effortless, but because they are chosen, again and again, despite the friction.

A shining example is that of Thiru V Kalyanasundaram (Thiru V Ka), the Tamil scholar and trade union pioneer. His friend and contemporary, M C Raja, was one of the earliest leaders of the Justice party. Both were reformers and thinkers, classmates and colleagues at Wesley College, and residents of Royapettah in Chennai.

In 1921, the Binny Mill strike rattled the city. Thiru V Ka and Raja found themselves on opposing sides, not as enemies, but as leaders representing different groups of workers with diverging ideological paths.

As tensions rose, whispers emerged that Thiru V Ka might be targeted, by police or angry factions. One day, a car halted at his door. Raja stepped out. “Trouble is on its way. Just get in,” he said.

Thiru V Ka declined. But he never forgot the tears he saw in his friend’s eyes.

Later, as the storm passed, Raja said something that stayed with him: Our friendship was strong enough to find harmony in the heart of conflict.

Eventually, Raja moved to Alandur, and the rhythm of their friendship faltered.

Another story, equally poignant, unfolded in 1933, again in Chennai. The newly formed Music Academy announced a dance performance by Rajalakshmi and Jeevarathnam—women from the devadasi community. The event was organised by E Krishna Iyer, then secretary of the Academy and a passionate cultural activist.

At the time, Muthulakshmi Reddy was leading a fierce campaign to abolish the devadasi system, determined to restore dignity and civil rights to the women trapped within it. Krishna Iyer, while agreeing on the need for reform, argued that sadir—the classical dance form—should be preserved. To him, it was art, unjustly condemned by its social associations.

The two began an intense public debate, exchanging letters through newspapers. Madras society split down the middle: some backed Reddy, others Krishna Iyer. Yet despite their differences, the two remained family friends, sharing stages, events, and mutual respect.

In time, both found success. Reddy’s legislation helped abolish the devadasi system. Krishna Iyer, aided by Rukmini Devi Arundale, revived the art under a new name—Bharatanatyam—transforming it into a respected cultural treasure.

Thiru V Ka and Raja. Krishna Iyer and Muthulakshmi Reddy. Four people divided by ideology, united by something deeper. Their friendships endured—not in the absence of disagreement, but because they held space for it. They lived what Thiruvalluvar wrote: relationships that neither bloom in prosperity nor wither in dissent.

Not all of us are fortunate to have such enduring bonds. But perhaps the true test of friendship isn’t how brightly it blooms—but whether it survives when the petals fall.