Shhh, listen please

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.

In a world where everyone wants to speak, someone who truly listens is the greatest rarity.
The art of listening — quiet, humble, generous — is fast becoming an endangered virtue.

It was this neglect that made even the gentle Thiruvalluvar sound exasperated. In one of his rare moments of harshness, he says:

Kural 420
Seviyin Suvayunara Vaayunarvin Maakkal
Aviyinum Vazhinum Enn?

“How does it matter whether those people live or die,
if they only have a taste for what they eat and not for what they listen to?”

Valluvar , who usually guides with quiet reasoning, almost loses patience here. He is not mocking the act of eating but scorning those who believe that every good thing must be taken in through the mouth — the gourmets who know flavours but not meanings, who can taste food but not words.

The chapter on listening in Thirukkural is one of its most luminous. It celebrates the ear as the true gateway to wisdom. But this particular couplet extends the reminds us that listening is not just about knowledge; it is about kindness, patience, and presence.

In our homes, offices, and social circles, haven’t we all met the Mr or Ms Know-It-All? They interrupt, advise, and finish other people’s sentences. Some bosses cannot listen to a subordinate for even thirty seconds — they judge, joke, and repeat the same advice their teams have heard a hundred times. The employee leaves the room unheard, and eventually, leaves the organisation.

At home, parents often complain that their children dislike advice. The irony? They advise too much and listen too little. Listening, after all, is one of the purest acts of love a person can offer another.

Neuroscience explains why this matters. When we pour our hearts out and someone listens with empathy, the amygdala — that small almond-shaped structure in the brain that manages fear and anxiety — cools down. Scientists call this limbic resonance — the moment two human brains emotionally connect.

Attention, not advice, soothes the human heart.

Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist Viktor Frankl knew this truth. In his book, Man’s Search for Meaning, he recounts an incident from his post-war medical practice. One night, a woman called him to say she was about to end her life. Frankl stayed on the phone, gently talking to her through the night. She promised she would not take her life — and kept her word. Later, when they met, he asked which of his reasons had persuaded her to live. “None,” she said. “It was because you were willing to listen to me, even in the middle of the night.”

For her, a world where someone could listen was still a world worth living in.

Yet, we are all guilty of pretending to listen. We nod while our minds wander.

Great leaders understand this. In important conversations, they follow the 80-20 rule: listen 80%, speak 20%.

At home, when a child narrates what happened at school and a parent listens with half an ear, the child gradually stops sharing. When a spouse complains about a tiring day, they don’t seek a solution — only understanding.

When we listen, we tell another human being, without words: You matter.

Thiruvalluvar’s verse is not just an admonition; it is an invitation to fill our ears before we fill our stomachs. For in every conversation, the listener learns more than the speaker; not only about others, but about the vastness within themselves.