Tuesday, 3 March 2026

Stalking and Selective Morality

Stalking is one of the few behaviours that society condemns and celebrates at the same time. The difference lies not in the act but in the person performing it. When someone follows a woman without consent, invades her space, or refuses to accept rejection, it is objectively intrusive. Yet the moral reaction changes depending on who does it. The behaviour remains unchanged yet the moral judgment changes completely.


Tamil cinema has this pattern for a long time. From films like "Minnale", "Vinnaithaandi Varuvaayaa" to "Remo", pursuit is framed as love rather than intrusion. The hero trails the woman from gates to bus stops. He memorises her routine. He bombards her with declarations she never asked for. He refuses to take no as an answer. The hero’s repeated attempts, emotional pressure, and refusal to withdraw are presented as depth of love, not boundary violation. The camera frames his determination as sincerity. The script rewards him with love. Meanwhile a secondary character who behaves identically is labelled perverse and punished. The message is subtle but clear. Stalking is unacceptable only when performed by the wrong man.


This duality does not remain confined to the screen. It seeps into real life. Society does not react to stalking as a principle. It reacts to the face behind it. If the person is considered attractive, educated, or socially approved, his repeated attempts are described as effort. If he lacks status or charm, the same behaviour becomes harassment. Consent becomes negotiable depending on who is asking.


There is also a dangerous narrative that resistance is part of romance. Films repeatedly suggest that refusal is temporary and that persistence is proof of depth. A woman who says no is portrayed as someone waiting to be convinced. This erodes the clarity of consent. It teaches audiences that boundaries are obstacles rather than decisions. When rejection is framed as a challenge rather than a final answer, stalking begins to look like courage.


The question arises whether cinema merely reflects society or actively shapes it. Repeated patterns on screen influence how behaviour is interpreted off screen. When intrusion is rewarded with affection in dozens of films, it conditions expectations. Young viewers absorb the idea that love requires pressure. They internalise the belief that discomfort can be romantic if the outcome is successful.


Yet the hypocrisy runs deeper. In everyday life many people express outrage when they hear of stalking cases. They demand punishment. They speak about safety and respect. At the same time they celebrate film scenes where the hero follows the heroine relentlessly. They share clips. They repeat dialogues. They defend the character as passionate. The moral line bends according to context.


This contradiction reveals something about how attraction operates. It is not the act alone that determines reaction but the desirability of the actor. If the person is wanted, attention is flattering. If the person is unwanted, attention is threatening. The behaviour remains identical. The interpretation shifts. This does not justify stalking in any form. It exposes how selective outrage functions.


The uncomfortable truth is this. Stalking does not change character depending on the man performing it. Our perception does. When morality bends according to preference, it stops being morality and becomes bias. We do not judge the act. We judge the actor.


Think carefully about this. Many of you can recall someone from your past whose persistent attention felt invasive. You can also recall someone whose similar persistence felt thrilling. Why does the mind respond differently to the same pattern. Is it purely chemistry. Is it social conditioning. Or is it the narrative that cinema has carefully planted over years.

Tuesday, 24 February 2026

The Hour Between

I have longed for mornings where your breath meets mine,

For the right to call thee by lawful sign,

For rooms awakened by the joy of you and me,

For life that knows no home but where thou be.


You were never forged for tempests such as these,
Never raised to stand against such bitter breeze,
Yet for our fragile hope you rise and plead,
A gentle heart compelled to daring deed.


I know it is my love that drew this storm to rise,
My restless heart that would not once be wise,
What sin was mine but loving you in truth,
And dreaming of forever since our youth.


I live within the cost your courage pays,

And breathe between the verdict of these days,

May fortitude abide within thy breast,

And bring thee home when all is put to test.


If destiny is stern and keeps us far apart,
It shall not banish you out my heart,
For all I ask of time and mortal span,
Is but your hand in mine, and that is all I can.


                                                - Sarukrishna R

Thursday, 19 February 2026

Cinema or Propaganda, ft. The Kerala story 2

Cinema has power. It shapes perception even before facts have a chance to speak. When that power is used carelessly it does not entertain, it cultivates fear. The concern is not that a film chooses a controversial subject. The concern is why certain subjects are repeatedly chosen and why certain regions are repeatedly framed through suspicion. It is about the trailer of The Kerala Story 2 and the narrative it chooses to revive.

The first film, The Kerala Story positioned itself as an exposure of an organised conspiracy rooted in Kerala. It marketed allegation as reality. The sequel appears to continue that framework. Once again Kerala is framed not as a society with layered complexity but as fertile ground for systematic radicalisation. A trailer may be brief but intention is visible even in fragments.


Kerala is not a mythological territory hidden from the rest of the country. It is a state with one of the highest literacy rates in India, a place known for social indicators that many other regions still aspire to reach. It is a land where temples, churches and mosques stand within walking distance of each other. It is a society where cultural debates exist, as they do everywhere, but where coexistence has been practiced more consistently than it has been advertised. When a film selects such a state and constructs a narrative without transparent evidence, questions are inevitable.


If the claim is based on reality then where are the publicly verifiable sources. Where are the numbers scrutinised by independent institutions. Where are the court records that support the scale of the allegation. Cinema cannot hide behind creative liberty when it markets itself as truth. When a film positions itself as exposing reality, it holds the responsibility of evidence.


It is equally important to ask why the lens is so selective. India is vast. Every state has complex histories, communal tensions, political failures, and social contradictions. Why travel across the map to construct a narrative around Kerala. Why not explore the caste violence in certain regions. Why not examine honour killings elsewhere. Why not analyse economic exploitation in states where it is statistically alarming. Selectivity reveals intent.


Then comes the issue of lifestyle choices being framed as cultural invasion. Food habits in India have always been diverse. What one community eats is not dictated by another. Beef consumption is legal in some states and restricted in others. It is governed by law and personal choice, not by coercion from neighbours. To portray dietary habits as a tool of forced ideological control is to ignore federal structure and personal freedom.


The silence of Censor board also invites scrutiny. Certification boards are often vigilant about words, symbols, and dialogues that question authority or challenge certain ideologies. Yet when narratives that risk amplifying communal mistrust are presented, They seem silent. If censorship exists it must operate by principle and not by preference. Otherwise it becomes political approval.


India has long been a nation of unity in diversity. This phrase shows a constitutional commitment to pluralism. Diversity does not mean uniformity and it does not mean suspicion. It means coexistence under law. Films that frame demographic change as conspiracy without verified grounding weaken that principle. They do not protect society. They polarise it.


Fear is easy to manufacture. It requires only repetition. Education however requires nuance. When a film portrays an entire community as part of a coordinated scheme, without credible academic or factual backing, it simplifies deeply complex social realities into convenient narratives. That is not research.


Criticism of such cinema is not an attack on artistic freedom. It is a defence of responsible storytelling. Artists have the right to create. Audiences have the right to question. Democracy depends on both. The bigger issue is not one film. It is the pattern of narratives that choose division. A society that consumes suspicion daily will eventually normalise it. That is far more dangerous than any fictional storyline.


If a story claims to expose truth, let it stand on verified data. If it claims to represent a state, let it show balance. If it claims to defend the nation, let it protect its pluralism first.


Cinema can illuminate. It can also inflame. The difference lies in intention and accountability.

Wednesday, 11 February 2026

Black Sells. Black Skin Doesn’t.

There is a contradiction lying in plain sight. Black has become the most desired colour in design, in fashion, in technology and ofcourse in lifestyle. Vehicles are chosen in black for elegance. Outfits are chosen in black for sophistication. Phones are released in matte black editions and are marketed as premium. Black is described as powerful, bold, timeless and refined. But the truth is this: Black is celebrated until it breathes.

A generation that romanticises the colour black in everything it owns struggles to accept blackness in a human being. Skin tones are corrected, filtered, lightened and edited. Tan lines are erased. Complexions are altered. An entire industry profits from insecurity about pigment. Treatments promise brightness and fairness as if natural pigment were an error. The contradiction is very evident. Black is aesthetic when it is paint, but becomes undesirable when it is a person.


This is not about health or protection from damage. Protecting skin from harm is reasonable. What is questionable is the obsession with erasing colour. What is disturbing is the discomfort with darker tones that are completely natural in regions exposed to strong sunlight for generations. Melanin is not a flaw. It is biology. It is adaptation. It is protection. Yet it is treated like a mistake.


The bias toward lighter skin existed long before contemporary standards of beauty. It is tied to colonial influence, to caste hierarchies, to social privilege and to economic aspiration. Fairness was equated with status. Darkness was associated with labour. These ideas did not vanish. They evolved. Today they exist through marketing campaigns and subtle compliments. Someone is praised for being fair as if it were an achievement. Someone is described as dark as if it were unfortunate.


Phrases like “роХро░ுрок்рокா роЗро░ுрои்родாро▓ுроо் роХро▓ைропா роЗро░ுроХ்роХ”- translates to, "though you are black, you look artistic" are offered as compliments, But they actually frame blackness as a flaw that must be excused before beauty can be acknowledged. Why must admiration arrive with a disclaimer. Why is artistry granted despite colour instead of simply recognised.


The contradiction becomes more painful when society claims to admire black as a colour of power, but fails to show that same respect to people with black skin. A black car shows taste. A black outfit shows confidence. A black wall shows depth. But a black person is still asked to lighten, to correct, to fit in. What does this tell about perceptions. It shows that the issue is not colour but bias.


You may say preference is personal. You may argue that beauty standards are harmless choices. But preference does not exist without influence. It is shaped by what is normalised. When every advertisement glorifies fairness and every matrimonial demand mentions complexion, preference becomes internalised bias. 


It does not emerge suddenly in adulthood. It begins in childhood. When children grow up hearing that Fair is beauty and black is ugly, They do not analyse it. They do not debate it. It gets into their understanding before they are old enough to question where it came from.


There is something disturbing about celebrating a colour while rejecting the people who embody it. It exposes a form of racism that hides behind aesthetics. It is comfortable praising black when it does not challenge bias. It is comfortable buying black objects while avoiding black faces.


If black truly represents power and elegance, then that recognition must extend beyond objects. If society continues to worship the colour while rejecting the skin, then the claim of admiration loses credibility.


The question is simple. Do people actually love black, or do they only love it when it does not look back at them.

Sunday, 1 February 2026

рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு : Thinking Before Accepting

Disclaimer: This piece is presented in both Tamil and English. The Tamil version is the original text. The English translation follows the same structure and meaning for accessibility to non Tamil readers. Kindly Scroll down.

рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு


рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு роОрой்рокродு роородрод்родை роОродிро░்рок்рокродро▒்роХாрой роХோро╖рооро▓்ро▓, роХроЯро╡ுро│ை рооро▒ுрок்рокродро▒்роХாрой рооுро┤роХ்роХрооро▓்ро▓. роЕродு рооுродро▓ிро▓் рооройிрод рооройроо் роЙро▓роХрод்родை роОродிро░்роХொро│்ро│ுроо் ро╡ிродроо். роТро░ு роХро░ுрод்родு рокро┤рооைропாройродு роОрой்рокродро▒்роХாроХро╡ுроо், роТро░ு роироЯைрооுро▒ை рокெро░ுроо்рокாрой்рооைропாро▓் рокிрой்рокро▒்ро▒рок்рокроЯுроХிро▒родு роОрой்рокродро▒்роХாроХро╡ுроо், роЕродை роЕрок்рокроЯிропே роПро▒்ро▒ுроХ்роХொро│்ро│ рооро▒ுроХ்роХுроо் рооройроиிро▓ைродாрой் рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு. роЗродு роОродிро░்рок்рокிрой் роЕро░роЪிропро▓் роЕро▓்ро▓, роЪிрои்родройைропிрой் роТро┤ுроХ்роХроо்.


родрооிро┤் роЪிрои்родройை рооро░рокு рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ро▒்ро▒родро▓்ро▓. роироо் роЗро▓роХ்роХிропроЩ்роХро│ிрой் роЕроЯிрод்родро│род்родிро▓் роХேро│்ро╡ி роЗро░ுроХ்роХிро▒родு, роХாро░рогроо் роЗро░ுроХ்роХிро▒родு, рокொро▒ுрок்рокு роЗро░ுроХ்роХிро▒родு. родிро░ுро╡ро│்ро│ுро╡ро░் роОроЩ்роХுроо் роХрог்рогை рооூроЯிроХ் роХொрог்роЯு роироо்рокроЪ் роЪொро▓்ро▓ро╡ிро▓்ро▓ை. “роОрог்рогிрод் родுрогிроХ роХро░ுроороо்” роОрой்рокродு роТро┤ுроХ்роХроо் рокро▒்ро▒ிроп рокாроЯро▓் роЕро▓்ро▓, роЕродு роЪெропро▓ை рооுрой்ройிроЯ்роЯு роЪிрои்родிроХ்роХроЪ் роЪொро▓்ро▓ுроо் роЕро▒ிро╡ுроЪ் роЪாроЪройроо். роХாро░рогроо் роЕро▒ிропாрооро▓் роЪெропро▓் рокுро░ிродро▓் роЕро▒рооро▓்ро▓ роОрой்ро▒ роОрог்рогрооே роЕродிро▓் роЕроЯроЩ்роХிропுро│்ро│родு.


роХாро▓рок்рокோроХ்роХிро▓் роЪிрои்родройைропை ро╡ிроЯроЪ் роЪроЯроЩ்роХுроХро│் рооேро▓ோроЩ்роХிрой. роТро░ு роХро░ுрод்родு рокро┤рооைропாройродு роОрой்рокродро▒்роХாроХ роЙрог்рооைропாроХро╡ுроо், рокெро░ுроо்рокாрой்рооைропாро▓் рокிрой்рокро▒்ро▒рок்рокроЯுроХிро▒родு роОрой்рокродро▒்роХாроХ роиிропாропрооாроХро╡ுроо் роПро▒்ро▒ுроХ்роХொро│்ро│рок்рокроЯ்роЯродு. ро╡ிро│роХ்роХроо் родேро╡ைропро▒்ро▒родாроХ рооாро▒ிропродு. родுрой்рокроо் роЕройுрокро╡ிроХ்роХрок்рокроЯ ро╡ேрог்роЯுроо், роЕроиீродி роПро▒்роХрок்рокроЯ ро╡ேрог்роЯுроо், роЕродிроХாро░роо் роХேро│்ро╡ிропிрой்ро▒ி роТрок்рокுроХ்роХொро│்ро│рок்рокроЯ ро╡ேрог்роЯுроо் роОрой்ро▒ роОрог்рогроЩ்роХро│் ро╡ிродிропெрой்ро▒ு рокோродிроХ்роХрок்рокроЯ்роЯрой. роЗрок்рокроЯிропாрой роЪூро┤ро▓ிро▓் рооройிродро░்роХро│் роЪிрои்родிроХ்роХ рокропிро▒்роЪி рокெро▒ுро╡родிро▓்ро▓ை, роХீро┤்рок்рокроЯிродро▓ுроХ்роХே рокро┤роХ்роХрок்рокроЯுрод்родрок்рокроЯுроХிро▒ாро░்роХро│். роЪிрои்родройை роиீроХ்роХрок்рокроЯ்роЯ роЗроЯрод்родிро▓் роЕродிроХாро░род்родிро▒்роХு ро╡ிро│роХ்роХроо் родேро╡ைропிро▓்ро▓ை, рокропрооே рокோродுрооாройродு. рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு роЗрои்род роХроЯ்роЯрооைрок்рокுроХро│ை роХுро▓ைроХ்роХிро▒родு, роПройெройிро▓் роЕродு рокропрод்родை роЕроХро▒்ро▒ுроХிро▒родு. “роПрой்” роОрой்ро▒ роТро░ு роХேро│்ро╡ி роОро┤ுроо்рокிройாро▓ே, роЕроЯроХ்роХுрооுро▒ைроХро│் роЕроЪைропрод் родொроЯроЩ்роХுроХிрой்ро▒рой.


роЗроЩ்роХே роЗро░ுрои்родு родாрой் "роиாрод்родிроХроо்" роЙро░ுро╡ாроХிро▒родு. роЕродு роХூроЪ்роЪро▓ாроХрок் рокிро▒рок்рокродிро▓்ро▓ை. роЕродு роХро╡ройிрок்рокிро▓ிро░ுрои்родு ро╡ро░ுроХிро▒родு. роЪроЯроЩ்роХுроХро│் роХாро░рогрооிрой்ро▒ி роХроЯ்роЯாропрок்рокроЯுрод்родрок்рокроЯுроо்рокோродு, роТро┤ுроХ்роХроо் рооройроЪ்роЪாроЯ்роЪிропிро▓ிро░ுрои்родு роиீроХ்роХрок்рокроЯுроо்рокோродு, роЪроород்родுро╡рооிрой்рооை родெроп்ро╡ீроХрооாроХ்роХрок்рокроЯுроо்рокோродு, роЪிрои்родிроХ்роХுроо் рооройроо் рооெродுро╡ாроХ ро╡ிро▓роХுроХிро▒родு. роЕродு рооро▒ுрок்рокை роЕро▒ிро╡ிрок்рокродிро▓்ро▓ை роЖройாро▓் роТрод்родுро┤ைрок்рокை роиிро▒ுрод்родுроХிро▒родு.


рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு роЗро▓்ро▓ாрооைропிрой் ро╡ிро│ைро╡ுроХро│் роироо்рооைроЪ் роЪுро▒்ро▒ிропே роЗро░ுроХ்роХிрой்ро▒рой. роЕро▒ிро╡ிропро▓ுроХ்роХு рооாро▒்ро▒ாроХ рооூроЯроироо்рокிроХ்роХை ро╡ро░ுроХிро▒родு. рокрог்роЯைропродு роОрой்рокродро▒்роХாроХ рокொроп்ропுроо் роЙрог்рооைропாроХ роПро▒்ро▒ுроХ்роХொро│்ро│рок்рокроЯுроХிро▒родு. рооро░ுрод்родுро╡ рооுроЯிро╡ுроХро│் родро│்ро│ிрок் рокோроЯрок்рокроЯுроХிрой்ро▒рой. роЪрооூроХ роЕроиீродி рокுройிродрооாроХ்роХрок்рокроЯுроХிро▒родு. роЕрооைрок்рокுроХро│ைрок் рокாро░்рок்рокродро▒்роХுрок் рокродிро▓ாроХ ро╡ிродிропைропே роХுро▒்ро▒роо் роЪாроЯ்роЯுроХிро▒ோроо். роЗроЩ்роХே рокொро▒ுрок்рокு рооро▒ைрои்родு, ро╡ேродройை роЗропро▓்рокாроХ рооாро▒ுроХிро▒родு.


рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு роЖро▒ுродро▓ை роЕро│ிрок்рокродிро▓்ро▓ை. роЕродройாро▓்родாрой் роЕродு роОродிро░்роХ்роХрок்рокроЯுроХிро▒родு. роЕродு роОро│ிроп рокродிро▓்роХро│ை роиீроХ்роХுроХிро▒родு, роиிроЪ்роЪропрооிрой்рооைропை рооுрой்ро╡ைроХ்роХிро▒родு. роЕродு роХாро░рогроЩ்роХро│ைроЪ் роЪொро▓்ро╡родிро▓்ро▓ை, рокொро▒ுрок்рокைрод் родро░ுроХிро▒родு. роироо்рокிроХ்роХை рокாродுроХாрок்рокாроХ роЙрогро░рок்рокроЯுроХிро▒родு, роПройெройிро▓் рокродிро▓்роХро│் рооுрой்роХூроЯ்роЯிропே роОро┤ுродрок்рокроЯ்роЯிро░ுроХ்роХிрой்ро▒рой. роЪிрои்родройை роЕрок்рокроЯிропро▓்ро▓, роЕродு родுрогிроЪ்роЪро▓ைроХ் роХோро░ுроХிро▒родு.


рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு роироо்рокிроХ்роХைропை роЕро┤ிрок்рокродிро▓்ро▓ை. роЕродு роЕродை роТро┤ுроЩ்роХுрокроЯுрод்родுроХிро▒родு. роироо்рокிроХ்роХை родройிрок்рокроЯ்роЯродாроХ роЗро░ுроХ்роХро▓ாроо். роЖройாро▓் роЕродு рокிро▒ро░ை роЖро│роХ்роХூроЯாродு. роЖрой்рооிроХроо் роЗро░ுроХ்роХро▓ாроо். роЖройாро▓் роЕродро▒்роХாроХ родро░்роХ்роХроо் роиிро▒ுрод்родрок்рокроЯроХ்роХூроЯாродு. роТро┤ுроХ்роХроо் рокропрод்родிро▓ிро░ுрои்родு рокிро▒рок்рокродро▓்ро▓. рооройிродрод்родрой்рооைропிро▓ிро░ுрои்родு роЙро░ுро╡ாроХ ро╡ேрог்роЯுроо். роЖрокрод்родு роироо்рокிроХ்роХைропிро▓் роЗро▓்ро▓ை. роЪிрои்родிроХ்роХாрод роироо்рокிроХ்роХைропிро▓்родாрой் роЙро│்ро│родு. рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ை рооро▒ுроХ்роХுроо் роЪрооுродாропроо் роХுроЯிроороХ்роХро│ை роЙро░ுро╡ாроХ்роХாродு. роЕроЯிрооைроХро│ை роЙро░ுро╡ாроХ்роХுроо். роЕроЩ்роХே роЮாройроо் ро╡ро│ро░ாродு. роХீро┤்рок்рокроЯிродро▓ே ро╡ро│ро░்роХ்роХрок்рокроЯுроо்.


рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு роОрой்рокродு роХро▓ாроЪ்роЪாро░род்родை роЗро┤рок்рокродро▓்ро▓. роЕродை родேро░்рои்родெроЯுрок்рокродு. роЕро░்род்родрооுро│்ро│родை рокро┤роХ்роХрод்родிро▓ிро░ுрои்родு рокிро░ிрок்рокродுроо். рооройிродрод்родрой்рооைропை рокроЯிроиிро▓ைроХро│ிро▓ிро░ுрои்родு ро╡ிроЯுро╡ிрок்рокродுроо் роЕродрой் рокрогிропே. рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு роЗро▓்ро▓ாрод рооுрой்ройேро▒்ро▒роо் родро▒்роЪெропро▓ாройродு. роЕродройுроЯрой் роЗро░ுроХ்роХுроо் рооுрой்ройேро▒்ро▒роо் роиோроХ்роХрод்родுроЯрой் роЙро░ுро╡ாроХிро▒родு. 


рокроХுрод்родро▒ிро╡ு роТрой்ро▒ைропே роХேроЯ்роХிро▒родு. роПро▒்ро▒ுроХ்роХொро│்ро│ுроо் рооுрой் рокுро░ிрои்родு роХொро│்ро│ுроЩ்роХро│். роЕродுро╡ே роТро░ு роЪрооுродாропрод்родிрой் рооூроЪ்роЪை рооாро▒்ро▒роХ்роХூроЯிропродு.


Rationalism


Rationalism is not a slogan meant to oppose religion, nor a chant meant to deny God. It is, first, the way the human mind confronts the world. It is the state of mind that refuses to accept something as it is, merely because an idea is ancient or a practice is followed by the majority. This is not the politics of opposition, but the discipline of thought.


The Tamil intellectual tradition is not without rationalism. At the foundation of our literature, there is questioning, there is reason and there is responsibility. Thiruvalluvar never asked anyone to believe with closed eyes. “роОрог்рогிрод் родுрогிроХ роХро░ுроороо்” Translates to "Think and then act” is not a verse only about morality. It is a declaration of knowledge that asks one to think before acting. Within it lies the idea that acting without understanding is not virtue.


Over time, rituals rose above thought. An idea was accepted as truth merely because it was ancient, and a practice was considered just because it was followed by the majority. Explanation became unnecessary. Suffering was taught to be endured, injustice to be accepted, and authority to be agreed to without question, all in the name of destiny. In such conditions, people are not trained to think but are conditioned for obedience. Where thinking is removed, authority does not require justification. Fear alone is sufficient. Rationalism dismantles these structures because it removes fear. The moment the question “why” arises, systems of oppression begin to shift.


From here is where "Atheism" emerges. It is not born as a voice. It comes from observation. When rituals are enforced without reason, when morality is removed from conscience, and when inequality is divinized, the thinking mind slowly opts out. It does not declare rejection, but it stops cooperating.


The effects of the absence of rationalism are all around us. Superstition comes in place of science. Falsehood is accepted as truth because it is ancient. Medical decisions are postponed. Social injustice is sanctified. Instead of examining systems, fate itself is blamed. Here responsibility disappears and suffering becomes normal.


Rationalism does not provide comfort. That is why it is opposed. It removes simple answers and places uncertainty in front of us. It does not give reasons. It gives responsibility. Faith feels safe because answers are already written. Thought is not like that. It demands courage.


Rationalism does not destroy belief. It disciplines it. Belief may be personal, but it must not rule over others. Spirituality may exist, but logic must not be stopped. Morality should be formed not by fear, but by humanity. Danger is not in belief. It lies in unthinking belief. A society that rejects rationalism does not create citizens. It creates slaves. There wisdom does not grow instead slavery does.


Rationalism is not the loss of culture. It is the act of choosing it. Separating what is meaningful from habit, and freeing humanity from hierarchy  is its task. Progress without rationalism is accidental. Progress with it is formed with intention.


Rationalism asks for only one thing. Understand before accepting. That alone can change the breath of a society.

Thursday, 29 January 2026

The Habit of Comparing Pain

Pain is one of the most personal experiences a human body can carry, yet it is repeatedly dragged into public judgment. Instead of being acknowledged, it is often compared and dismissed, as though suffering requires certification before it is allowed to exist. The impulse to compare pain rather than understanding it, exposes the lack of empathy people have.


At the core of this problem lies the habit of disregarding another person’s pain the moment it does not fit a familiar narrative. When discomfort is voiced, what is needed is simple presence and understanding, but it is frequently tackled with comparison. "I have had worse pain. You belong to this gender, so your pain tolerance is low. You are making a scene out of nothing. It is just a small thing. Everyone has pain." When pain is treated as something to be compared, it tells the person experiencing it that their reality is not enough and that their body’s response is incorrect.


Equally troubling is the belief that certain forms of pain are more legitimate than others. Some experiences are turned into symbols of ultimate suffering, while everything outside that frame is treated as secondary or exaggerated. This does not honour those experiences instead it shows lack of compassion. When pain is used this way, it no longer connects people, instead becomes a tool for denial.


Layered into this is the persistent assumption that endurance can be defined by identity. That certain bodies are naturally equipped to bear pain while others are inherently weaker. This belief has no grounding in biology or medicine. Pain perception varies widely across individuals due to nerve sensitivity, psychological state, prior injury, stress levels, and countless internal factors. Any inclination to generalise tolerance based on gender is not understanding, but stereotype dressed up as fact.


What is often missed in these exchanges is that expressing pain is not an attempt to compete. 

It is not about weakness but simply a moment of honesty. When someone speaks about discomfort or pain, they are not asking whose pain is greater. They are asking for recognition. When comparison is used as a response, the focus moves away from understanding and toward hierarchy.


There is cruelty in telling someone that their pain is insignificant because another pain exists. Suffering does not cancel itself out. One experience does not invalidate another. The human body does not consult social narratives before reacting. It responds as it must. Respecting that response does not diminish anyone else’s endurance instead it strengthens the space where empathy can exist without criteria.

If you notice yourself responding to pain with comparison, it is worth stopping. It speaks less about understanding and more about establishing whose pain was worse and whose can be set aside. Choosing not to do that is very much possible. Being kind does not cost you anything.