The quiet power of idioms
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.
At a recent economic conclave, I referred to the fall in mortgage repayment rates as an indicator of an impending economic downturn, describing it as “a canary in the coal mine.” The phrase needed no further elaboration. The audience understood what I meant — a small, early signal of a larger danger ahead.
The idiom has a story. In the coal mines of the 19th century, miners took canaries underground because the birds were acutely sensitive to toxic gases such as carbon monoxide. If the canary died, it meant the miners should evacuate. The first tremor before the quake becomes the canary.
This is the power of idioms . They condense history into metaphor, allow language to move from the literal to the layered. An idiom does not merely inform; it illuminates.
A language becomes poetic not only through verse but through these everyday metaphors. When we say, the tip of the iceberg, we acknowledge that what is visible is only a fraction of a deeper mass. When we call something a red flag, the colour itself waves warning signs.
Many of these expressions have literary roots. William Shakespeare enriched English with phrases that have outlived the stage. “Break the ice,” from ‘The Taming of the Shrew’, still describes the easing of social stiffness. “Wild-goose chase,” from ‘Romeo and Juliet’, captures futile pursuit with playful precision. “Wear my heart upon my sleeve,” from ‘Othello’, conveys emotional transparency in a single gesture. Shakespeare’s genius lay in observing human behaviour so acutely that his metaphors felt instantly recognisable. Society adopted them because they rang true.
Idioms make language at once poetic and slightly cryptic. They invite interpretation and trust the listener’s imagination. In a world increasingly driven by data and directness, idioms preserve nuance. They remind us that speech can carry shadow as well as light.
An idiom succeeds when it becomes communal property. It slips free of its original context and begins to live in boardrooms, classrooms and living rooms. Over time, its source may fade, but its force remains.
Tamil literature offers a parallel richness. Poet Kannadasan used a phrase that explains the pseudo power of people closer to power centres. “Paramasivan Kazhuthi Irundhu Paambu Kettadhu”. The snake around the neck of Lord Shiva asked his predator, the bird Garuda, ‘How are you doing?’
Thiruvalluvar has deployed hundreds of idiomatic images across the Thirukkural, each lending density and elegance to his couplets. His metaphors are compact, concrete and enduring. For example, in the chapter on ‘The Right Place’, couplet 496 reads:
Kadaloadaa Kaalval Nedundher Kadalodum
Naavaayum Oada Nilaththu
“A mighty chariot with powerful wheels cannot traverse the ocean
A ship cannot sail upon land”
The image is simple, almost visual. The grand chariot is strong, and swift on earth. Yet place it in the sea and its power dissolves. Conversely, the ship, sovereign over waves, becomes useless ashore. Valluvar ’s insight extends beyond physical boundaries. He speaks of metaphorical ‘place’ — the domain where one’s strength holds meaning.
Here again, idiom-like imagery does the philosophical work. Rather than instructing directly, the poet offers a scene. The reader completes the meaning
Power is contextual. Authority, knowledge, influence — all have terrain. Outside that terrain, even the mighty must lean on others. The chariot must ride the ship, if it has to travel in the sea. The ship must depend on the chariot, if it has to travel on land. In two lines, Valluvar conveys what modern management theory might explain in volumes: that competence is situational, and humility is wisdom.
Motivational speaker, author and diversity champion Bharathi Bhaskar explores the masterpiece.
At a recent economic conclave, I referred to the fall in mortgage repayment rates as an indicator of an impending economic downturn, describing it as “a canary in the coal mine.” The phrase needed no further elaboration. The audience understood what I meant — a small, early signal of a larger danger ahead.
The idiom has a story. In the coal mines of the 19th century, miners took canaries underground because the birds were acutely sensitive to toxic gases such as carbon monoxide. If the canary died, it meant the miners should evacuate. The first tremor before the quake becomes the canary.
This is the power of idioms . They condense history into metaphor, allow language to move from the literal to the layered. An idiom does not merely inform; it illuminates.
A language becomes poetic not only through verse but through these everyday metaphors. When we say, the tip of the iceberg, we acknowledge that what is visible is only a fraction of a deeper mass. When we call something a red flag, the colour itself waves warning signs.
Many of these expressions have literary roots. William Shakespeare enriched English with phrases that have outlived the stage. “Break the ice,” from ‘The Taming of the Shrew’, still describes the easing of social stiffness. “Wild-goose chase,” from ‘Romeo and Juliet’, captures futile pursuit with playful precision. “Wear my heart upon my sleeve,” from ‘Othello’, conveys emotional transparency in a single gesture. Shakespeare’s genius lay in observing human behaviour so acutely that his metaphors felt instantly recognisable. Society adopted them because they rang true.
Idioms make language at once poetic and slightly cryptic. They invite interpretation and trust the listener’s imagination. In a world increasingly driven by data and directness, idioms preserve nuance. They remind us that speech can carry shadow as well as light.
An idiom succeeds when it becomes communal property. It slips free of its original context and begins to live in boardrooms, classrooms and living rooms. Over time, its source may fade, but its force remains.
Tamil literature offers a parallel richness. Poet Kannadasan used a phrase that explains the pseudo power of people closer to power centres. “Paramasivan Kazhuthi Irundhu Paambu Kettadhu”. The snake around the neck of Lord Shiva asked his predator, the bird Garuda, ‘How are you doing?’
Thiruvalluvar has deployed hundreds of idiomatic images across the Thirukkural, each lending density and elegance to his couplets. His metaphors are compact, concrete and enduring. For example, in the chapter on ‘The Right Place’, couplet 496 reads:
Kadaloadaa Kaalval Nedundher Kadalodum
Naavaayum Oada Nilaththu
“A mighty chariot with powerful wheels cannot traverse the ocean
A ship cannot sail upon land”
The image is simple, almost visual. The grand chariot is strong, and swift on earth. Yet place it in the sea and its power dissolves. Conversely, the ship, sovereign over waves, becomes useless ashore. Valluvar ’s insight extends beyond physical boundaries. He speaks of metaphorical ‘place’ — the domain where one’s strength holds meaning.
Here again, idiom-like imagery does the philosophical work. Rather than instructing directly, the poet offers a scene. The reader completes the meaning
Power is contextual. Authority, knowledge, influence — all have terrain. Outside that terrain, even the mighty must lean on others. The chariot must ride the ship, if it has to travel in the sea. The ship must depend on the chariot, if it has to travel on land. In two lines, Valluvar conveys what modern management theory might explain in volumes: that competence is situational, and humility is wisdom.
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