WHO IS YOUR ENEMY?

 

Arunachala Hill

(Annamalaiyar Temple Gopuram in the foreground)

Thiruvannamalai, Tamil Nadu, India.

Suppose someone were to tell you that everything you know has been taught by your enemy.

Your education.

Your religion.

Your ideas about success.

Your understanding of health.

Even your idea of what it means to be spiritual.

Would you immediately reject such a statement?

Or would you remain with the question for a while?

Most of us would dismiss it. Not because we know it is false, but because our minds are conditioned to defend what they already know. We are educated to seek certainty, not to question the foundations of certainty itself.

Perhaps the real issue is not whether someone has deceived us.

The real issue is whether we know how to observe without the influence of what we have already been taught.

Before asking who your enemy is, perhaps there are simpler questions.

Who are you?

Where have you come from?

Who is the one asking these questions?

These are ancient questions, but because they are ancient we often assume they have already been answered. We inherit answers from our parents, our religions, our nations and our books. We repeat them until repetition becomes knowledge.

But is repetition understanding?

*

Look at the world.

Every nation believes it is right.

Every religion believes it possesses truth.

Every ideology believes it is saving humanity.

If everyone is certain, why is humanity still divided?

Perhaps certainty itself deserves to be questioned.

**

There is a remarkable dialogue in the Bhagavad Gita.

Arjuna stands on the battlefield, looking at those he is expected to fight.

They are not strangers.

They are his teachers, his family, his friends.

Suddenly, everything he has believed about duty collapses.

He does not know what is right.

Most people see this as a story about war.

Perhaps it is not.

Perhaps the battlefield is the human mind.

There comes a moment in every life when everything we have believed no longer seems sufficient. Our ideas fail us. Our conclusions fail us. We stand inwardly as Arjuna stood outwardly, in complete uncertainty.

Krishna does not simply tell Arjuna what to do.

He first invites him to understand who he is.

Without understanding oneself, action becomes confusion.

***

Many centuries later, another man stood before another kind of battlefield.

J. Robert Oppenheimer had helped unlock the power of the atom.

Science had achieved something extraordinary.

Then came the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Knowledge had advanced.

But had wisdom advanced with it?

Human beings have become extraordinarily clever.

We can split the atom.

We can travel into space.

We can communicate across continents in seconds.

Yet inwardly we remain frightened, ambitious, competitive and divided.

Technology has evolved.

Has consciousness?

****

History repeatedly reveals the same movement.

Hitler imagined the superiority of one race.

Millions accepted that imagination as truth.

An idea became more important than a human being.

Notice what happened.

The danger did not begin with violence.

It began with identification.

"I am this."

"You are that."

The moment identity becomes absolute, relationship ends.

Where there is division, conflict follows naturally.

*****

The story of the Afrikaners is another reminder of how identity is formed.

A people gradually created a language, a culture and a history that gave them a sense of belonging. There is nothing inherently wrong with belonging. But when belonging becomes separation, identity can harden into exclusion.

This is not unique to one nation.

It happens wherever identity becomes more important than humanity.

******

Subhas Chandra Bose wanted freedom for India.

Che Guevara wanted justice for the oppressed.

Both believed that society needed radical transformation.

Whether one agrees with their methods or not is another matter.

The more fundamental question is this:

Can society change if the human mind remains unchanged?

Can a revolution outside produce peace inside?

Or will the old mind simply create another system with a different name?

History seems to suggest the latter.

*******

Think of a football player standing in defeat.

Lionel Messi stood, his back facing Spain, lifting the 2026 World Cup trophy.

There was no argument with reality.

Only the fact of losing.

Can the mind observe defeat without becoming bitter?

Can it observe success without becoming proud?

The problem is never winning or losing.

The problem is the image we have built about ourselves.

********

Now consider someone almost unknown.

Harry Yanto Bikal walks through dense forests in Sabah to teach children in a remote village.

Why would someone choose such a life?

Perhaps because meaning is not always found in achievement.

Perhaps it is found in attention.

In care.

In doing what needs to be done without asking whether the world is watching.

Such people rarely become famous.

Yet they may understand life more deeply than those who seek recognition.

*********

When we look at all these lives, Arjuna, Oppenheimer, Hitler, Bose, Che, Messi, Harry, we are tempted to compare them.

But perhaps comparison is unnecessary.

Each is simply a mirror.

Each reveal something about ourselves.

Our ambition.

Our fear.

Our confusion.

Our desire to belong.

Our search for purpose.

History is valuable only if it helps us understand ourselves.

Otherwise, it is merely information.

**********

The philosopher asks, "What is truth?"

The scientist asks, "How does it work?"

The politician asks, "Who should rule?"

The revolutionary asks, "How do we change society?"

But there is another question.

Who is the one asking?

Ramana Maharshi devoted his life to this single inquiry.

"Who am I?"

Not as a philosophy.

Not as a belief.

But as an observation.

When anger arises, who is angry?

When fear appears, who is afraid?

When thought says, "I know," who is this "I" that claims knowledge?

If one watches carefully, one discovers something extraordinary.

The observer is usually made of memory.

Of experiences.

Of conclusions.

Of images accumulated through time.

Can there be observation without this accumulation?

Can the mind look at itself without immediately naming, judging or condemning?

Perhaps that is meditation.

Not repeating words.

Not controlling thought.

But seeing.

Simply seeing.

***********

So let us return to the beginning.

Who is your enemy?

Is it another nation?

Another religion?

Another ideology?

Or is the enemy the movement of fear, ambition and conditioning that exists within every human being?

If I do not understand myself, whatever I create, my religion, my politics, my education, even my search for God, will inevitably carry my confusion.

Then the confusion becomes organised.

It becomes tradition.

It becomes authority.

It becomes civilisation.

And we inherit it as truth.

Perhaps, then, the real revolution is not political.

It is not religious.

It is not even philosophical.

It begins the moment the mind observes itself without escape.

In that observation there is no teacher.

There is no follower.

There is no authority.

There is only the immense seriousness of discovering, for oneself, the answer to a question that no one else can answer.

Who am I?

 

Cheers.

ravivarmmankkanniappan@1406240720263.0644° N, 101.5936° E

©All Rights Reserved

Why the "Weapon Progression" Analogy Falls Short: AI, Learning Psychology, and Intellectual Development in Higher Education

An Instrument Box

(Courtesy of Ms Geok Lee)

 The analogy that students should first master "simple tools" before being allowed to use artificial intelligence (AI) assumes that learning is fundamentally linear and hierarchical. Like progressing from a pistol to an automatic rifle, then to tactical weapons, and eventually to a nuclear weapon, students are expected to demonstrate competence at one level before advancing to the next. The underlying assumption is that greater technological power should only be entrusted to individuals who have first mastered less powerful tools.

Although intuitively appealing, this analogy oversimplifies how learning, expertise, and intellectual development actually occur in contemporary higher education. More importantly, it misunderstands the role that AI plays in human cognition. Weapons amplify destructive capability. AI, by contrast, is a cognitive technology designed to augment human thinking, problem-solving, and decision-making. Treating AI as though it were merely a more powerful "weapon" ignores decades of research in educational psychology, cognitive science, and professional education.

From the perspective of the psychology of learning, knowledge acquisition is rarely a straight, sequential process. Modern theories describe learning as iterative, recursive, and socially mediated rather than rigidly hierarchical. Learners continuously move between acquiring foundational knowledge, applying concepts, receiving feedback, reflecting on errors, revising misconceptions, and reconstructing their understanding. They revisit concepts repeatedly, each encounter deepening and reorganizing their knowledge. Learning is therefore less like climbing a ladder than navigating a complex network of interconnected ideas.

Lev Vygotsky's concept of the Zone of Proximal Development (ZPD) illustrates this particularly well. According to Vygotsky, students often develop their highest levels of understanding when supported by more capable partners or cognitive tools. Traditionally, these supports included lecturers, tutors, peers, textbooks, laboratories, and educational technologies. Today, AI represents another form of cognitive scaffolding. It can explain difficult concepts, generate examples, pose alternative perspectives, provide immediate feedback, identify misconceptions, and encourage reflection. The educational question, therefore, is not whether students should use AI, but how AI should be integrated into learning environments so that it enhances understanding without replacing genuine intellectual effort.

Jerome Bruner similarly argued that effective education depends on scaffolding. Learners are provided with appropriate support while they are developing competence, and this support is gradually withdrawn as they become increasingly independent. Importantly, scaffolding does not require withholding sophisticated tools until learners have achieved complete mastery. Rather, it recognises that carefully designed assistance enables learners to perform beyond what they could accomplish alone. AI can serve precisely this function when thoughtfully integrated into teaching and learning activities.

Constructivist theories reinforce this perspective by emphasising that learners actively construct knowledge through exploration, experimentation, questioning, discussion, and revision. Students frequently encounter ideas that exceed their current understanding. They make mistakes, test hypotheses, and gradually refine their mental models. This productive struggle is not evidence of poor learning, it is one of learning's defining characteristics. Access to sophisticated cognitive tools during this process can deepen understanding, provided students remain intellectually engaged rather than becoming passive recipients of AI-generated answers.

Research on expertise further challenges the assumption that intellectual development follows a fixed sequence. Experts do not simply know more facts than novices. They organise knowledge differently, recognise meaningful patterns more efficiently, and strategically combine internal knowledge with external resources. Professionals routinely consult databases, decision-support systems, simulation software, statistical packages, design platforms, legal research systems, and increasingly AI. Expertise therefore involves knowing when and how to use advanced tools and not merely functioning without them.

Consequently, universities should prepare students to develop sound judgment in the use of AI rather than delaying exposure until some arbitrary threshold of competence has been reached. Graduates entering contemporary workplaces will encounter AI-integrated environments regardless of discipline. Shielding students from these technologies during their education risks producing graduates who are technically underprepared for the realities of professional practice.

History repeatedly demonstrates that powerful technologies do not necessarily diminish learning. Similar concerns accompanied the introduction of calculators, statistical software, search engines, computer-aided design systems, computer algebra systems, and integrated programming environments. Critics feared that automation would weaken fundamental skills. Instead, these technologies shifted educational priorities. As routine computational or procedural tasks became automated, greater emphasis moved toward conceptual understanding, interpretation, evaluation, creativity, systems thinking, and complex decision-making. AI is likely to produce a similar transformation.

The evolution of aviation provides a particularly illuminating analogy. During the early era of commercial aviation, long-haul aircraft typically required a cockpit crew of five, a captain, a first officer, a flight engineer, a navigator, and a radio operator. Each role performed specialised tasks essential to safe flight. Over time, however, advances in avionics, onboard computers, satellite navigation, digital communications, sensors, and automated flight management systems gradually assumed many of these responsibilities. Modern commercial airliners are routinely operated by only two flight crew members, the captain and the first officer.

This transformation did not occur because the responsibilities of navigation, systems management, fuel balancing, communications, or performance monitoring became less important. On the contrary, these functions remain absolutely critical to flight safety. What changed was that computers became better at continuously monitoring, calculating, and managing routine operational tasks. Human expertise consequently shifted from manually performing every task toward supervising automated systems, interpreting information, exercising judgment during abnormal situations, and making complex decisions when automation reaches its limits.

Modern aviation therefore illustrates a broader reality of twenty-first-century work, where computers increasingly manage systems while humans supervise computers. The pilot's role has not disappeared, instead it has evolved. Today's pilots require an even deeper understanding of aircraft systems, automation logic, human factors, risk management, and decision-making than their predecessors. Their expertise lies less in manually calculating every navigation point or fuel transfer and more in understanding when automation should be trusted, when it should be questioned, and when human intervention becomes necessary. This evolution closely mirrors the educational challenge posed by AI. Universities should not train students for a world in which they compete against computers in routine cognitive tasks, they should prepare students to supervise, critique, and collaborate effectively with intelligent systems.

Military technology offers a similar lesson. Contemporary battlefields increasingly employ unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) whose missions are controlled remotely by personnel located thousands of kilometres from the battlefield. The individual directing a UAV need not physically occupy the aircraft or even be present in the theatre of operations. Instead, technicians or “warfighters” operate sophisticated sensor systems, communications networks, targeting software, and autonomous flight technologies from secure control stations. Their effectiveness depends not on manually flying the aircraft in the traditional sense, but on interpreting data, making timely decisions, coordinating information, and exercising sound judgment within highly automated systems.

This development demonstrates an important distinction. Modern military effectiveness depends less on manual operation of increasingly complex machinery and more on the ability to manage sophisticated human-machine systems. The expertise required has shifted from direct physical control to cognitive supervision. The same transformation is occurring across medicine, engineering, finance, logistics, manufacturing, law, scientific research, and education. AI is not replacing human intelligence, it is changing the kinds of intellectual work humans are expected to perform.

Intellectual development in higher education similarly encompasses far more than procedural competence. William Perry's model of intellectual and ethical development suggests that university students gradually progress from viewing knowledge as fixed, certain, and authority-driven toward recognising ambiguity, evaluating competing evidence, and making justified judgments under conditions of uncertainty. AI, when critically interrogated rather than accepted uncritically, can actually stimulate these higher-order forms of reasoning. Students may compare AI-generated explanations with scholarly sources, identify factual inaccuracies, evaluate competing interpretations, refine prompts, challenge assumptions, and defend conclusions using evidence. These activities cultivate precisely the kinds of analytical and reflective thinking that higher education seeks to develop.

The weapon progression analogy also fails because it assumes that access to powerful technology necessarily reduces learning. In reality, educational technologies change the distribution of cognitive effort rather than eliminate it. The routine production of information becomes easier, while the evaluation, interpretation, integration, ethical application, and communication of knowledge become more demanding. Students still require strong disciplinary foundations, but those foundations increasingly support higher-order reasoning rather than repetitive procedural execution.

A more appropriate analogy, therefore, is learning to operate within increasingly intelligent technological ecosystems rather than progressing through increasingly destructive weapons. Pilots train extensively using sophisticated flight simulators from the earliest stages of instruction. Medical students interact with advanced imaging technologies, robotic surgical systems, and computer-assisted diagnostic tools throughout their education while simultaneously learning anatomy, physiology, pathology, and clinical reasoning. Engineering students use professional modelling software long before becoming licensed engineers. Scientists rely on computational modelling, data analytics, and AI-assisted discovery while continuing to apply rigorous scientific reasoning. In each case, powerful technologies do not replace foundational knowledge instead they provide authentic contexts in which foundational knowledge is developed, tested, and applied.

This does not imply that unrestricted or uncritical AI use is educationally desirable. Students still need opportunities to develop independent reasoning, disciplinary expertise, foundational conceptual understanding, and the ability to solve problems without technological assistance when appropriate. There remain contexts in which unaided performance is pedagogically valuable, just as pilots continue to practise manual flying despite widespread automation. The objective is not technological dependence, but technological fluency combined with intellectual independence.

These goals are best achieved through intentional instructional design rather than blanket prohibition. Assessments can require students to explain their reasoning, critique AI-generated responses, document and justify their prompting strategies, compare multiple solutions, identify AI limitations, evaluate evidence, and defend conclusions through disciplined argumentation. Such assessments measure genuine understanding rather than simple content production. They encourage students to think with AI without allowing AI to think for them.

Ultimately, the military progression analogy misunderstands both the nature of AI and the psychology of learning. Weapons extend destructive capability whereas AI extends cognitive capability. Learning in the twenty-first century is not a linear march from simple to complex but a dynamic interaction among learners, educators, peers, knowledge resources, and increasingly intelligent technologies. The historical evolution of aviation demonstrates that technological progress does not eliminate expertise but it transforms it. Likewise, the rise of UAVs illustrates that modern competence increasingly involves supervising sophisticated systems rather than manually executing every task. Across professional domains, humans are moving from being operators of technology to supervisors, interpreters, and decision-makers within technologically mediated environments.

Higher education should therefore focus not on delaying students' access to AI but on cultivating the intellectual maturity, ethical judgment, disciplinary expertise, and critical thinking required to use AI wisely, responsibly, and creatively. The central educational challenge is no longer whether students should use AI, but whether universities can prepare graduates who know when to trust AI, when to question it, when to override it, and ultimately, how to remain accountable for the decisions made with its assistance.

This argument does not suggest that AI should replace foundational learning. Rather, it contends that universities should teach students to think with AI without allowing AI to think for them. That distinction is far more consistent with contemporary theories of learning, intellectual development, professional education, and the realities of an increasingly AI-mediated world.

Cheers.

ravivarmmankkanniappan@132920072026 3°3′52′′N 101°35′37′′E

©All Rights Reserved.

Aadi: Memory, Motherhood, and Moksha, A Journey Through Sangam Wisdom and Sanātana Dharma

 

Sri Maha Mariamman Temple

Kota Kemuning, Selangor, Malaysia.

Yesterday was the first Friday of the Month of Aadi, in the Tamil/Hindu Calendar. The first thing most Indians remember of this month is no marriage ceremony should be held during this month. But the truth is far from that.  

For many Tamils and Indians, the month of Aadi (mid-July to mid-August) immediately triggers the familiar statement: "No marriages should be conducted in Aadi." Yet reducing the entire month to a prohibition on weddings is like describing a university solely as an examination hall. It misses the deeper purpose.

Historically, Aadi was never meant to be a "bad" month. Rather, it is a month of transition, renewal, agriculture, gratitude, and spiritual reflection. The month coincides with the onset of seasonal changes and the beginning of Dakshinayana, the Sun's southward journey in Hindu tradition. Because of this shift, communities traditionally emphasised prayer, devotion, and preparation rather than major social celebrations.

For many Indians, particularly within Tamil communities, the month of Aadi evokes a familiar and almost instinctive response, “This is not the month for marriages.” The moment Aadi arrives, conversations often turn to postponed wedding plans, unavailable auspicious dates, and the traditional reluctance to conduct major family ceremonies. Over time, this singular belief has become so deeply embedded in popular consciousness that it has come to define the month itself. Yet, this widely held perception tells only a small part of a much larger story.

The irony is striking. A month that is among the most spiritually vibrant and culturally significant periods in the Tamil calendar has been reduced, in popular imagination, to what cannot be done rather than what can. Aadi has become known more for the absence of weddings than for the abundance of devotion, gratitude, community participation, and celebration that takes place throughout its duration.

To understand Aadi properly, one must move beyond the narrow lens of matrimonial customs and return to the historical and cultural landscape from which these traditions emerged.

The avoidance of marriages during Aadi was not necessarily rooted in the notion that the month was inauspicious. Instead, it reflected the practical realities of agrarian life. For ancient Tamil communities, this was a critical agricultural season. The arrival of rains and the replenishment of rivers demanded attention, labour, and preparation. Communities focused their energies on sowing, planting, and ensuring a successful harvest. In such a context, large-scale celebrations that required considerable resources, travel, and expenditure were naturally deferred. In early days before modern technology and people mobility were a rarity, every activity conducted were communal based, hence during critical agricultural season the entire attention is focused based on existential priority.

However, what is often overlooked is that while certain social ceremonies were postponed, spiritual and communal activities intensified. Aadi is not a month of inactivity, but it is a month of redirection. The emphasis shifts from outward celebration to inward enrichment. The sacred Fridays of Aadi, known as Aadi Velli, are dedicated to the worship of the Divine Mother Parvathi in her various manifestations. Women visit temples in large numbers, observe vows, offer prayers, and seek blessings for the wellbeing of their families. Similarly, Aadi Chevvai (Tuesdays) highlights the worship of Goddess Durga and reinforces the month’s deep association with feminine spiritual power.

Indeed, if there is one theme that dominates Aadi, it is the celebration of Shakti, the Divine Feminine. Across Tamil Nadu and the Tamil diaspora, temples dedicated to Amman, Mariamman, Durga, Kali, and Andal become centres of intense religious activity. Rituals, festivals, and communal gatherings focus on honouring the nurturing, protective, and transformative forces represented by these goddesses. In this sense, Aadi may be understood not merely as a calendar month but as a cultural affirmation of feminine energy and its role in sustaining both society and nature.

Within the month of Aadi there are three major festivals celebrated to invoke divine blessing.

Firstly is the observances called Aadi Perukku, which celebrates the life-giving properties of water and expresses gratitude for nature’s abundance.

To understand Aadi Perukku merely as a festival of thanksgiving for water is to miss its deeper cultural and philosophical significance embedded within the Tamil worldview. The earliest Tamil texts, particularly Tholkappiyam and Paripaadal, reveal a civilisation that perceived human existence as inseparable from nature. In this context, Aadi Perukku emerges not merely as a ritual observance but as a celebration of the dynamic relationship between land, water, society, and life itself.

In Tholkappiyam, the world's order is understood through the concept of “Thinai” (eco-system), where human emotions, occupations, social practices, and landscapes are organically linked. Rivers belong to the fertile “Marutham” (farming land) landscape, the domain of agriculture, prosperity, and communal life. The overflowing river celebrated during Aadi Perukku symbolises more than physical abundance, it signifies the continuity of life, food security, social harmony, and the collective wellbeing of society. Water is therefore not viewed as a resource to be exploited but as a partner in human existence.

This perspective finds poetic expression in Paripaadal, where rivers such as the Vaigai are praised as living entities that nurture cities, sustain lovers, enrich farmers, and inspire spiritual devotion. The river is celebrated as a source of joy, fertility, beauty, and renewal. When people gather along riverbanks during Aadi Perukku to offer flowers and prayers, they are participating in an ancient act of gratitude that acknowledges the sacred reciprocity between humanity and nature.

Existentially, Aadi Perukku reflects a profound Tamil understanding that life flourishes only when humans remain aligned with natural rhythms. The rising waters become a metaphor for renewal, reminding individuals that existence is sustained not by human effort alone but through harmonious coexistence with the larger ecological order. Thus, viewed through Tholkappiyam and Paripaadal, Aadi Perukku is both a spiritual affirmation of nature's sanctity and a philosophical celebration of life's interdependence, abundance, and continuity.

The second important event that takes place during the month of Aadi is the Aadi Ammavasai (New Moon) prayer for the ancestors. Though ancestral prayers can be done on any Ammavasai (New Moon) day, but the New Moon during the month of Aadi has a special significant. Within the framework of Sanātana Dharma (aka Hindusim), the New Moon day in the month of Aadi is the day of the convergence of astronomical, astrological, cosmological, and ancestral symbolism, all aligned in a point at which all four dimensions intersect, making it uniquely suited for Ancestral Prayer.

Astronomically, Aadi corresponds to the commencement of Dakshinayana, the Sun's southward journey as mentioned earlier. In the traditional Hindu cosmological understanding, Dakshinayana marks a shift from the outward, expansive energies of Uttarayana to a more inward, reflective phase. The first Amavasya that occurs during this transition is Aadi Amavasai.

Ancient tradition associates Dakshinayana with “Pitruyana”, the path of the ancestors. Symbolically, if Uttarayana represents aspiration and becoming, Dakshinayana represents remembrance, inheritance, and return. Thus, Aadi Ammavasai functions as the ceremonial doorway through which descendants consciously reconnect with their lineage.

From the perspective of astrology, New Moon occurs when the Sun and Moon are in conjunction. However, during Aadi Ammavasai it is considered special because it occurs when both luminaries are associated with Kataka (Cancer) during the Aadi period. Kataka is associated with motherhood and lineage. In Vedic astrology, the Sun (Surya) signifies the father, soul, authority, and lineage, while the Moon (Chandra) signifies the mother, mind, memory, and emotional inheritance.

Lastly from a symbolic perspective, Aadi Amavasai represents the union of paternal and maternal ancestry. The conjunction of the Sun and Moon becomes a cosmic metaphor for the coming together of all ancestral streams that culminate in the individual. Hence, offerings made on this day are believed to reach both paternal and maternal lineages with greater potency.

One of the first things many people think about Amavasya, the New Moon, is darkness. But Sanātana Dharma offers a very different way of looking at it. Rather than seeing the absence of the moon as a loss of light, it sees it as an invitation to turn inward. As the world outside grows quieter and darker, we are encouraged to reflect, remember, and contemplate. That is why Amavasya has traditionally been regarded as the most appropriate time to honour our ancestors.

This brings us to the idea of Ancestral Prayer. It is a recognition that none of us exists in isolation. Our bodies carry the genes of countless generations. Our language, culture, traditions, values, and even the opportunities we enjoy today have all been passed down to us. Hence ancestral prayer is an act of acknowledging a simple but profound truth, that none of us are self-made. We stand on foundations laid by those who came before us.

This is why Aadi Amavasai cannot be understood simply as an astrological event or dismissed as a religious custom. Its significance lies in the way it brings together cosmology, philosophy, memory, gratitude, and dharma.

Then comes the grand finale of the season, which is the Aadi Pooram festival. Aadi Pooram, is observed when the “Pooram Nakshatra (star)” falls in the month of Aadi. It is the festival dedicated to the Divine Mother. It is widely celebrated as the symbolic birthday of the Goddess, particularly as Parvati, Amman, and in Vaishnava tradition, Andal. On this day, the Goddess is beautifully adorned with silk, flowers, and jewellery. In many Amman temples, she is also decorated with colourful glass bangles, which are later distributed to women devotees as symbols of marital harmony, fertility, safe motherhood, and the Goddess's blessings.

Although Aadi Pooram is not mentioned by name in Sangam literature, the reverence for the Divine Mother has deep roots in early Tamil culture. Sangam works such as Purananuru and Akananuru celebrate Kotravai, the ancient Tamil mother-goddess associated with protection, victory, and fertility. Over time, these indigenous traditions merged with the worship of Parvati and other forms of Shakti.

The festival gained prominence during the Bhakti period (7th–9th centuries CE). It is traditionally believed that Andal, the only female Alvar (Vaishnava Saint), was born under the Pooram star in the month of Aadi at Srivilliputhur. Her devotional hymns, especially the Tiruppavai and Nachiyar Tirumozhi, made Aadi Pooram an important festival in Vaishnava temples, while Saiva and Shakta temples celebrated it as the birth of the Divine Mother.

Sri Maha Maramman Temple Entrance

Historical evidence also suggests that the Cholas and Pandyas supported such celebrations. Temple inscriptions from their reigns record donations for festivals, processions, lamps, flowers, and rituals dedicated to the Goddess during the month of Aadi. While the custom of adorning the Goddess with glass bangles became more widespread in later centuries, the festival itself has long symbolised the nurturing, protective, and life-giving power of the Divine Feminine. Today, Aadi Pooram continues to celebrate womanhood, motherhood, and the enduring grace of Shakti in Tamil religious life.

Viewed from this broader perspective, Aadi emerges as a month rich in symbolism and meaning. It is a period during which communities reconnect with the earth, honour the divine feminine, remember their ancestors, and prepare for renewed prosperity. The customs surrounding marriage, therefore, should not be interpreted as evidence of the month’s inauspiciousness but rather as indicators of a different set of priorities. Aadi does not reject auspiciousness, it redefines it.

The challenge, perhaps, lies in how collective memory functions. Societies often preserve the most visible rules while forgetting the deeper philosophies that gave rise to them. Thus, what remains in popular discourse is the prohibition, while the profound spiritual, cultural, agricultural, and ecological significance of the month gradually fades into the background. The result is a simplified narrative that obscures the richness of an ancient tradition.

There is, however, another explanation for the customs surrounding Aadi, one that my grandmother narrated with a perfectly straight face, but with a twinkle in her eye.

She would say, "Never get married in Aadi!" Naturally, I assumed there was some profound astrological reason. Instead, she gave me what I now consider one of the finest examples of practical Tamil wisdom disguised as divine instruction.

Think about it. In the old days, most marriages were arranged. The bride and groom often barely knew each other before the wedding. Then came the ‘first night’, the first time they were left alone in the same room. Now, place two healthy young adults in close proximity, add a generous dose of curiosity, hormones, and what I shall politely call testosterone collision (with its equally enthusiastic hormonal counterpart), and the outcome is hardly a mystery. Nine months later, a baby arrives.

"So what's the problem?" I asked.

"The problem," my grandmother replied, "is arithmetic."

A wedding in Aadi means a baby in Chithirai, right in the middle of Tamil Nadu's unforgiving summer. Blistering heat, water scarcity, dehydration, seasonal diseases, and an environment far from ideal for a newborn. In an age without air-conditioners, paediatricians, vaccinations, or neonatal intensive care units, that was not merely inconvenient, it was potentially dangerous.

Suddenly, the seemingly mysterious prohibition against Aadi marriages began to sound remarkably sensible.

Of course, one cannot simply announce, "Dear newlyweds, kindly postpone your biological enthusiasm for the sake of climatic optimisation." Human hormones have never shown much respect for logic. The Siddhars and Rishis, if they indeed understood human nature as well as tradition credits them, probably knew that rational arguments would stand little chance against youthful enthusiasm.

So they did what wise elders have done for centuries. They wrapped sound public health advice in divine authority.

Tell people, "It's scientifically sensible," and someone will debate you.

Tell them, "The Goddess doesn't approve," and suddenly the wedding hall falls silent.

Whether this was truly the origin of the custom is impossible to say. But I have always admired the elegant strategy. When logic fails, enlist heaven. After all, faith has succeeded where biology has often refused to negotiate.

As we begin a deeper exploration of Aadi, it becomes necessary to ask whether we have misunderstood the month by focusing too much on what is avoided and too little on what is celebrated. Perhaps Aadi was never intended to be remembered as a month when weddings do not take place. Rather, it was meant to be cherished as a period of renewal, gratitude, devotion, and awakening, a sacred season in which individuals, families, and communities realign themselves with nature, spirituality, and the enduring power of Shakti.

The real story of Aadi, therefore, is not about the absence of marriage ceremonies. It is about the presence of something far greater. It is about a civilisation’s attempt to pause, reflect, give thanks, and reconnect with the forces that sustain life itself. That forgotten story deserves to be retold.

Thee Chatti Vaibhavam

Sri Maha Maramman Temple

Yesterday Greeja and I were at the Sri Maha Mariamman Temple, Kota Kemuning, Selangor, paying our homage to Divine Mother and seeking her Blessing. We were also fortunate to witness the Thee Chatti Vaibhavam (the Sacred Fire Pot Ceremony).

Cheers.

ravivarmmankkanniappan@144218072026 3°3′52′′N 101°35′37′′E

Glossary:

Aadhi: Is the fourth month of the Tamil Solar calendar which occurs between mid April to mid May.

Tholkaapiyam: This is the oldest surviving Tamil book. It is a complete guide to Tamil grammar, language sounds, and writing rules. It also gives rules for poetry and human emotions, (300BCE)

Paripaadal: Ancient Tamil text from the Sangam era (circa 3rd century BCE to 3rd century CE). It is the fifth book of the Ettuthokai (Eight Anthologies).

Thinai: Ancient Tamils divided the land into 5 categories: Kurinji (Mountainous) , Mullai (Pastoral Forest) , Neythal (Coastal Shores), Marutham (flat fertile agricultural land), and Paalai (Arid desert)

Pooram: In Tamil/Hindu Astrology there are 27 Nakshatra’s (stars) not to be confused with western Zodiac stars. In Tami/Hindu Astrology Zodiac Stars are known as Raasi.

Sangam Literature: was the classical age of Tamil civilisation, producing rich poetry on love, war, nature, kingship, ethics, trade, and society, reflecting early Tamil culture and worldview (300BCE – 300CE)

Purananuru: Is a Sangam anthology of 400 poems on public life, kingship, warfare, heroism, generosity, ethics, and mortality, offering invaluable insights into ancient Tamil society and political culture.

Akananuru: Is a Sangam anthology of 400 poems exploring love, relationships, emotions, separation, longing, and reunion, using landscape symbolism to portray the inner world of ancient Tamil life

Chola and Pandya: Both are South Indian Tamil Kingdoms.

Chittirai: The first month in the Tamil Solar Calendar

Siddhars: Are enlightened masters of the Tamil spiritual tradition who attained siddhi (perfection) through yoga, meditation, medicine, alchemy, and inner realisation. They combined spirituality with practical knowledge, leaving poetic teachings on healing, self-transformation, immortality, and liberation.

Rishis: Are the ancient seers of the Vedic tradition who attained divine insight through deep meditation and tapas. Revered as “mantra-drashtas” (seers of sacred truths), they perceived cosmic wisdom, composed Vedic hymns, and preserved spiritual knowledge for humanity.

Thee Chatti Vaibhavam: Here devotees carry an earthen pot filled with burning charcoal or embers on their heads or in their hands (with neem leaves as the base) as an act of penance, thanksgiving, or fulfilment of a vow. The ritual symbolises, fire representing purification, the burning away of ego, and the transformative surrender the Divine Feminine for protection, health, prosperity, and relief from illness or misfortune.

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