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.
Soham Parekh took Silicon Valley by storm—not with code, but with cunning. The 23-year-old Indian origin software engineer didn’t just submit a résumé—he built a narrative. In emails to founders, he praised their vision and introduced himself with: “I don’t drink, don’t party, can’t sing or dance—I just love to code.” To stressed-out startup teams, he was the dream: all discipline, no distractions, a prodigy. What they got was a portfolio of deceit. Soham juggled multiple full-time roles, outsourced some of his tasks, dodged meetings, and lived out as a master class in personal branding and cheating—the tech-world equivalent of a Ponzi scheme—until it all came crashing.
And yet, many couldn’t bring themselves to hate him. “If companies can lay off employees without warning, why can’t workers game the game?” asked young engineers, their sympathy subtly aligned with the conman.
Why are fraudsters often charming? Why do we laugh—and even admire—before we condemn?
Because conmen , like trickster gods, break rules with flair and their genius methods.
An anecdote from Annamalai University captures this spirit. Renowned historian Neelakanta Sastri was once invigilating an exam. As was his habit, he paced the hall, reading a book, his long coat swaying. After the exam, something strange happened: the answer sheets of two students—one from the first row and another from the last—were identical.
Puzzled, the evaluators summoned them. The boys denied wrongdoing, but the professors promised no punishment if they told the truth.
And out it came.
The student in the first row would write the answers, slip the sheet into the professor’s deep coat pocket and the one in the last row would retrieve it, copy it, and place it back. The professor had unwittingly become a postman.
There is no dearth of charismatic swindlers. Natwarlal “sold” the Taj Mahal. Victor Lustig sold the Eiffel Tower.
The Tamil film Chaturanga Vettai offers a conman’s gospel: “Don’t appeal to a man’s kindness—it may fail. Appeal to his greed—it succeeds.” And another golden tip: “Never lie completely. Mix in a little truth to make the lie breathe.”
We’re all susceptible. Scamsters don’t break down doors; they walk in through open ones—often unbolted by our own desires. People still read out their OTPs to unknown callers and lend money to sobbing relatives who swear on their children, only to later find those them vacationing in Ooty.
“How do you do it?” a journalist once asked a veteran conman. “Easy,” he replied. “Everyone walks around thinking they’re too smart to be fooled. That’s their weak point.” Conmen aren’t always brilliant—but they’re observant. They look you in the eye, smile warmly, exude trust—and then vanish with your wallet and your faith in humanity.
Even Thiruvalluvar couldn’t resist a wry smile at this timeless phenomenon:
“Thevar Anayar Kayavar Avarumdham
Mevana Seydhozhuka laan.”
“Ah, Gods and conmen form a class in achieving successfully
Whatever they desire, with none to question them.”
He must have written this couplet with the tongue firmly in the cheek. No, he doesn’t appreciate those who cheat the vulnerable. He has dedicated an entire chapter on turpitude and warns us to be careful with fraudsters. But he also knows that conmen are invincible and will be around forever!
Motivational speaker, author and diversity champion Bharathi Bhaskar explores the masterpiece.
Soham Parekh took Silicon Valley by storm—not with code, but with cunning. The 23-year-old Indian origin software engineer didn’t just submit a résumé—he built a narrative. In emails to founders, he praised their vision and introduced himself with: “I don’t drink, don’t party, can’t sing or dance—I just love to code.” To stressed-out startup teams, he was the dream: all discipline, no distractions, a prodigy. What they got was a portfolio of deceit. Soham juggled multiple full-time roles, outsourced some of his tasks, dodged meetings, and lived out as a master class in personal branding and cheating—the tech-world equivalent of a Ponzi scheme—until it all came crashing.
And yet, many couldn’t bring themselves to hate him. “If companies can lay off employees without warning, why can’t workers game the game?” asked young engineers, their sympathy subtly aligned with the conman.
Why are fraudsters often charming? Why do we laugh—and even admire—before we condemn?
Because conmen , like trickster gods, break rules with flair and their genius methods.
An anecdote from Annamalai University captures this spirit. Renowned historian Neelakanta Sastri was once invigilating an exam. As was his habit, he paced the hall, reading a book, his long coat swaying. After the exam, something strange happened: the answer sheets of two students—one from the first row and another from the last—were identical.
Puzzled, the evaluators summoned them. The boys denied wrongdoing, but the professors promised no punishment if they told the truth.
And out it came.
The student in the first row would write the answers, slip the sheet into the professor’s deep coat pocket and the one in the last row would retrieve it, copy it, and place it back. The professor had unwittingly become a postman.
There is no dearth of charismatic swindlers. Natwarlal “sold” the Taj Mahal. Victor Lustig sold the Eiffel Tower.
The Tamil film Chaturanga Vettai offers a conman’s gospel: “Don’t appeal to a man’s kindness—it may fail. Appeal to his greed—it succeeds.” And another golden tip: “Never lie completely. Mix in a little truth to make the lie breathe.”
We’re all susceptible. Scamsters don’t break down doors; they walk in through open ones—often unbolted by our own desires. People still read out their OTPs to unknown callers and lend money to sobbing relatives who swear on their children, only to later find those them vacationing in Ooty.
“How do you do it?” a journalist once asked a veteran conman. “Easy,” he replied. “Everyone walks around thinking they’re too smart to be fooled. That’s their weak point.” Conmen aren’t always brilliant—but they’re observant. They look you in the eye, smile warmly, exude trust—and then vanish with your wallet and your faith in humanity.
Even Thiruvalluvar couldn’t resist a wry smile at this timeless phenomenon:
“Thevar Anayar Kayavar Avarumdham
Mevana Seydhozhuka laan.”
“Ah, Gods and conmen form a class in achieving successfully
Whatever they desire, with none to question them.”
He must have written this couplet with the tongue firmly in the cheek. No, he doesn’t appreciate those who cheat the vulnerable. He has dedicated an entire chapter on turpitude and warns us to be careful with fraudsters. But he also knows that conmen are invincible and will be around forever!
You may also like
Ajay Devgn speaks up on fellow Punjabi artist Diljit Dosanjh's trolling, backlash
Delhi building collapse: People had noticed some issues earlier, says resident
Union Minister Chirag Paswan Receives Death Threat On Instagram Ahead Of Bihar Assembly Polls
Sadia Khateeb on 'Silaa': Just want to give my bestest to Omung Kumar's vision
Father-of-three suing TUI at High Court over holiday tragedy 'not same person'
