Categories
Essay

Harmonising a Symphony

By Yathish Kumar S

Somewhere between the borders drawn on maps and the divisions carved into human minds, an ancient truth has been quietly waiting to be remembered: the world is one. Not one in the trivial sense of sharing a planet, but one in the deeper sense that every human being, every culture, every living thing is woven from the same fabric of existence. The recognition of oneness, the understanding that “I” and “the other” are not fundamentally separate. It’s not merely a spiritual ideal but the single most practical foundation for building a happy, peaceful, and sustainable world.

Division, by contrast, is the root of nearly every form of suffering humanity has inflicted upon itself: war, exploitation, prejudice, ecological destruction, and the quiet loneliness that plagues even the most prosperous societies. If the world is truly one, then healing it does not require inventing something new; it requires remembering something old.

Human beings are born into a world that immediately teaches them to see in categories. We learn our name, our family, our nation, our religion, our race and with each label comes an invisible boundary. These boundaries are useful for organising social life, but they become dangerous when we mistake them for ultimate reality. We begin to believe that our group’s survival, prosperity, or pride depends on being separate from, and often superior to  another group. This is the illusion of separation, and it is the psychological seed from which most human conflict grows.

History offers endless evidence of what happens when this illusion hardens into ideology. Colonial empires justified centuries of exploitation by convincing themselves that colonised peoples were fundamentally different, lesser, and therefore fair game for domination. Wars have been fought over religious identity, national identity, and racial identity each side certain that the other was so essentially different that violence became not just permissible but necessary. Even in peacetime, this illusion shows up in economic systems that treat the poor as disposable, in social hierarchies that treat certain lives as worthless, and in environmental policies that treat nature as a resource to be extracted rather than a body of which we are a living part.

Yet science itself has quietly dismantled the illusion of separation even as culture continues to reinforce it. Physics tells us that everything in the universe emerged from the same cosmic origin and is composed of the same fundamental particles, endlessly recombined. Biology tells us that all life on Earth shares common ancestry, that the boundary between “self” and “environment” is porous. We breathe the same air, drink water that has cycled through oceans and clouds for millions of years, and carry within our bodies more microbial cells than human ones. Ecology tells us that ecosystems are not collections of separate organisms competing in isolation, but interdependent webs where the health of one part depends on the health of the whole. Even neuroscience suggests that the boundaries of the self are far less fixed than we assume, shaped by relationship, language, and culture from the moment of birth. Modern knowledge, in other words, converges with ancient wisdom traditions on a single point: separation is a useful intellectual map, but it’s not the territory.

Long before modern science offered its evidence, the world’s spiritual and philosophical traditions arrived at the same insight through direct contemplation of experience. In the Indian civilisational tradition, the Upanishads declare “Ekam Sat, Vipra Bahudha Vadanti” — Truth is one, though the wise call it by many names. The Vedantic vision of “Tat Tvam Asi” — “Thou art That”, points to the identity of the individual self (Atman) with the universal self (Brahman). The Bhagavad Gita speaks of the wise seeing “the same in all beings,” neither elevating nor diminishing anyone based on external distinctions.

This is not a uniquely Indian insight. In Buddhist philosophy, the doctrine of dependent origination (pratityasamutpada) teaches that nothing exists independently; everything arises in relationship to everything else. The Christian mystical tradition speaks of all humanity as members of one body. Sufi poets, like Rumi, wrote of the lover and the beloved as ultimately indistinguishable, using the language of romantic union to point toward a deeper metaphysical unity. Indigenous traditions across the Americas, Africa, Australia, and Asia have long understood the human being as inseparable from land, ancestors and community, a relational selfhood utterly different from the isolated individualism that modern economic life often assumes.

The philosophical concept of Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam — “the world is one family” — captures this spirit precisely. It does not deny the difference; it does not ask us to erase the beautiful diversity of language, custom, cuisine and belief that makes human culture so rich. Instead, it asks us to hold that diversity the way a family holds the differences among its members: as variation within belonging, not as grounds for exclusion. A family does not stop being one family because its members have different tastes, temperaments, or talents. Diversity and oneness are not opposites. If oneness is true at the level of physics, biology, and spiritual insight, it also turns out to be true at the level of practical psychology.

Modern research into human wellbeing consistently finds that happiness is not primarily a function of individual accumulation of  wealth, status, possessions, but of the quality of our relationships and our sense of connection to something larger than ourselves. People who feel isolated, even when materially wealthy, report lower life satisfaction than those embedded in strong communities, regardless of income. This is not a coincidence. Human beings evolved as intensely social creatures; our nervous systems are wired for connection, and chronic disconnection registers in the body as a form of stress that erodes both mental and physical health.

A worldview built on separation is, in this light, self-defeating. It tells us to compete rather than cooperate, to accumulate rather than to give, to defend rather than to open. It produces short-term gains for individuals or nations at the cost of long-term wellbeing for everyone, including the “winners.” A world of walled nations and gated communities is not a happy world, even for those inside the walls, because the psychological cost of maintaining separation, vigilance, suspicion, fear of the other is corrosive to the very peace it claims to protect.

Oneness, by contrast, offers a coherent foundation for sustainable happiness because it aligns our inner orientation with the actual structure of reality. When we act from the understanding that another person’s suffering is not truly separate from our own wellbeing, compassion becomes not a moral obligation imposed from outside but a natural expression of clear seeing. Generosity stops feeling like sacrifice and starts feeling like common sense, because what benefits the whole ultimately benefits the part. This is why every contemplative tradition that has taken oneness seriously has also produced ethics centred on compassion, non-violence and service not as rules to be obeyed, but as the natural behaviour of someone who has stopped mistaking the part for the whole.

Nowhere is the practical urgency of this vision more visible than in the ecological crisis now facing humanity. Climate change, biodiversity loss, pollution, and resource depletion are not separate problems to be solved by separate nations acting in isolation; they are symptoms of a single underlying error, the belief that human beings stand apart from and above the natural world, entitled to extract from it without consequence. A river does not recognise a national border; a warming atmosphere does not respect a treaty line. The planet itself is demonstrating, in the most literal and consequential way possible, that separation was always an illusion. What happens in one place is now measurably connected to what happens everywhere else.

The only responses capable of matching the scale of this crisis are those built on a recognition of interdependence: shared responsibility, shared sacrifice, and shared benefit. Nations that continue to act as though their own prosperity can be secured at the expense of the planet’s shared systems are, in effect, still living inside the illusion of separation and the consequences of that illusion are now measured in extreme weather, mass displacement, and ecological collapse. The idea of ‘one world’, one that understood its own unity, would treat the atmosphere, the oceans, and the biosphere as commons to be tended together rather than resources to be seized competitively. This is not utopian idealism; it is simply what the physical reality of an interconnected planet requires of a species intelligent enough to notice it.

It is not enough to affirm oneness as an abstract truth; it must be translated into the texture of daily life and public policy. On the personal level, this means cultivating the practice of seeing beyond the labels that separate us, learning to recognise our shared humanity even if  language, religion, or politics differ sharply from our own. It means choosing curiosity over contempt when we encounter differences, and remembering that every person we meet is fighting a battle we cannot fully see, shaped by circumstances as real to them as ours are to us.

On the social level, it means building institutions that express interdependence rather than domination: economic systems that measure success not only by growth but by the wellbeing of the most vulnerable; educational systems that teach children to see themselves as citizens of the world as much as citizens of a nation; media systems that resist the temptation to profit from outrage and division, and instead cultivate genuine understanding across difference. It means recognising that international cooperation on climate, public health, migration and peace  is not a diminishment of national identity but the mature expression of a species that has finally understood its own unity.

At the spiritual level, it means returning, in whatever language or tradition speaks to us, to practices that quieten the noise of the separate self: meditation, prayer, service, silence, art and honest self-reflection. These practices do not manufacture oneness; they simply remove the obstacles of fear, greed, resentment, pride  that prevent us from seeing what was true all along. A world of individuals who have done this inner work, even imperfectly, becomes a fundamentally different world from one populated by people who have never questioned the walls their minds have built.

Skeptics will rightly point out that talk of oneness can become an excuse for erasing real injustice, a comfortable spiritual bypass that tells the powerful and the powerless to simply “see themselves as one” while existing inequalities remain untouched. This objection deserves to be taken seriously. Genuine oneness is not a call to ignore difference or injustice; it is, if anything, the opposite. To recognise another person as truly not separate from oneself is to feel their suffering as one’s own concern, which makes it impossible to remain indifferent to exploitation, discrimination, or cruelty. A oneness that excuses injustice is not oneness at all; it is merely separation in disguise. True oneness demands action precisely because it refuses to let us hide behind the excuse that “their” suffering is not “our” problem.

Others will argue that difference and competition are natural, even necessary, drivers of progress, and that a world without boundaries would collapse into sameness or chaos. But oneness, properly understood, is not the demand for sameness. It does not ask nations to dissolve, cultures to merge, or individuals to abandon their particular gifts and identities. It asks only that these particularities be held within a deeper recognition of shared belonging, the way notes in a symphony remain distinct while contributing to a single piece of music. Diversity is not the opposite of oneness; the erasure of relationships is.

The claim that “the world is one” is not a slogan for a greeting card or a convenient sentiment for moments of crisis. It is, on the evidence of physics, biology, ecology, psychology and the converging insight of nearly every major school of philosophy in human history, simply an accurate description of reality, one that human culture has spent millennia obscuring behind walls of ego, power, and tribe. The suffering these walls have produced is not incidental to human history; it is, in large part, human history. War, exploitation, ecological collapse and the quiet epidemic of loneliness in even the wealthiest societies are all, at root, symptoms of forgetting what was never actually true. We were ever truly not separate to begin with.

To build a happier world, then, is not primarily a matter of inventing new technologies, new economic systems, or new political ideologies, though all of these may help. It is primarily a matter of remembering individually and collectively that the boundary between self and other has always been thinner than it appeared. When enough people remember this, compassion stops being an effort and becomes an instinct; cooperation stops being a strategy and becomes an expression of common sense; and the happiness we have spent so long chasing through accumulation and competition becomes available, quietly, as the natural condition of a mind no longer at war with itself.

The world is one.

Living as though we know this is, perhaps, the only path to a world worth living in.

.

Yathish Kumar S is a postgraduate student and a volunteer at the One World One Family Foundation. He is deeply interested in promoting the values of unity, compassion and global responsibility. His vision is to create awareness about the importance of recognizing that we all belong to one world and therefore, share a collective responsibility to contribute to the happiness, well-being and welfare of all people.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access Wild Winds: The Borderless Anthology of Poems

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Categories
Musings

What Ramayan taught me about my parents

By Smitha R

Who knew a repeat telecast of a mythological series based on the life of a man/God would set me on the road to new discovery about my own parents. When Ramayan began to be re-telecast on the national television, I had no intention of being glued to it. I am not a big fan of men who abandon their wives, even if they are the Supreme Being/Leader. So, it was a surprise that I ended up watching a whole episode of the series with my family.

Now, you need to understand that the drawing room, where we have our TV, is the war room of my home. It is where all the wars in the family are fought so as to ensure those passing by our house know every minute details of the bombs being dropped. A stranger can walk into our house and determine how the hierarchy works by looking at who has the remote.

It is also the place everyone in my family rushes to while talking loudly on their mobile. They then proceed to glare at the occupants until the television is meekly muted. It is where we have our breakfast, lunch and dinner and where we perform acrobatics sitting on the sofa to avoid getting up when the maid comes to clean the room. It is where my mother finds it necessary to place a chair bang in front of the television so that 80% of the occupants get to watch her back and not what is on the screen.

Since my parents won’t let us have a slice of television time, I have, like a true scavenger, taken to stealing bits and pieces of their fun time. I do it by pestering my parents with intelligent queries about the dumb soap operas that they like to watch.

So, when I sat down together to watch Ramayan, after losing yet another remote war to my parents, I had every intention of ruining their fun. The over- the-top acting, the poor production and the almost hilarious expressions the actors had in the name of emotions gave me enough ammunition. I began a running commentary that could rival that of Navjot Sidhu, the cricket player turned commentator. But my mom was not pleased and she soon sent me to shell some peas. Yes, my mother, the innovator that she is, has over the years devised better punishment-cum-chores for her adult children when they outgrew their ‘face the wall’ disciplining.

As I sat with the peas, I could not but help notice the delight with which my mom watched the series. Her face mirrored every expression that the characters had. I felt bad for trying to ruin it for her and could not help but ask, “Why are you so excited about watching the re-run of a series you watched three decades ago?”

“I never watched it. We did not have a TV at home then,” she replied, still glued to the television.

“What, then how do I remember watching it?” I asked.

“You kids would go with your dad to the neighbour’s house to watch it on a Sunday. I had to cook for everyone, so I never came,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

 Suddenly it occurred to me that watching Ramayan on television was not the only thing my mother had given up. I remember going on trips with my dad on his scooter leaving my mom behind as the vehicle could not ferry all five of us. Everytime we went to do all the fun things, my mom voluntarily stayed back because a taxi was a luxury we could hardly afford. Three decades of living with my mom and there were chapters of her life I was never privy to. I decided to shut up and vowed to ask her more about her life as a young career woman with three kids once the episode came to an end.

Since multi-tasking was never my strength, I ended up ignoring the peas and actually watched Ramayan with my parents. While my parents seemed to follow the series, I felt like I had skipped several important chapters in the story.

So, when the episode came to an end, I had several queries. What forced King Dashrath to grant a boon to his third wife Kayekayi? What is Parsuram’s background? How come two avatars of Vishnu happened to inhabit the earth at the same time during Ramayan?

My dad seemed to know the answer to all the questions I had and that is when I discovered what an amazing story teller he is. As a kid, I don’t remember him ever reading us a bedtime story. A voracious reader himself, he bought us a lot of books but never read to us, maybe because he preferred Malyalam and we deviated towards English. I think it was also because both my parents were caught in the struggle to provide the three of us a decent living and at the end of the day, they did not have much energy to do anything other than order us to go to sleep, bedtime stories be damned.

I soon found out that he had extensive knowledge of Indian mythology and could weave a story that could put the best bards to shame. He had read the Bhagavad Gita and the Bible and could quote couplets from them with ease. When had he learned this? How is it that living in the same house I had missed so much about my own father? Why is it that despite having no pressure, I had not taken out the time to interact with my own parents? How had I taken them for granted to such an extent that so many aspects of their life had remained hidden from me?

As I interacted more with my parents over Ramayan I realised that they had earned the right to hog the remote. It was their attempt at ‘having fun’ at an age where their health limited the avenues for entertainment. For them, it was not mindless television watching. It was their way of relaxing after a life spent giving up on things. The way they saw it, it was time for the kids to return the favour.

Smitha R is a former journalist with a passion for travel that often fails to take into consideration her poor financial health. When she is not whipping up a disaster in the kitchen, she is busy distributing ‘an honest opinion’, unmindful of the perils..