A stuffed orangutan and shared grief

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.Recently, the internet found a new child to weep for — a seven-month-old baby macaque named Punch, who lives in the Ichikawa city zoo in Japan. Abandoned by his parents at birth and rejected by his clan, zookeepers gave him a stuffed orangutan toy for comfort. Punch clutched it instantly and carried it everywhere, running to it whenever threatened.Not long ago, a similar wave of emotion spread across the world for another solitary animal — the penguin that wandered away. Now it is Punch’s turn. Visitors flock to see him; strangers from abroad send identical plush toys in case his toy wears out.But the tears shed for him go beyond a love for animals. People see themselves in the tiny creature, their own histories of rejection, humiliation, subtle bullying by dominant members, exclusion for being different in appearance, caste, creed, accent or gender. The new employee who eats lunch alone after others leave, for example, the daughter-in-law entering an established household, the migrant, the misfit, the outsider who hears, in countless small ways, “you don’t belong here”.I remember such an exile of my own. When I changed schools in Class IX, I left behind the comfort of familiar friends. The new class felt closed against me. Mornings were heavy with dread. It took an academic breakthrough — outdoing established toppers in the first examination — to gain acceptance. Friendships eventually formed; warmth returned. Yet, decades later, the chill remains vivid. Watching Punch flee to his toy, I recognise that search for something that will not reject us when the social world turns cold.Vaishnavite tradition offers a telling metaphor: markata nyayam and marjala nyayam. The baby monkey clings to its mother; the kitten is carried by the mother cat. The devotee may hold to the divine, or the divine may hold the devotee. Punch lost, or was denied, that primal grip. His plushie became the body he could hold.Zoo authorities call the clan’s behaviour normal. In primate hierarchies, difference is rarely tolerated at first. They expect that, in time, Punch will learn to cope and find his place. Perhaps one day he will no longer need the toy. We have seen that moment in our own homes: the doll we once clutched in sleep, the blanket dragged everywhere. Then, quietly, we stopped asking for it. The toy remains in a cupboard, then a box, then — during house cleaning — is given away. Parents pause, holding it, feeling the ache of abandonment which comes with growth.So too with Punch. There will likely come a day when the orange companion is no longer his world. But today, it is his lifeline. And in that image lies something universal: every life form needs something — or someone — to cling to. Attachment is not weakness; it is the root of survival. Whether it is a mother’s body, a friend’s presence, a belief, a memory, or even a toy, love is the sustaining grip that keeps existence from falling into emptiness. Thiruvalluvar saw this with piercing clarity. In Kural 78, he wrote: Anbagathu Illaa Uyirvaazhkkai Vanpaarkkan Vatral Maramthalirth ThatruA life without love to hold it, is like a withered tree struggling in wilderness To sprout in arid groundPunch clings to an orange toy. We cling to less visible forms of love. The gesture is the same — and it is what keeps us all alive.