I truly believe that music or art, in general, is the only thing

Hear the words of the composer Ilaiyaraaja, master of melody and voice of a people, who declared: “I truly believe that music or art, in general, is the only thing that can unify a world that is plagued by war and violence, and I believe that it should be taken to more people.” These words are not idle poetry, but truth distilled from a life of creation. For where politics divide and armies clash, music and art break down the walls of language and nation, speaking to the very soul of humanity.

The origin of these words flows from the life of Ilaiyaraaja himself, who grew up in the villages of Tamil Nadu and rose, through the power of song, to become one of the most revered musicians in India and beyond. His melodies have carried joy to the sorrowful and hope to the weary. It was his journey through hardship and creativity that revealed to him a truth as ancient as the first drumbeat: that while men may war, the language of art transcends violence.

The meaning of this saying is profound. When Ilaiyaraaja speaks of a world “plagued by war and violence,” he names the wounds of our age—conflicts of creed, nation, and ideology that tear apart families and nations alike. Yet in the face of such division, he points to art, not as decoration but as salvation. For when a song rises, or when color dances upon canvas, hearts that were hardened by hatred are softened, and strangers remember their shared humanity.

Consider the tale of the Christmas Truce of 1914, during the First World War. On a frozen battlefield, soldiers of Germany and Britain, who only hours before had been killing each other, began to sing carols across the trenches. “Silent Night” drifted through the darkness, and men who were enemies laid down their arms, crossing no-man’s-land to exchange gifts, share food, and even play games. For a brief moment, music silenced the cannons, and the memory of shared humanity triumphed over the machinery of death. This story shows the power of art to unify, even amid war.

Ilaiyaraaja’s words also carry a call to action: “it should be taken to more people.” For art is not meant to remain hidden in temples or concert halls, reserved for the privileged few. It must flow like water into the streets, into the homes of the poor, into the hands of children who hunger for beauty. For when art is shared widely, it becomes not the possession of one, but the inheritance of all, binding together diverse peoples with a common rhythm of joy, sorrow, and hope.

The lesson is eternal: that to heal division, one must touch the heart. Laws may restrain violence, and treaties may halt wars, but only art can mend the soul that has been broken by hatred. Each of us, then, must become a bearer of beauty. Whether through song, story, painting, or simple acts of creativity, we must spread the flame of unity in a world grown cold with conflict.

What, then, must we do? We must cultivate the arts in our schools, in our communities, and in our homes. We must lift up the voices of poets and musicians, for they are the unseen warriors who wage peace instead of war. And we ourselves must learn to listen—not only with ears, but with hearts—so that the music of humanity may drown out the drums of violence.

Therefore, let Ilaiyaraaja’s words be carried like a hymn for our age: in a world fractured by hatred, let music be the bridge, let art be the healing balm, and let beauty be the common language that binds us. For when men and women join in song, when they marvel at the same painting, when they are moved by the same tale, there are no enemies—only brothers and sisters remembering that they are one.