Birth is a Curse We Celebrate, and Death is a Gift We Mourn – A Humorous Lesson from the Gita

From the moment we are born, the world around us rejoices. Relatives gather, sweets are distributed, and the newborn is cradled with love. But beneath this celebration lies a hidden paradox—birth is the beginning of suffering. In the Bhagavad Gita (2.14), Krishna reminds us:

"O son of Kunti, the nonpermanent appearance of happiness and distress, and their disappearance in due course, are like the appearance and disappearance of winter and summer seasons."

To be born is to be plunged into the realm of duality—pleasure and pain, hope and despair, desire and loss. The newborn, fresh from the blissful nothingness of the unmanifest, enters a world where its first act is to cry. The cutting of the umbilical cord symbolizes a severance from unity, a forced individuation into the illusion of separation.

But why, then, do we celebrate this event? Is it ignorance, or is it attachment? Society conditions us to believe that life is a gift, yet the Upanishads teach otherwise—life is a dream, a flickering shadow on the walls of Maya (illusion).


To exist in this world is to suffer, and no one understood this better than Gautama Buddha. His first noble truth declares:

"Birth is suffering, aging is suffering, illness is suffering, death is suffering."

Hinduism echoes this through the concept of Samsara, the endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, driven by karma. Each birth is not a new beginning but a continuation of past entanglements. The body, which we take pride in, is nothing but a decaying prison.

Consider this: a child is born not as a blank slate but as a being weighed down by past karma. The innocent laughter of childhood is but a temporary reprieve before the burdens of life set in. Education, career, relationships—each step is another link in the chain of worldly bondage. We chase happiness, but even our joys are ephemeral.

Even our greatest moments—success, love, family—are tainted with the fear of loss. The Bhagavad Gita (2.27) reminds us:

"For one who has taken birth, death is certain; and for one who has died, birth is certain."

The journey of life is nothing but a road leading inevitably to death, yet we cling to it desperately. Why?


Death, the most feared phenomenon, is paradoxically the greatest gift. Why do we mourn it? Because we misunderstand it. The Brihadaranyaka Upanishad (4.4.13) declares:

"When all desires that dwell in the heart fall away, then a mortal becomes immortal and attains Brahman in this very life."

Death is not an end; it is a release. The body dissolves, but the self—Atman—remains untouched, eternal. If birth is entry into illusion, death is the exit. Then why should it be mourned?

Imagine a prisoner who has served his time and is finally freed. Would he lament leaving his cell? Would a dreamer regret waking from a nightmare? Yet, we wail at the departure of loved ones, blind to the reality that they are being liberated from suffering.

The Katha Upanishad (1.3.14) gives us an insight into the true nature of death:

"The wise, who realize the Self as eternal, seek not to prolong life but to merge into the Infinite."

If we saw death as a transition rather than an end, we would neither fear it nor grieve it. We would celebrate it, just as sages and enlightened beings do.


Why do we mourn? It is not because of the dead, but because of ourselves. Mourning is the ultimate act of attachment, the refusal to accept impermanence. We weep not for the departed but for our own loss—the void left behind in our lives.

But isn’t this void an illusion too? The Mandukya Upanishad reveals that the world itself is a dream. If the world is a dream, then so is death within it. What is there to fear?

Sages and mystics prepare for death, not with sorrow, but with anticipation. Socrates, before drinking the poison, said, “A true philosopher prepares for death all his life.” The enlightened ones do not mourn, for they see reality as it is. The body comes, the body goes—what remains is the eternal witness.


The ultimate realization in Advaita Vedanta is that neither birth nor death is real. The Ashtavakra Gita (15.11) states:

"You are not the body. You were never born, nor have you ever died. You are pure consciousness, beyond all forms."

If this is true, then what is it that is born? What is it that dies? The answer: an illusion. The self has never been born, and therefore it can never die. This is the grand truth that dissolves all fears.

But to reach this realization, one must transcend the mind. As long as we identify with the body, birth will seem like a celebration, and death will appear as a tragedy. But when we see through Maya, we will understand that both are mere waves on the ocean of existence—rising and falling, but never separate from the whole.

If death is the gateway to liberation, should we seek it? No—because seeking death is still attachment. The Bhagavad Gita (2.47) instructs:

"You have a right to perform your duty, but never to the fruits of your actions."

Life should not be rejected, but it should not be clung to either. The wise live in the world without being of the world. They neither celebrate birth nor mourn death. They walk the middle path—aware, detached, free.

Birth is a curse, not because life is inherently evil, but because it traps us in illusion. Death is a gift, not because it ends life, but because it releases us from the dream. But the greatest wisdom is to realize that neither birth nor death touches the true self.

To awaken is to see this clearly. To live without fear, to die without regret—that is the way of the enlightened. When we understand this, we will neither celebrate birth nor mourn death. We will simply be, as we have always been—eternal, infinite, free.

The question is: Are we ready to wake up?