We spend our lives chasing happiness — sometimes with desperation, sometimes with grace.
It is that elusive star just beyond the horizon, the one we swear we’ll touch after the next achievement, after the next tomorrow.
And yet, happiness never seems to stay. It flickers, it teases, and it fades.
To understand this, I wrote a poem that speaks across languages — English, Hindi, Sanskrit, Kannada, Tamil, and Telugu — as if happiness itself were a conversation among cultures, slipping through tongues the way it slips through time.
Poem: “Anantānanda — The Endless Joy”
In the silence between heartbeats I chase,
“Khushī milī kya?” — asks the weary face.
“Sukham vā asti?” — murmurs the Sanskrit wind,
As though bliss were hidden where the breath rescinds.
“Santōṣa enū illa,” whispers a Kannada night,
Happiness not absent — just out of sight.
“Inbam varum, pogum, marum,” — hums a Tamil rain,
Joy comes, it goes, it comes again.
“Ānandaṁ nityam kaadhu,” sighs the Telugu sun,
Happiness is not forever — yet we run.
And still I smile, half-knowing, half-blind,
For the chase itself is what keeps me aligned.
Philosophical Reflection: The Pursuit as the Path
This poem weaves six languages into one voice — not to confuse, but to capture the universality of the question: what is happiness, and why do we chase it so endlessly?
Let’s unfold its meaning layer by layer.
1. “Khushī milī kya?” — Did you find happiness?
This simple Hindi question is something we ask ourselves again and again — often after a milestone.
Did the promotion bring joy? Did the journey to self-improvement make us whole?
But even as we ask, we sense the answer slipping away. The act of questioning itself suggests incompleteness.
2. “Sukham vā asti?” — Is there truly bliss?
The Sanskrit phrase elevates the question into philosophy. In ancient Indian thought, sukha (happiness) is not something to be seized, but a state of alignment with the ātman — the inner self.
To ask whether happiness “exists” is to question whether the self can ever be still enough to experience it.
3. “Santōṣa enū illa” — There is no satisfaction.
In Kannada, this phrase carries both melancholy and acceptance. It doesn’t deny joy, but acknowledges its transience.
Santōṣa (contentment) isn’t absent — it’s impermanent. The night whispers not of despair, but of impermanence as truth.
4. “Inbam varum, pogum, marum” — Joy comes, it goes, it returns.
Tamil holds the wisdom of cycles.
Happiness is like the monsoon — arriving, vanishing, and returning again. It teaches that joy isn’t lost; it’s rhythmic. It has seasons, like the heart.
5. “Ānandaṁ nityam kaadhu” — Happiness is not eternal.
In Telugu, this line accepts the limits of human experience. We crave permanence in a transient world — yet it is this very impermanence that gives sweetness to the fleeting moment.
If joy were constant, it would cease to be joy; it would be monotony.
The Final Verse — “For the chase itself is what keeps me aligned.”
Here lies the philosophical pivot.
Happiness is not the destination; it’s the movement itself.
The pursuit is the pulse of existence — the reminder that we are alive, curious, still yearning.
In Vedantic philosophy, this is the paradox of ānanda: it cannot be found outside oneself, yet the search itself awakens it within.
In Western thought, too, we find echoes — as Kierkegaard wrote, “Happiness is the greatest hiding place for despair,” and yet, through the very act of seeking, we transcend despair itself.
The Synthesis: Many Tongues, One Truth
Six languages — six shades of the same truth:
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Hindi gives us the emotional immediacy.
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Sanskrit gives us the metaphysical depth.
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Kannada gives us introspection.
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Tamil gives us cyclical understanding.
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Telugu gives us realism.
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English binds them together with reason.
They are not translations of each other, but reflections — like six mirrors showing the same face of the human spirit from different angles.
Conclusion: The Harmony of Impermanence
The pursuit of happiness is not a curse — it is the rhythm of consciousness.
To chase happiness is to stay alive to the world’s beauty, to remain porous to wonder.
The problem arises only when we demand it to stay.
The poem, at its heart, reminds us that joy is not meant to be captured — only witnessed.
We are not here to hold happiness forever; we are here to meet it again and again, in new forms, across the many languages of our being.
In chasing happiness, we find meaning.
In losing it, we learn gratitude.
And in the endless pursuit, we find ourselves.
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