We have learned to build a life. Have we learned to live it?
As I grow older, I find myself reflecting on a curious contradiction. We seem to have more than previous generations in many parts of the world: more resources, more choices, greater freedom, and better access to knowledge and opportunities. Yet I wonder whether our happiness and contentment have grown at the same pace.
This is not to suggest that life was better in the past. Every generation has had its struggles, and our advances in science, technology, education, and healthcare have improved lives in countless ways. These are achievements worth celebrating.
But perhaps progress deserves a broader definition. Beyond what we acquire, achieve, or experience, there is another question worth asking: how well are we learning to live?
The mirage of fulfilment
There is a word in our language that captures something of this human experience: mrigtrishna – Mrig(deer) + Trishna(Thirst), a mirage. We see something in the distance, believe it will satisfy us, and move towards it, only to discover that the fulfilment we imagined remains elusive.
I wonder whether much of modern life follows a similar pattern. We work towards a qualification, a career, financial security, recognition, or a better lifestyle. Each achievement brings its own rewards, and there is nothing inherently wrong with pursuing any of them. Yet, once we arrive, another destination often takes shape.
Perhaps the problem is not the pursuit itself, but the expectation that the next achievement will finally make us feel complete.
Ambition helps us grow. Desire gives us direction. Material security matters, and the freedom to enjoy life is a genuine achievement. But do we spend enough time understanding our desires, or do we simply keep responding to them?
I find myself wondering about this in a world that offers us so much, while constantly giving us reasons to want more.
A broader view of human life
Growing up in India, I have been familiar with the presence of ancient philosophical traditions, though familiarity is not the same as deep understanding. Over the years, through reading and reflection, one idea that has caught my attention is the concept of the four purusharthas: dharma, artha, kama, and moksha.
Broadly understood, they represent four dimensions or aims of human life.
Artha concerns material well-being and prosperity. Kama encompasses desire, pleasure, relationships, and enjoyment. Dharma concerns our conduct, responsibilities, and relationship with others. Moksha points towards liberation, self-understanding, and freedom from the attachments or ignorance that constrain us.
What interests me about this framework is its breadth. It makes room for material prosperity and worldly enjoyment alongside questions of responsibility and inner freedom. It does not require us to choose between living in the world and understanding ourselves.
I wonder what might happen if we used this framework to examine our contemporary understanding of a successful life.
We have developed sophisticated systems to help people acquire knowledge, build careers, generate wealth, and pursue their ambitions. We also teach ethics, social responsibility, and citizenship in various ways. Yet where do we systematically explore the deeper questions of desire, attachment, contentment, and self-understanding?
Perhaps moksha offers an interesting starting point for that exploration.
I do not see it as a rejection of prosperity or desire. Rather, it invites us to consider our relationship with them. Can we pursue success without making our self-worth dependent on it? Can we enjoy what we have without constantly measuring it against what others possess? Can we experience freedom not only as the ability to choose, but also as an understanding of what drives our choices?
These are questions that matter regardless of one’s religious beliefs.
What should education prepare us for?
Modern education has done much to prepare us for the external world. It equips us with knowledge, skills, and the ability to solve problems. It helps us participate in society, earn a living, and improve our circumstances.
But education is also an opportunity to shape how we understand ourselves and relate to the world.
As our capabilities expand, perhaps we need to give greater attention to the wisdom required to use them well. Knowledge does not automatically produce good judgement. Freedom does not automatically lead to responsibility. Prosperity does not automatically bring contentment.
Could education do more to help us understand our motivations, examine our assumptions, develop ethical judgement, and recognise the difference between what we want and what we need?
I do not mean that schools and universities should prescribe a spiritual worldview or turn philosophical inquiry into another set of lessons to memorise. Nor do I believe that every question about human life can be resolved within a classroom.
I am simply wondering whether inner development deserves a more considered place alongside intellectual and professional development.
After all, we spend years learning how to navigate the world. Learning to understand ourselves may take a lifetime, but that is no reason to leave it outside the conversation.
Learning from the past without idealising it
The Bhagavad Gita, the Ramayana, the Mahabharata, and other Indian philosophical traditions offer rich material for reflection on duty, desire, conflict, relationships, and the human condition. Their contemporary relevance should neither be assumed nor dismissed.
What might we discover by studying these traditions alongside modern psychology, neuroscience, ethics, and research into human well-being? Which ideas offer insights that remain useful today? Which require reinterpretation? Which belong to their historical context? And which claims need further examination?
I would welcome a more open and rigorous exploration of these questions.
This is not about establishing the superiority of Indian thought over Western thought, or the reverse. Every tradition has its insights and limitations. Modern systems deserve scrutiny, just as ancient ideas deserve critical examination.
Respect does not require us to accept everything uncritically. Equally, questioning a tradition does not require us to dismiss it.
Perhaps we can approach the knowledge inherited from the past with curiosity rather than reverence alone, and approach modern knowledge with confidence without assuming that it has exhausted every important question.
The opportunity is not to return to an imagined past, but to draw thoughtfully from different sources as we consider what human progress could mean.
Learning to live
I sometimes wonder whether we have become so accustomed to celebrating visible achievement that we overlook quieter forms of fulfilment. A life with meaningful relationships, sufficient resources, a sense of responsibility, time for reflection, and an appreciation of ordinary experiences may not appear remarkable from the outside.
But perhaps it does not need to.
Simplicity need not mean deprivation, just as ambition need not mean excess. The question is whether we can build lives that provide material security and meaningful experiences without becoming trapped in an endless cycle of comparison and expectation.
I write this as an observer, not as a scholar of Indian philosophy or an expert on education. These thoughts have emerged from observing life, reading over the years, and the cultural familiarity that comes with my Indian background. My understanding of the traditions I have mentioned is incomplete, and I do not claim to have definitive answers.
This is an exploration, not a conclusion. Perhaps the next step is not to stop building better lives, or even to learn to want less, but to understand more deeply what we are building them for.
We have learned so much about changing the world around us. Perhaps it is time to give equal curiosity to understanding ourselves.
Perhaps the mirage is not in what we pursue, but in the belief that the next achievement, possession, or experience will finally bring us the fulfilment we seek.
