(Blog 1 of the Trataka Series)
Beginning — Entering the Struggle
It has been more than five years since I began the journey of mantra sadhana. Five years of sitting, chanting, walking, syncing breath and sound. And yet, even after all this time, I often find myself at the mercy of randomness.
One morning, I went out for a walk at dawn, practicing shravana — reciting the mantra aloud, letting each breath carry the sound forward. Step after step, I listened to the vibration of my own voice, and something opened. That day, I completed two malas with surprising ease. I felt steady, focused, almost thrilled — as if I had touched something real. Then came a heart-touching, teary moment when I felt the presence of the deity of the mantra. She came, smiled, and bonded.
The very next morning, I went out with the same hope, ready to go deeper. Instead, my mind scattered. I could hardly focus. I couldn’t even complete a single mental mala. The stillness I had touched slipped away like water through my fingers.
That contrast shook me. How fragile my concentration was. How easily it crumbled. I began to wonder: if I cannot stay with one mantra, one breath, one round of repetition — what does that say about the way my mind meets the rest of life?
It was then that my inner voice spoke: return to trataka.
The practice was simple: sit before a flame, eyes steady, unmoving. I had first learned it in detail from this guide on trataka, which explained it as a way to train one-pointed concentration. But for me, it was no longer just a technique — it was a lifeline back to focus.
The Flame I Once Feared
Funny enough, this wasn’t my first encounter with trataka. I had first read about it in A Million Thoughts, and my eyes widened at the description. What a painful practice — who could possibly hold their gaze on a flame without blinking? I couldn’t even imagine doing it. For two years, the thought haunted me. I kept circling back to it, only to push it away again. Ten minutes with eyes wide open, unblinking, staring into a candle — it sounded impossible, even dangerous. (This is not an affiliate link — I don’t earn anything from it. I’m sharing it because the book genuinely shaped my journey, and it may help you if you’re curious.)
Then, one day in 2018, I gave in. I lit a candle, sat before it, and tried. Within seconds, my eyes burned. They watered. I blinked and blinked again. It was very, very painful. But it did something to me. Something small but undeniable. That day I had begun, even if only at the edge. After that, I practiced off and on — irregular, undisciplined — but the seed was alive.
Years later, in February 2025, I sat again before the flame. This time was different. I was able to stay for fifteen minutes straight. No movement. No blinking. Eyes scarlet red, yet my heart was blooming with joy. I was astonished. For the first time, I knew I had touched the essence of trataka.
When I met my Guru, I asked him the question I carried inside me: what is the ultimate limit of this practice? How do you know when you’ve achieved it?
He smiled and said: “The yogic way is one hour and forty minutes. But in this age, you don’t have to go to that length. Just be consistent. Do it with discipline. Even at fifteen minutes, it is good.”
I returned from the ashram with resolve burning inside me. I thought: this is it, I will honor this practice, in honor of my Guru. But when you return from the ashram, life rushes back in. And in my experience, life takes over. Every day the thought hammered in my mind: you are not doing trataka; once this day is gone, it is gone without the practice. The frustration grew heavier than the discipline.
Now the time has come to stop postponing. To take this home. Not as an experiment. Not as a fleeting attempt. But as an act of accountability and responsibility.
So I made a sankalpa: forty days of trataka, ten minutes each morning, ten minutes each evening and then build on that.
And here, I share not just the numbers and sessions, but the lessons hidden inside those forty days.
The Seeker’s Journal 
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