My 10-Day Vipassana Adventure (A Comedy in Stillness)

I first heard about Vipassana from a friend in my running group. Naturally, I was intrigued—meditation that’s supposed to be life-changing? Sign me up! But also… don’t. I wasn’t sure I was ready for something that transformative. So I did what any rational person would: procrastinated and made up excuses—“No time,” “Family won’t approve,” “Ten days is a long time to sit still without snacks.” You know, the usual.

But as my retirement loomed large and I stared into the wide, unstructured ocean of free time stretching ahead of me, I realized I needed something solid to anchor myself. Spiritually inclined and now finally out of excuses, I convinced myself—and more importantly, my family—that this was the perfect time to do the 10-day Vipassana course. Surprisingly, it’s not easy to get in. They actually spoke to me 2-3 times before I was “approved.” Clearly, I didn’t sound zen enough.

I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but the idea of being completely disconnected from the world for 10 days sounded borderline thrilling. After surrendering my phone, books, pens, and any other signs of modern life, I checked into the women’s section (strictly no co-ed bonding), got a peek at the timetable, and braced myself.

Here’s a rough breakdown of the daily schedule:
🕓 4:30–6:30 AM – Meditation
🍽️ 6:30–8:00 AM – Breakfast + staring into the void
🧘‍♀️ 8:00–9:00 AM – Group meditation
🎧 9:00–11:00 AM – Meditation with instructions
🥗 11:00–1:00 PM – Lunch + nap (if you’re lucky)
🧘 1:00–2:30 PM – More meditation
🧘 2:30–3:30 PM – Group meditation (because why not?)
🎧 3:30–5:00 PM – More instructions and sitting
☕ 5:00–6:00 PM – Tea/snack break and silent zombie walk
🧘 6:00–7:00 PM – Yet another group meditation
📽️ 7:00–8:30 PM – Discourse (a.k.a. the spiritual Netflix)
❓ 8:30–9:00 PM – Q&A with the teacher
🌙 9:00 PM – Lights out (but good luck sleeping)

That’s 10 hours of meditation per day—yes, ten. And it came with rules: complete silence. No talking, no gestures, no eye contact. I felt like I had joined a highly disciplined cult that also really liked sitting.

I had tried many meditation apps and techniques in the past. Most ended with me either falling asleep or making a mental grocery list. This time, at least I stayed awake. My mind wandered (and how!) but the teacher reassured us that was perfectly normal and that, with practice, the mind would quiet down.

The first couple of days were manageable. But by Day 3 or 4, I was tired—of the heat, the mosquitoes, the bland food, and the complete lack of movement (a 200m walking path does not count as exercise). I tried switching rooms. The Sevak smiled and said, “You’ll get used to it.” Not helpful.

The chantings at the end of each session were the real test. After sitting for nearly two hours, those final 20 minutes of low, repetitive humming stretched time like taffy. At one point, I felt like I was a prisoner in a spiritual "concentration" (pun intended) camp.

During breaks, we’d walk up and down the 200m path like Sitas in Lanka Vatika—silent, lost in thought, unkempt, searching for Rama (and enlightenment) on the ground and definitely not making eye contact. I even began naming the other meditators based on their quirks:

• “Miss Latecomer”
• “Pickle and Roti Girl”
• “Buddha Top Knot”
• “Sniffles”
• “3:30 AM Water Slosher”
• “Alarm Lady (whose alarm woke me up, but never her)”
• “Korean Filtered-Water Washer”
• “Sweet Tooth Aunty”

Observing them became my one form of entertainment. I also noticed people hacking the schedule—turning up at 4:30 AM, pretending to meditate for 20 minutes, then sneaking back to nap until breakfast. Some were more sincere than others.

Eventually, I started to adapt. I ditched the mattress and slept on the cool stone platform (a decision my back may still be judging). I got a Good Knight coil from the Sevak (finally, relief!). By Day 5, we learned a new technique which genuinely helped me manage my thoughts. For every doubt I had, an answer followed. The discourses started making sense—not as bait, but as profound insights.

My mornings became brighter, and my meditations more focused. Sure, by noon I was counting minutes to the tea break, but I never thought of quitting.

The biggest lessons?

1. The body adjusts.
2. The mind can be trained—it's hard, but not impossible.
3. The technique really works—if you surrender to it.

On Day 10, when the vow of silence was lifted and our phones returned, I felt like a toddler thrust back into a noisy carnival. The world felt loud, overwhelming, and slightly absurd.

But I left with a quiet resolve: to keep practicing. And to come back someday, hopefully a little more prepared... and with better mosquito defense.