In the first part of Vipassana Diaries, I shared how migraines pushed me towards Vipassana. Now, I want to take you with me to that moment when the silence began — the first steps into a world without words, screens, or distractions.
At the registration counter, my heart danced a little when I learned we could keep our phones for another hour. I met my roommate, a young doctor, and we bonded over snacks and tea before heading to our room. She called her parents, while I stole a moment to check on my two-year-old niece’s new haircut. Ten days later, I would be seeing her in this new look. A relative’s words echoed in my mind, “What will she do? She speaks to you when you travel, she will miss you.”
The sleepy, narrow roads of Uttan brought me to the Global Pagoda Vipassana Centre. Past security, I unloaded my suitcase and walked towards a buzzing porch overlooking a beautiful garden – one that would become our only source of entertainment for the next few days.
After much mulling, migraine pains and an emotional roller coaster, I had finally taken the step. This was it. 10 days of silence. 10 days of aloneness. 10 days of meditation.
Meanwhile, I had settled into a separate room – clean, minimal, self-sufficient. For the next 10 days, no one but me would enter it. I unpacked a few essentials and waited for the clock to strike 6 p.m. The moment Noble Silence would begin.
I wasn’t nervous or restless. Just quietly aware. The sounds of the world outside had already started to fade.
The first Gong
At the sound of the gong, we gathered outside the Dhamma Hall – walking slowly and quietly. Inside, we settled into our assigned seats. The session began with the reaffirmation of the vow of Noble Silence – no speaking, no reading /writing, no communication whatsoever.
We began with Anapana meditation, which involves simply observing the natural breath in silence. My crossed legs soon protested, forcing me to shift posture. When I was just learning to ignore the discomfort, an unwelcome visitor arrived – the familiar headache: that numbness and lightning-like screech through the brain nerves. Ironically, while people recommend breathing exercises for migraine, here I was experiencing the exact opposite. I chose not to dwell on it. Instead, I focussed on the instructions, the session and the discourse.
The next morning, the gong rang at 4 am. The gong became our timekeeper and the handbell our alarm clock. I woke up to the stillness of the dawn and resumed breathing. As my concentration deepened, I began noticing subtle shifts – the gentle rhythm of the breath, wandering of the mind in a zillion directions and also a sudden flood of emotions.
Then, the Guruji’s voice, chanting in Pali, filled the silence. Soon after, the gong rang again. It was 6.30 am – time for breakfast.
Rhythm of silence
Our days soon fell into a rhythm. Deep meditation sessions at the Dhamma Hall from 8 am to 11 am. After lunch and a brief rest, more meditation followed until 5 pm. A light evening snack, followed by meditation from 6 pm onwards. Guruji’s daily discourses wove teachings and reflections with humour and simple storytelling. Our day ended at 9 pm with the last group sitting.
The headache grew worse. For the first two days, I managed to survive through the physical discomfort. But new challenges surfaced. My knees ached, lower back was in pain. Sitting steadily felt impossible. Sitting in the same posture for an hour was out of the question. The pain itself became my biggest distraction.
When I requested the teacher if I could take a tablet, she compassionately declined. Yes, non-prescribed drugs were not allowed. Instead, she advised: “Don’t react to the pain. Just observe it”.
By the third day, Guruji’s recordings guided us to concentrate on the area around the nostrils and above the upper lip. Breathe with awareness, breathe with a calm mind. But my backache was unbearable. Once again, my request for back support was refused. Instead, I was allowed to lean on the adjoining wall pillar for support if needed.
Even as the body protested, the mind was rebellious too. Old wounds surfaced. Little tears found their way through closed eyes. The mind staged several unsaid conversations, replayed so many instances and often wandered on guilt trips. It felt like a battlefield – a constant tug of war between scattered thoughts and the simple act of observing breathing.
Struggling body and mind
By the fifth day, I was both mentally and physically drained. That day I struggled to train my mind to scan my body parts. I fell back on just observing my breath. I felt out of sync with the course, as if I don’t belong.
That night, the silence and cool breeze from the ceiling fan couldn’t make me fall asleep. The Noble Silence was beginning to become overpowering. I skipped the early morning meditation. For the next several hours, my mind circled to my niece, my father and became a chatterbox. In those restless hours, I realised, this wasn’t my usual solo travels. I had signed up for something very different.
As the Vipassana progressed, my body and mind began to show subtle shifts. The screeching headache softened. I could feel different sensations surfacing across the body – numbness, pain, sweating, palpitation. We were experiencing ‘aniccha’ or impermanence. Everything in the universe constantly changes, including our emotions and sensations. We only had to observe them and not react.
It sounds simple, but it isn’t. Each sensation had a deep meaning – everything changes. Nothing is permanent. Neither aversions nor pleasing moments stay forever. Focusing on one moment at a time is the only way to not crave or cling to what inevitably moves on.
When sound returns
Gradually, the Noble Silence began to feel internal. My body stopped protesting as much. The headache still lingered, but was lighter now. My mind could finally scan the body. Of course, it wandered in the imaginable future, new beginnings and even seeking clarity on many things. Each time I pulled it back to concentrate inwards.
By the ninth day, the familiar silence was giving way to a new anticipation. And then, it happened – the Noble Silence was lifted. The dinning hall was alive with chatter. The phones were back. The porch and the garden buzzed with calls and conversations. We exchanged greetings with our male counterparts, which was prohibited earlier.
Following an amazing meditation session inside the Global Pagoda, I was looking forward to sharing my experience with family and friends.
The drive back through the sleepy, narrow roads of Uttan was full of conversations with new friends. The headache had disappeared. Back home, the next two hours were spent playing with my niece – her way of saying “I missed you”. So, did I.
Silence wasn’t empty; it was preparing me for something deeper. In the next part of Vipassana Diaries - Beyond Meditation: Lessons from Vipassanna, what the meditation itself revealed.
