The Funny Truth About Meditating the Wrong Way

He came into my clinic like he had just returned from battle. His hair was messy, kurta drenched in sweat, eyes wild like he’d seen a ghost—or worse, enlightenment. He plonked himself on the chair and said, “Doctor, I think I’ve done something wrong. Very wrong.

I was concerned. “What happened?”

“I’ve been meditating like you told me. But now… I can hear my ceiling fan breathe.”

I wondered. I have heard a lot in my years of practice, but a fan breathing was a first.

He continued. “It started slow. I followed the instructions of a YouTube guru. The first few days were all good. Peaceful. But then, doctor, I decided to level up. I added a background track—Tibetan bowls with whale sounds. And then I sat in full padmasana, tied my fingers in that loop like this—” he demonstrated, “—and chanted ‘hum hum hum’ until my neighbour banged the wall.”

“What happened after that?”

He said, “I forgot how to come out of meditation. My body froze. My wife had to spray water on my face.”

Now, you must understand that meditation is not just a practice. It’s a fashion statement, a spiritual flex, and sometimes, a complete misadventure.

This gentleman, Ravi (name changed, though I doubt he would mind the fame), had started meditating because his blood pressure was a bit high. I’d told him, “Try twenty minutes daily, just observe your breath. Nothing fancy.”

But Ravi had decided to take the express train to Nirvana.

I see this as a common problem. People are not meditating. They’re performing meditation, with all the props—candles, apps, exotic cushions, imported incense sticks, and a serious expression that says, “Don’t talk to me; I’m spiritual now.”

The trouble begins when the idea of meditation becomes more important than the practice. And when we confuse stillness with success.

Another patient, a software engineer from Whitefield, came in looking equally disturbed. “Doc, I did that Vipassana retreat. I was silent for ten days. On the eighth day, I could hear my thoughts mocking me—literally. My mind was trolling me.”

Turns out, he had never been alone with his mind before. The silence amplified the noise inside. And no one told him it’s normal.

Research now confirms that meditation changes the brain. Regular practice shrinks the amygdala (our fear centre) and strengthens the prefrontal cortex (the rational part), but only when done right and with awareness.

There is no prize for suffering in meditation. You’re not supposed to feel like your breath is punishing you.

I once had a young woman, fresh out of a breakup, who came to me and said she wanted to use meditation to “delete her ex from her mind.” I gently told her, “This is not Google Drive. Meditation is not for erasing. It’s for observing.”

She still tried. She meditated so hard that she began dreaming that her ex was her guru.

You can’t make this stuff up.

But in all this, I’ve learned something profound. Most people aren’t afraid of meditation. They’re so scared of meeting themselves. Silence can be uncomfortable. Stillness is a mirror. And many don’t like what they see.

Here’s what I’ve found works, especially in the Indian context.

1. Even five minutes of simply watching your breath can create change.
2. Sit in a comfortable position. Sofa, chair, or even lying down if needed.
3. No dramatic music unless it calms you.
4. Forget the posture—this isn’t an audition for a yoga ad.
5. Focus on feeling, not performance.

I tell my patients to think of meditation like brushing their teeth. You do it daily, not because you want to become a dental saint, but because it keeps you clean.

One of the most delightful stories is that of an elderly patient from Basavanagudi, who told me he meditated every morning, facing his garden, sipping tea, and just watching the ants go by. He said, “Doctor, these ants are more disciplined than most people.”

That’s meditation, too.

Meditation doesn’t require a Himalayan cave or an app subscription. It needs curiosity, kindness, and consistency. But in today’s world, even silence has become a competition.

I once asked a patient who had been meditating with immense seriousness for months, “What does it feel like?”

He said, “Honestly, I just want someone to tell me I’m doing it right.”

That’s the other problem. We want performance validation even from our inner peace.

The only validation that matters is this: Do you feel a little more okay than yesterday? Do you smile more? Do you react a little less? That’s your metric.

Studies suggest that even a ten-minute meditation session can lower cortisol levels. Ten minutes. That’s less time than we spend scrolling through reels of people meditating in the mountains.

If someone says they’re meditating, ask, “Is it bringing you peace, or is it just giving you a headache?” If they’re struggling more than relaxing, they might meditate too hard!

Coming back to Ravi. After I reassured him that he wasn’t losing his mind, we restarted with twenty minutes of silent breathing. No whale sounds. No cosmic bowls. Just him and his breath.

Two weeks later, he returned, smiling.

“Doctor,” he said, “my fan doesn’t talk anymore.”

He added, “Now I can hear my wife snore.”

We both laughed.

That’s the thing—when you quiet your mind, you start hearing everything else more clearly, including your nonsense.

I’ve come to believe that meditation, like life, doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be real.

Start where you are. Sit with yourself. If you ever hear your ceiling fan breathe, take a break.

In the pursuit of silence, don’t lose your sense of humour.