The Fast I Never Kept — and the Discipline I Did
I grew up in a home where fasting was never imposed. Not because devotion was absent, but because my mother believed something quieter and firmer: a meal deserved respect.
She never allowed us to miss food. Her instruction was simple and unwavering:
“Eat less, but eat.”
Food, to her, was not merely nourishment for the body; it was a trust, a grace, something not to be dishonoured by neglect or excess. At the time, it felt ordinary. Only much later did I realise how deeply dhārmic that teaching was.
The Question That Returns
As years passed, I saw many around me observe fasts — some weekly, some seasonal, some elaborate and ritual-bound. Inevitably, a question arose within me:
Did I miss something?
I can easily keep off food if needed. But I do not know how to fast in the traditional sense. The body does not rebel; the mind does not sanctify the act either. There is no inherited rhythm of denial, no childhood memory of hunger offered as prayer.
Yet, there is no sense of lack — only difference.
What My Practice Became
Without ever naming it, a discipline formed on its own.
After six in the evening, I avoid fried and masala foods. When hunger comes, I respond gently — a single chapati, or a small bowl of oats porridge. Nothing heavy. Nothing indulgent. Nothing forced.
Most importantly, I eat only when hungry.
There is no heroism in it. No announcement. No calendar date. Just a quiet agreement with the body.
Rethinking Fasting
We often equate fasting with spiritual seriousness. But in our tradition, the original meaning of upavāsa is not starvation — it is dwelling near.
Near to what?
Awareness
Restraint
Gratitude
Food-den.
yuktāhāra-vihārasya yogo bhavati duḥkha-hā
For one who is moderate in food and habits, yoga becomes the destroyer of sorrow.
