Completing Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, One Commute at a Time
There are some journeys we undertake consciously. We plan them, schedule them, measure our progress, and celebrate their completion.
And then there are journeys that quietly take hold of us.
My journey through Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, narrated by Brahma Sri Chaganti Koteswara Rao Garu in Telugu, based on the immortal Telugu rendering of Pothana Bhagavatam, belonged to the second kind.
What began as something to accompany my daily commute became a sacred companionship.
For over four months, almost every working day, I listened to Bhagavatam while driving to and from work. A commute of thirty to forty minutes may not seem like much, but consistency has a way of transforming small moments into something profound.
There were forty episodes in total, each lasting around two to two-and-a-half hours. One episode would typically accompany me for three days. Without realising it, those ordinary drives accumulated into more than 120 days of listening, reflection, remembrance, and devotion.
Slowly, my car became a moving satsang.
What drew me in was not merely the scholarship of the narration, though that was extraordinary. Nor was it only the storytelling, though every episode was captivating.
It was the sweetness.
The sweetness of hearing Divine stories in my mother tongue.
The sweetness of listening to a devotee speak about God with such love and conviction.
The sweetness of entering a world where every story, every character, every victory, every loss, every question and every answer points back to the same truth:
Om Namo Bhagavate Vāsudevāya.
The twelve skandhas of Bhagavatam are often described as the very body of the Lord. Each chapter carries its own beauty, yet like millions before me, I found myself particularly enchanted by the Tenth Skandha—the life of Sri Krishna.
How does one ever tire of Krishna?
The child of Gokulam.
The friend of Arjuna.
The beloved of the Gopikas.
The guide, the protector, the teacher, the witness.
The more I listened, the more I realised that Krishna is not merely a character in a sacred text. He is the living thread connecting every chapter of life.
Perhaps what made this completion especially meaningful was its timing.
The final episode concluded around Guru Purnima.
I could not have planned it better.
Guru Purnima is a day of gratitude—gratitude to the teachers, guides, and luminous forces that shape our lives. Completing Bhagavatam on that sacred occasion felt like my own small offering to the One who has silently guided my journey through every season of life.
When I close my eyes, I remember Him.
When I open my eyes, I see His presence everywhere.
In success and failure.
In certainty and confusion.
In joy and sorrow.
In action and stillness.
He is there.
Not as an idea, but as a living presence that quietly accompanies every breath.
The greatest surprise of this journey has been the transformation it brought.
When I first began listening, I expected knowledge.
I did not expect change.
Yet over these months, something subtle shifted.
My remembrance of God became more natural.
My spiritual practices became steadier.
My understanding of life became gentler and deeper.
I found myself returning more frequently to gratitude than complaint, to surrender rather than control.
The stories of Bhagavatam are ancient, but the human heart they address is timeless.
And perhaps that is why the text remains ever fresh.
It speaks not merely to the intellect but to the soul.
There was another lesson hidden within this journey.
For much of my younger life, starting things was easier than completing them.
Today, I find immense joy in completion.
Not through heroic effort but through consistent, small steps.
Bhagavatam reinforced a principle that has increasingly shaped my life:
Great journeys are completed one small step at a time.
One commute.
One episode.
One day.
One act of remembrance.
One page.
One breath.
Viewed this way, even the largest undertaking becomes approachable.
That lesson continues.
Having completed Bhagavatam, I now turn toward Yoga Vasistha, reading about ten pages a day. With nearly a thousand pages, it will likely take around three months to complete.
Alongside it, I have also begun Narayaneeyam, another text overflowing with devotion and beauty.
The destination matters, but I am increasingly learning to enjoy the daily walk.
And perhaps that itself is Bhagavatam’s teaching.
Not merely to reach God.
But to remember Him while walking.
Toward the end of Bhagavatam, Sri Krishna instructs Uddhava and prepares the world for the age of Kali. The Lord knows that humanity will need reminders. Places, stories, images, temples, sacred names—ways to remember what is easily forgotten.
That remembrance continues today.
In temples such as Guruvayur.
In sacred texts.
In songs and discourses.
In the hearts of devotees.
And in that mysterious longing that keeps drawing us back to Him.
As I reflect upon these past 120 days, one feeling rises above all others:
Gratitude.
Gratitude to Chaganti Koteswara Rao Garu for making these teachings accessible.
Gratitude to Pothana for gifting Telugu-speaking generations a Bhagavatam filled with devotion and poetic beauty.
Gratitude to every teacher who carried these teachings across centuries.
Gratitude to my family, my circumstances, and the countless visible and invisible forces that made this journey possible.
And above all, gratitude to Sri Krishna Himself.
For the longing.
For the opportunity.
For the remembrance.
For the journey.
For every breath.
Everything begins with Him.
Everything ends in Him.
And somehow, wonderfully, everything in between is also Him.
Thank you, Krishna. For everything. 🙏