My Jyotish journey – the light and shadows

“You don’t know what you don’t know,” the saying goes. But once you know, you cannot un-know. That is the nature of knowledge—like life itself, it moves only in one direction, always forward, always expanding. With new understanding comes new awareness, and with that, a new way of living: new values, new priorities, new decisions… in many ways, a new life. Although my formal Jyotish studies began over a decade ago, it wasn’t until I entered a traditional jyotish paramparā —a living lineage— that I glimpsed its true essence.

The Nudge I Didn’t Ignore

“So, how did it all begin? Who encouraged you to get into Jyotish?”

I’m asked this often. And the honest answer is —no one did. There was no teacher, no family member, no astrologer, no persuasive friend planting the idea in my head. There was, instead, a silent curious inner impulse, a quiet calling “to check the stars”. It felt like the direction came from somewhere deeper than thought.

If I trace back my first encounter, it leads me to Nepal, many years ago, during my first yoga teacher training. That’s when I had my first Jyotish reading myself after creating a drama in the family by insisting on finding my exact birth time. I needed it. And fortunately, I got it. Voilà. There I was, sitting across from a jyotishi, with my birth chart laid out between us. One of the first things he said was, “When you were fifteen…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. I knew. Fifteen marked a fatal turning point in my life. This gave me inner confirmation that some things are up to destiny and the timing is accurately planned by higher forces.

But that didn’t satisfy my curiosity—it just ignited it further. I searched everywhere. Google, YouTube, books, courses—everything I could get my hands on. And yet, there was a persistent inner nudge whispering, there is more to this, which eventually led me to enrol in a Parāśara Jyotish course within Sri Acyutananda tradition, originating in Odisha, India. At that time, the decision felt almost casual—born out of curiosity, a desire to see what I might have missed, or perhaps to fill certain gaps in my understanding. What I didn’t realise was the depth, the breadth, and the intensity of what I was stepping into. Oh, boy!

The surgery

The first real shock of Jyotish didn’t come from the scriptures—it came from my daily alarm clock. What truly revealed Jyotish as a living tradition was the intensity of the daily sādhana we, as students, were expected to commit to from the very first year. This was no small undertaking at all. Sādhana required several hours each morning, way before my corporate workday began.

These two realities felt almost incompatible. On one side was structured spiritual discipline; on the other, my fast-paced office life, meetings, deadlines, and responsibilities. Day after day, this rhythm tested my discipline, my enthusiasm, my commitment, and—more than anything—my faith. It was demanding, sometimes uncomfortable, yet strangely familiar, as if something deep within me recognized the necessity of it.

The first year sādhana was dedicated to Gaṇeśa, the lord of knowledge—the one whose head in vedic stories was severed and replaced with the head of an elephant. For me, this was not just mythological symbolism anymore; it felt literal. My old head—my habitual ways of thinking—was being dismantled, and something larger, more spacious, was slowly taking its place.

When I shared this realization with our Guru, Sanjay Rath, on graduation day, he simply laughed and said, “Yes, we start with the surgery.” Yea, grateful this kind of operation left no scars.

The depth of the well

Our master said once

“Jyotish gems are at the bottom of the well. How many of you are ready to go there?”

It was clear, there will be no shortcuts. Ok, so I had already packed my curiosity… and a very long rope. Let's go!

And here I was, in the middle of it all: daily early morning spiritual practice, long immersive hours studies in the evenings, trips to India during holidays. Not the trips of tourism and adventure, but quiet attempts to trace the footsteps of seers who had walked the path of knowledge and spiritual realisation before us.

Initiation into certain mantras was an integral part of our Jyotish journey. Receiving it carried a sense of grace, as though a door had been opened rather than just a tool handed over. Mantra worked silently, creating the space for Jyotish to be seen rather than merely understood intellectually.

Navagraha puja_ nine planets worship ritual

Vedic fire ritual

Ganapati - lord of knowledge

Jyotish “foundations” turned out to be anything but basic. Before a single planet or a zodiac sign, we were immersed in the architecture of the universe itself—creation, manifestation, and the concept of illusion. These were advanced concepts, revealing that Jyotish is rooted in an understanding of reality far deeper than prediction or symbolism.

Soon my notebooks were filled with Bṛhat Parāśara Horā Śāstra ślokas and their meanings. The real beauty was that every principle had a logical derivation and perfect alignment with the bigger universal principle, making it a coherent body of knowledge, rather than a collection of rules to memorize. There was no space for guesswork or assumptions. In fact, we were explicitly discouraged from “assuming.” It was a simple, uncompromising standard: either you know, or you don’t.

My first scribbles in Devanagiri script.

Between the ocean and the cloud

The teachings did more than add layers of technical knowledge; they shifted my perception of life itself. Some of it felt entirely new, while some felt more like remembering. There was a strong sense of returning home. Many of the esoteric questions I had carried silently for years—questions contemplated in solitude—found not only a kind of scientific validation, but also a sangha, a community that spoke the same language. What once felt isolated now felt shared, held, and alive.

At the end of the course —or perhaps, at the beginning of something far deeper—I find that the words of Gurudev Sri Sri Ravi Shankar capture my Jyotish journey best: 

“You only see the fall of the water. You don’t see how the ocean becomes the cloud. The ocean becoming a cloud is a secret, but the cloud becoming the ocean is obvious. The ocean turning into a cloud is your inner growth and height, whereas the cloud becoming an ocean is the outer expression. In the world, only a few can notice your inner growth, while the outer expression is apparent.”

My journey was not a loud waterfall. It was a silent vapor—subtle, invisible, and transformative. It carried me into contemplative spaces about life, death, and what lies beyond, and it continues to shape how I see, understand, and live my life.

Deep inside, I feel as though I landed in the lap of the ancient sages—blessed far beyond my wildest expectations. In fact, it felt like I have been called by them. It's like I was thirsty and wanted a glass of water, but came to a stream that doesn’t exhaust itself.

Certification

I don't think certificate or a diploma reflects the effort, the dedication and the quality of the knowledge received and digested. But yet, it works as a blessing from a Guru to use it for the benefit of others.

And here I am after completing 6 years of Parashara studies, still smiling, still excited.

Om Gurave Namah