Srimad-Bhagavatam is not light and fluffy literature. What Haynes manuals are to the auto mechanic, Srimad-Bhagavatam is for anyone interested in Krishna. Unless you're really interested in learning precisely how to dismantle and rebuild a car—what tools are required, how much time it takes to replace an engine block, etc.—there are plenty of other books you could read besides a Haynes manual

Reading Srimad-Bhagavatam—with its many lists of essential ingredients of bhakti, qualifications of an aspiring Krishna devotee, pitfalls to avoid in your practice of meditation and service, etc.—takes time, a clear head, interest, and determination.

I am a slowly recovering vintage Volkswagen aficionado. My dad owned a 1966 black Beetle, I've owned three campers ('78, '70, and '74) and a Rabbit. I used to kid myself that I had enough time and interest (what to speak of mechanical skill) to fix up my own vehicles, and to make a hobby of it (which is required—as my old friend Bhakta John from Wisconsin used to say "Vee Dubs means Trubs").

I've since sold my Vee Dubs, along with my thick, ancient, cartoon-filled copy of "How To Keep Your Volkswagen Alive—A Manual of Step-by-Step Procedures for the Compleat Idiot." But, in studying Srimad-Bhagavatam, I've begun to notice some similarities between it and a detailed automobile repair manual.

Practicing Krishna consciousness means a person essentially has to completely "teardown and rebuild" himself. The motivation ("fuel") for all their activities has to switched over from lust to bhakti. Their false sense of self—ahankara—("chassis, frame, rear/front and side panels") has to be taken apart and re-assembled. The factory windshield needs replacement, to make it possible to see the spiritual reality.

And sadhana-bhakti ("regular maintenance") becomes not only a hobby, but the equivalent of three full-time jobs—a 24-hour-a-day obsession that's incomprehensible to everybody else. Except for other Krishna freaks.