Some readers find I Am That a bit like scaling a spiritual Everest without a sherpa. The book’s dialogue format—questions from seekers, answers from Nisargadatta Maharaj—can feel dense and meandering, making it easy to lose the thread. When conversations dip into nondual jargon (“I am the unborn,” “the sense ‘I am’”), newcomers might feel like they’ve wandered into a foreign country without a phrasebook.

Translation quirks also crop up. Maurice Frydman’s English version carries an old-world charm but occasionally slips into phrasing that feels stilted or obscure. In today’s fast-paced wellness scene—think meditation apps and 2024’s spike in mindfulness retreats—some prefer a more streamlined guide rather than poetic but cryptic exchanges. It’s like ordering a latte and getting an espresso shot of existential pointers.

Cultural and historical context can be another sticking point. Maharaj’s roots in 20th-century Mumbai, steeped in Hindu philosophy, sometimes clash with Western expectations of a step-by-step self-help manual. A handful of readers have pointed out that the guru’s insistence on direct perception of the Self, with no rituals or practices in between, may leave those craving structured exercises feeling adrift.

Repetition is another common gripe. Themes of “I am” and “you are that” recur so often that even devoted fans admit it can border on the monotonous. In an era where binge-listening to podcasts or TED Talks reigns supreme, the book’s slow-burn approach might test modern attention spans.

Finally, while Nisargadatta’s sharp, no-nonsense style resonates with some, others view it as brusque or unapproachable—more boot camp than cozy fireside chat. Still, despite these bumps in the road, I Am That continues to spark lively debates in online forums, spiritual book clubs, and even Twitter threads tagged #Nonduality. That mix of deep insight and occasional head-scratching keeps the dialogue alive—warts and all.