Ananda Marga’s public image is a patchwork of glowing testimonials and pointed critiques. Back in 1971, the arrest of its founder on charges of conspiring to murder the Indian prime minister spread like wildfire through news outlets; it felt like a Bollywood thriller—only years later the courts acquitted him. For some, that episode remains an elephant in the room, a cautionary tale about how spiritual movements can become entangled in politics.

Critics often point to the group’s hierarchical setup and strict codes of conduct. Some ex-members describe it as walking on thin ice—strict dietary rules, mandatory service hours, and an expectation to submit personal decisions to senior gurus. To its supporters, these pillars offer structure and purpose; to skeptics, they can verge on cult-like control.

Financial transparency has sparked debate, too. Rumors about tithing obligations and opaque donation channels surface periodically, especially on social media platforms. In recent TikTok discussions and YouTube exposés, former disciples allege that funds intended for social welfare projects sometimes vanish into administrative black holes. Official statements from Ananda Marga insist that audits are in place, but online chatter doesn’t always buy it.

Academic circles occasionally raise eyebrows at some of Sarkar’s social theories, branding them overly idealistic or impractical. During the pandemic, Ananda Marga’s free relief camps earned praise—yet whispers about prioritizing sect members for aid undercut some of that goodwill.

Like many spiritual movements in the digital age, Ananda Marga navigates a tightrope between genuine service and the pitfalls of charismatic leadership. Its blend of yoga, social activism, and esoteric teachings keeps supporters and detractors on their toes, making the organization a living case study in the age-old dance between faith and skepticism.