My Full Story

Yoga didn’t enter my life with grand declarations. It arrived softly—like a memory I had always carried. I wasn’t searching for it, but it found me all the same.

Growing up in a traditional Indian Hindu household, I was surrounded by spiritual rituals —chanting mantras, lighting incense and camphor, hearing bells ring in the early hours. My grandmother’s home always smelled like the opening ceremony of a yoga teacher training—the sacred smoke of fire offerings, the flicker of flame. The fire element was everywhere. To this day, my mother begins her mornings by lighting a diya, offering light before words are spoken.

We observed festivals like Janmashtami, staying up until midnight to welcome Krishna, and began every new chapter with prayers to Ganesha. My childhood was steeped in the wisdom of the Bhagavad Gita, chants to Lord Shiva, and stories that passed through generations.

At the time, I didn’t realize that this, too, was yoga.

My first formal introduction to yoga asana came when I was about 12 or 13. At school in India, yoga was part of the curriculum. Once a week, we practiced only the physical aspect—what many still believe yoga to be. I loved it, but only for how it made my body feel. I could stretch, bend, and move in ways that seemed impressive. At that age, that was enough.

For many years, through my late teens and early twenties, yoga stayed in the background of my life. I dabbled with YouTube videos and online classes, mostly for the physical benefits. The deeper essence of yoga remained untouched.

It wasn’t until I experienced a difficult period in my mid-twenties that I turned to yoga again—but this time, it was the breath and stillness that held me. I signed up for an online meditation and philosophy course led by an Indian teacher. Something within me shifted. I began to sense the quiet, intricate layers of my inner world. Meditation became a refuge. I started reading, exploring the philosophies and tales woven through Indian scriptures. I remember one meditation in particular where I experienced a profound sense of peace—like touching a deeper layer of consciousness. I kept returning to that space.

In August 2023, I traveled to Rishikesh for my first Yoga Teacher Training. It was life-changing. I immersed myself in the ancient teachings, chanting mantras I had grown up hearing—but now understanding their meanings. Asana became more than shapes; it became energy in motion. I practiced pranayama, kriyas, meditation, and made offerings with reverence. I experienced the divine not as an abstract concept, but as something alive—within me and around me.

Yoga, I came to realize, was about union. About remembering who we are beneath the noise.

That training changed everything. I became more patient, more grounded, more grateful. But yoga’s real lessons began offthe mat.

In late 2023, my father was rediagnosed with cancer. My world shook. But in that darkness, I also found clarity—about what truly matters, and what it means to live yoga. I turned to the Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, and reflected deeply on life and impermanence. Yoga gave me the courage to stay present. My father, with immense strength, recovered—and through it all, yoga remained my anchor.

In October 2023, I taught my first in-person class in Varkala. By February 2024, I began offering online sessions, slowly stepping into the role of teacher. In early 2025, I taught regular classes in Sri Lanka.

Then, life tested me again. I suffered a severe shoulder dislocation. I couldn’t use one arm. I didn’t know if I could continue teaching. It felt like a loss—but it became another invitation. Without asana, I returned to the breath, the Yamas and Niyamas, and stillness. I taught classes in Sri Lanka wearing a sling. I reminded my students—and myself—that if you have a body and breath, you can practice yoga.

This journey led me to create Ahamflow—a space to slow down, to listen, and to reconnect. A space not just for asana, but for the deeper practices of yoga that often go unseen.

I’m still learning. I always will be. But if yoga has transformed my life in such quiet, profound ways—I know it can for you too.

I hope Ahamflow becomes your space to come home.

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