We live in a world overflowing with words that often mean very little. Every reel or video seems to talk about the same things. The words keep repeating, only the presentation changes. Over time this has made me question what real knowledge looks like today and where we are meant to go when we genuinely need guidance.

Women sit at the centre of modern wellness culture, yet we also carry most of its consequences. The systems we live in are built around our insecurities, expectations, and bodies, but when women experience real discomfort or imbalance, our concerns are often brushed aside. Women’s health continues to be under researched, underfunded, and misunderstood. We are taught to normalize pain, irregular cycles, exhaustion, emotional overwhelm, instead of being taught how to listen.

This is why so many women are turning toward Ayurveda, yoga, and holistic systems. Not because it is trendy, but because many of us have reached a point where modern care has not given us the answers we were looking for. We were prescribed medicines without conversations. Our symptoms were treated in isolation, without considering mental and emotional impact. This shift toward alternative healing is not accidental. It reflects a deeper need. A need to understand the body instead of fighting it.

Sacred Cycle came from this place.

I am teaching this course/workshop because of what unfolded in my own life and how deeply it changed the way I live, think, and relate to my body. Ayurveda gave me context, language, and understanding. Yoga gave me depth. But more than anything, this journey forced me to slow down and see myself honestly.

In my twenties, I was an intense asana practitioner. I was ambitious, driven, and constantly chasing shapes. I believed effort meant progress and discipline meant devotion. I thought I knew nutrition, I thought I knew balance. When I look back now, I see that I was trying to live like an ascetic yogic practitioner while living in the chaos of Mumbai. I pushed my body, taught class after class, and chased perfection, both in my practice and in how I showed up online. Somewhere along the way, I started believing I had to prove that I was worthy of being a teacher.

I met many inspiring yoga teachers during that phase, but very few women who were truly rested, fulfilled, or at ease. Burnout was normal. Pain was ignored. I do not blame yoga for this. I take responsibility for not seeing it beyond asana. I misunderstood what yoga was meant to hold. It wasn’t until my body began pushing back that I realised how disconnected I had become.

I was eventually diagnosed with athletic amenorrhea. This condition is common among athletes and dancers and more present in yoga than we care to admit, yet rarely spoken about. At that time, I was already studying Ayurveda, and for the first time, my experience made sense beyond a diagnosis. I was fortunate to be an Ayurveda student when this unfolded, because it gave me context instead of fear.

I did ask why this was happening to me. Yet almost immediately, the answer surfaced. Not as judgment, but as honesty. I saw my own patterns clearly and understood the cost of them. In that realization, self pity dissolved. What remained was responsibility and a deep knowing that this experience was not just for me, but for the many women who were living similar stories without language or support.

Modern yoga asana has largely evolved from lineages that were taught to kings and soldiers. Strong, outward focused bodies. Today, the majority of practitioners are women, yet very little adaptation has happened to reflect female physiology, hormones, or cyclical rhythms. We are asked to move the same way every day, even though our bodies are constantly changing. Studio culture & lineage based practices often does not allow space for this variation. The result is not always injury, but something quieter and longer lasting. Depletion, menstrual disturbances, emotional swings, fatigue, confusion.

Sacred Cycle is for women who are tired of outsourcing their knowing. For women who no longer want to suppress symptoms but are ready to understand them. For women who sense that their bodies are intelligent, even when they feel uncomfortable, confusing, or unfamiliar.

At the same time, this space is also open to men who genuinely wish to understand their own bodies better and to learn how to support the women in their lives. For sons who want to understand their mothers, for partners who want to show up with sensitivity, for fathers who want to support their daughters with awareness rather than fear or silence.

This course is also for yoga teachers and fitness professionals who work closely with women and feel the responsibility to understand female bodies beyond surface level anatomy. For those who sense that repeating the same practices for every body is no longer enough and who wish to teach with more care, intelligence, and adaptability.

True knowledge is rarely loud. It does not arrive through algorithms, trends, or perfectly packaged answers. It grows slowly through lived experience, accountability, curiosity, and deep listening. My role as a teacher is not to offer fixed solutions, but to help cultivate the ability to ask better questions and to understand the language the body has always been speaking.

This is why I teach Sacred Cycle.

On my recent trip to Albania, I drove around 400 kms one way. It had been three years since I had driven regularly after moving to the UK. I did not expect how uncomfortable it would feel to adjust again.

On the highway, I had to keep pace with speeds between 80 and 100 kilometers per hour, even as I was still settling into the car and adjusting to the unfamiliar roads. It was not just about driving. It required me to trust myself again and trust my skills. I also had to trust my husband, who was helping with directions on Google Maps. Somewhere within, I had to trust life and believe that the journey would be safe and beautiful.

Only when I relaxed was I able to truly enjoy the experience. I could finally see the beauty around me. The scenic views, the open roads, and the quiet calmness of the journey had always been there, but I could not feel them when I was tense. My family and friends in India know how much I love to drive, and my best travel partner has always been my husband. When life suddenly changes you, even the most familiar things can begin to feel unfamiliar.

We often think that we are the drivers of our destiny. But when you look closely, life is not only about control. It is also about trust. It is about trusting life, trusting people, and trusting the process.

When there is a lack of trust, fear slowly takes over. A life filled with fear is only half lived because the mind is constantly occupied with worst case scenarios. It becomes an exhausting way to live. Our mind is designed to protect us physically and also protect our ego, as that feels safe.

But if we look closely, life is about rising above this tendency. Our true nature, at its core, is expansive, fearless, and rooted in love.

We often hear the phrase “faith over fear.” I have come to understand that it is not just a phrase. It is a state of mind that we must choose again and again. It is a conscious decision in every moment.

When there is no trust, the result is fear. When faith is restored, the result is love. A relaxed person is capable of loving and also receiving love. Faith creates space for love, and love slowly dissolves the ego and the strong sense of “I”.

I had another realization during this trip when I was in the middle of the deep blue Mediterranean Sea on a boat. There was music, people were dancing, and everyone was enjoying themselves. We often say, “I went on a boat tour.” But in that moment, I felt that it was the other way around. It felt as if the ocean had allowed me to enter it and experience that joy.

As humans, we tend to give too much importance to the idea of “I”. When we are in nature, we are reminded of how small we are. That feeling of smallness is not negative. It is grounding and real.

Every day, nature quietly supports our life. If it were to withdraw that support, everything could change in a single moment. Without even realizing it, we already place our trust in life every single day. Then I wonder what would happen if we began to trust life consciously.

I also reflect on whether trust is shaped by life experiences. I believe it is. When someone struggles with trust, there is often a reason behind it. Difficult experiences shape how we see people, situations, and life itself.

In yoga, this is understood as “chitta”, the part of the mind that stores past impressions and memories. Our fears often arise from these stored experiences. We carry fears of losing money, losing a job, making the wrong decisions, losing loved ones, and ultimately the fear of death.

Faith does not mean that we ignore these possibilities. Faith means that we accept that these things can happen, and still choose to trust life.

To change our responses, we need conscious effort. My guru used to place immense emphasis on the word “Atha” from the Yoga Sutra “Atha Yoga Anushasanam”. It reminds us of the importance of the present moment. It means that the practice begins now.

In this moment, I choose faith.

When we make this choice again and again, our reactions slowly begin to transform into responses. This is where yoga becomes a practice. It becomes a disciplined and conscious effort. It becomes a form of tapas.

“Yoga karmasu kaushalyam”, which means yoga is skill in action. Skill is not only about what we perform on the mat, but also about how we show up in life. It is the practice of choosing faith.

There are days when it feels difficult to trust. There are moments when fear feels stronger. But even in those moments, there is a small voice within me. I hear my guru’s words gently reminding me to choose faith over fear.

If you are someone who is struggling with trust, I hope you find your way back to it. You have already come so far in life. From being a tiny fetus in your mother’s womb to becoming who you are today, you have lived through many changes and challenges.

There is strength within you.

I wish you hope.
I wish you faith.

Love,
Nidhi

In the modern world, we are constantly bombarded with narratives about what we should do to keep our physical body healthy. The noise is overwhelming.

Here is a truth that often goes unspoken. If you enter a yoga class because you admire the aesthetic of being skinny or having a “snatched” waist, bendy body! The practice may eventually dishearten you. Yoga, when approached with expectations of achieving a particular body type, has the potential to shatter rather than heal.

I may make a bold statement here. Most practitioners who enter yoga through the asana pathway tend to be Vata dominant, governed by the elements of air and space. Their bodies are naturally lighter, leaner, and more mobile. Vata individuals are often curious about the nature of the world and the Self, spiritually inclined, and drawn to exploration. This is something we commonly observe in the dance industry as well.

For Pitta and Kapha dominant bodies, the asana space can sometimes feel subtly excluding. When Kaphas strive to achieve Vata like bodies, it often leads to self harm and depletion of the very Kapha qualities that once made them strong and stable. Kaphas may also struggle with arm balances due to heavier structures, fuller hips, or reduced leverage compared to what is often idealised. The intense twists might feel very difficult initially especially for women with fuller breasts.

Pittas, with their intense and competitive nature and inherent rajasic quality, may burn themselves out quickly. Heated asana practices, when done without awareness of one’s prakriti, can aggravate this intensity. Ironically, asana practice can feel most exciting for Pittas because of their balanced muscular structure, but without discernment, this excitement can turn into exhaustion.

The logic is similar to biomechanics. If you have shorter legs or longer arms, Paschimottanasana may come easily. This is the same understanding, but viewed through an Ayurvedic lens rather than only anatomy.

Through my own experience with asana practice, I have realised the importance of not getting stuck in the Annamaya Kosha alone. To truly practice yoga is to respect bio individuality. It is worth remembering that the father of modern yoga, T Krishnamacharya, was also an Ayurvedic physician.

However, today in building a yoga industry and conducting large group classes, it becomes difficult to honour individual constitutions.

I am not here to add another layer to an already over marketed and confused yoga asana world, nor am I trying to invent a new style called Ayurvedic yoga. What I am advocating for is the introduction of Ayurvedic education in yoga teacher trainings. Anatomy is not the only way to understand the human body. If yoga is an energetic practice, then body energetics through lens of Ayurveda deserve space in the curriculum.

We need greater awareness that not all asanas are for everyone and that is okay. Just because there is a fixed series does not mean it must be chased to perfection.

Many yoga practitioners silently live with injuries, pain, and burnout. Yoga asana is not the villain here. The human mind is.

As my Ayurveda teacher says, stop committing mistakes of intelligence. And how do we stop committing mistake of intelligence? By cultivating intuition & disernment!

Now the question is how do we develop Intuition & discernment? well, lets discuss this topic in another article.

Ayurveda offers a deeper lens. It describes the human body as governed by three doshas, each representing a unique form of intelligence that coordinates specific functions.

• Pitta supports digestion, metabolism, and transformation.

• Kapha supports rest, repair, stability, and nourishment.

• Vata supports movement and communication, guiding the flow of energy, information, and signals throughout the body.

Among the three, Vata is the most subtle and the most challenging to stabilise. It is formed from air and space, elements that are naturally mobile. Vata governs everything related to movement and perception. Every response begins with information. When you run, your heart rate increases. When you touch something hot, your body reacts immediately. When a loud sound occurs, your system responds without hesitation. The body is constantly receiving, processing, and reacting to information, and this entire orchestration is guided by Vata.

This is why Ayurveda views the nervous system as an expression of Vata, with its primary seat in the large intestine.

When people today speak of a dysregulated nervous system, Ayurveda would describe it as Vata aggravation. It usually begins quietly, not dramatically. The early signs are subtle, and when recognised in time, deeper imbalance can often be prevented.

Early physical signs may include:

• Becoming easily overstimulated by sounds such as doorbells, crying children, or ringing phones

• Experiencing a sudden panic response to noise

• Gas and bloating, especially in the lower abdomen

• Frequent flatulence

• Scanty or irregular periods

• Hair fall

• Joint dryness or pain

Psychological signs may include:

• Persistent insecurity or lack of trust

• Feeling unsafe without a clear reason

• Panic when plans change suddenly

• Difficulty grounding oneself in uncertainty

Once Vata becomes disturbed, it rarely remains isolated. It begins to disrupt Pitta and Kapha as well, creating deeper and more complex patterns of imbalance. This is why supporting Vata is often a long, delicate, and layered process. Lifestyle changes help, but they are not enough on their own. Diet helps, but it cannot complete the work. A regulated Vata requires steadying the mind, the breath, and most importantly the inner relationship with life.

This is where yoga becomes essential. Not yoga as achievement or exercise, but yoga as a path.
True nervous system regulation begins with a return to faith in the process of life.

Faith that the body knows how to respond.
Faith that uncertainty is not always danger.
Faith that not every stimulus requires alarm.
Faith that life does not have to be controlled to be safe.

This kind of faith cannot be forced through logic. It emerges through practice. It grows through presence. It is cultivated through the spiritual dimension of yoga.

Yoga guides us through three foundations: Sadhana, Svadhyaya, and Shraddha. (As described by my Guru & by his grace I live by these three pillars)

• Sadhana is daily practice. It builds rhythm. It steadies the internal winds of Vata by reminding the body and mind that consistency creates safety. Sadhana is not punishment and it is not a rigid test of discipline. It is the gentle, repeated showing up that slowly teaches the nervous system how to feel held again. Sadhana can take many forms. It might be asana, pranayama, japa, or dhyana. It might even be lifting weights, going for a walk, or sitting quietly with intention. What matters is not the form but the regularity. The body learns through rhythm, not intensity.

  Svādhyāya is self‑study. It builds awareness. It encourages us to observe our patterns, fears, attachments, and reactions with honesty and compassion. Through this inquiry, we begin to see that many of our responses are conditioned rather than signs of personal failure. Svādhyāya nourishes the mind and gives us clarity. It is both the study of oneself and the study of knowledge. It includes learning under a teacher, reading scriptures, and then allowing their wisdom to marinate in daily life. It is not just intellectual understanding but the slow integration of truth into the way we live.

  Śraddhā is trust. It builds softness. It is a quiet trust in a higher intelligence, whether we call it God, nature, or universal order. Shraddha reminds us that surrender is not the loss of control but alignment with reality. It allows the nervous system to exhale. When shraddha is present, we stop bracing against life. We begin to meet it with openness.

Together, these three create the ground on which Vata can stabilise.
Sadhana brings rhythm.
Svadhyaya brings insight.
Shraddha brings ease.

This journey is not quick, and it is not linear. It is a relationship with yourself and with life itself. When Vata settles, the nervous system learns once again that the world is not something to brace against. It becomes something you can breathe within.

I have danced to Egyptian music for many years, and over time I have found myself deeply reflecting on how this dance form has evolved its beauty, resilience, and also the many ups and downs it has faced through Global adaptation of this cultural Dance. What was once a deeply rooted cultural expression has travelled across continents, absorbing influences, adapting to new stages, and inevitably encountering cultural appropriation. As I observe this journey, I cannot help but notice striking parallels with what is happening to yoga today.

At its core, yoga is not entertainment. It is not a performance, a fitness trend, or a product designed for visual consumption. Yet in today’s wellness industry, yoga asana has become hyper-physicalised, aestheticised, and stripped of its philosophical foundation. In a similar way, Raqs Sharqi is often reduced to superficial hip movements performed to Arabic-sounding music, detached from its cultural context.

Dancing to Bollywood music with a few hip accents does not make it Sharki. Likewise, practising asana to background music, inventing new flows every day, and ignoring yoga philosophy does not make it yoga.

Raqs Sharqi itself has never been static. As the dance travelled globally, it absorbed many influences Indian and Bollywood elements from India, in Europe contemporary dance sensibilities, and Central and Eastern European aesthetics that introduced length, structure, and stage-oriented movement qualities. It also drew inspiration from Flamenco, Tango, and other global forms. Creativity and evolution are natural and necessary. The problem does not lie in fusion or innovation; it lies in erasure.

When Egyptian music, Arabic language, and cultural symbols are used without acknowledging or honouring the roots, history, and people of Egypt, what remains is no longer cultural exchange it is cultural appropriation. The aesthetic is borrowed, but the soul is ignored.

I often wonder why, globally, the ballet community has had no hesitation in preserving and using French terminology plié, pirouette, rond de jambe regardless of where the dance is taught. These words are not seen as barriers but as bridges to lineage, precision, and respect for the art form’s history. Yet in yoga spaces, I frequently observe teachers feeling hesitant, uncomfortable, or even resistant to using Sanskrit to describe asana!

Sanskrit is not ornamental; it carries meaning and philosophical depth. Using only English just translates the proper nouns which may not be the correct meaning behind the asana!

Avoiding it entirely out of fear of mispronunciation or perceived inaccessibility often reflects a deeper discomfort with acknowledging yoga’s cultural origins. When French terminology in ballet is accepted as discipline and tradition, but Sanskrit in yoga is seen as unnecessary or “too much,” it reveals an imbalance in how we value cultural roots.

Yoga today faces a similar fate to creativity. The rapid invention of new “styles,” branding strategies, and fast-track certifications often strips yoga of its depth. Yoga is a lived culture one that has been transmitted through embodied practice, discipline, and inquiry not merely a sequence of postures. While it is true that some modern asanas resemble gymnastics if we only observe the outer form, yoga cannot be understood at the level of the physical body alone.

If we look deeper, yoga operates through the pranamaya kosha and subtler layers of being. This is where breath, awareness, and consciousness begin their transformative work. Without this depth, asana becomes movement without meaning.

Throughout the history of RaqsSharqi, many Egyptian teachers have raised their voices to reclaim cultural integrity and credit. Pioneers like Mahmoud Reda brought the dance of the balad /common people onto the stage without diluting its essence, proving that tradition and creativity can coexist. Many dancers continue to innovate while firmly standing for the culture they represent.

Similarly, teachers from India and teachers anywhere who genuinely wish to honour yoga should not feel afraid to name what is not yoga. This is not about ownership or exclusion; it is about responsibility. When a practice is reduced to suit market narratives and mass consumption, silence becomes complicity.

Much of what we see on social media today is not yoga it is a hyper-physicalised, decontextualised version designed for visibility and appeal. Calling this out is not gatekeeping. It is an act of care, respect, and commitment to preserving a living tradition rather than turning it into a commodity.

Both these examples remind us of an essential truth: culture is not something to be consumed. It is something to be lived, studied, spoken, and honoured.

There is a certain vulnerability in admitting that I am writing about something I have not fully experienced.

When I began writing this piece, I genuinely questioned whether I was ready to publish it. How do you write about a destination you have not reached? How do you speak about a truth that is still unfolding within you & may take lifetimes to unfold?

And yet, I know this much with certainty: the movement toward that truth is itself the purpose of life.

Being born into an Indian cultural context gives a quiet familiarity with these ideas. Not as blind faith, not as rigid belief, but as a subtle clarity that comes from living around these conversations. Hearing elders speak of liberation, saints, rebirth, and detachment never felt abstract. It felt woven into daily life. The familiarity was experiential, not intellectual.

Still, this article is not written from attainment. It is written from commitment. A commitment I have made to myself that if I write, I will write honestly. I can create an Instagram Carousel half-heartedly. I can make a reel that remains on the surface. But this kind of writing demands full attention. It demands that I pour my heart into it.

In my previous post, I reflected on Anityam, the temporary nature of the world. When we look closely at impermanence, we begin to see that it is not merely about things ending. It reveals a cyclical intelligence. What we call temporary is also cyclical, almost Shoonyam. What goes around comes around.

We see this in the seasons. A seed blossoms, leaves fall, those same leaves become one with the earth and fertilise it again. Nothing is truly lost. Nothing moves in a straight line. Everything returns.

The human body is no different.

When I think back to myself as a child, this cyclical nature of existence stirred a quiet question in me. If everything is birth and death, birth and death, when does the cycle end? There was never a question in my mind about reincarnation. It felt like something already known. The enquiry was never whether there is rebirth, but whether it is possible to break free from it.

That enquiry is the beginning of Moksha Marga, the path toward liberation. And this path is considered the ultimate goal of Yoga.

Whether it takes lifetimes or depends on the intensity of one’s commitment, I do not know. What I do know is that the pull toward it feels deeply logical within, even if it appears completely illogical to the world around us.

Unfortunately, this path has often been misinterpreted, particularly outside the culture in which it arose. Yoga began to be seen as mystical, occult, or exotic. But through the yogic lens, life is understood very simply through four aims of human existence: Dharma, Artha, Kama, and Moksha.

Dharma is to live in alignment with one’s highest duty and responsibility. Artha is to earn and sustain oneself with dignity. Kama is to experience the legitimate pleasures and beauty of life. And Moksha is liberation, the path of self-realisation.

These four are not contradictory. They are a complete vision of life. One is not meant to abandon the world prematurely. One is meant to live fully and responsibly while slowly turning inward.

I often heard my grandmother say, “I have lived enough. Now may God guide me toward Moksha.” It was never dramatic. It was never mystical. It was simply understood as the natural culmination of a life well lived.

Similarly, hearing stories of saints and yogis consciously leaving their physical bodies was not framed as something occult. It was presented as the flowering of human potential.

The real question then becomes: how do we relate these ideas to our lives today?

My teacher once described Yoga in a way that deeply stayed with me. He said, “Yoga is the path of self-transformation. It is the path beyond the mind-body complex.”

That definition shifted something within me.

In Indic spirituality, the focus is not on adopting belief systems. It revolves around two essential movements: Adhyatma and Paramartha.

1.Adhyatma comes from Adhi, meaning concerning or over, and Atma, meaning the self. It refers to turning one’s attention inward, toward the nature of the self.

2.Paramartha combines param, meaning ultimate or supreme, and Artha, meaning purpose or meaning. It asks the highest question: what is the ultimate purpose of existence?

When one enters the path of Yoga with these aims in mind, the approach shifts. Practice is no longer about flexibility, fitness, or stress relief alone. There is an end in sight. The end is the direct experience of the higher Self.

The Self has been described in many ways: Atman, Brahman, Shoonya, Pure Consciousness. I do not claim the philosophical depth or lived realisation to define it fully. But I can speak about the direction of the path.

The path moves through non-identification & the composition I mention below is a great reminder of it - The answer to self is not a direct answer but rather through who I am not

The composition I mention below serves as a profound reminder of this truth. The answer to the question “Who am I?” is not revealed through a direct definition. It is revealed through negation.

The Self is not discovered by declaring what it is. It is uncovered by clearly seeing what it is not.

Layer by layer, identity is peeled away. Not this body. Not this mind. Not these emotions. Not these roles. Not even the seeker.

One of the most powerful expressions of this is the Nirvana Shatakam composed by Adi Shankaracharya. This composition is not a religious chant in the conventional sense. It is a radical inquiry. It methodically negates every layer of identity.

It declares: I am not the mind, not the intellect, not the ego. I am not the senses. I am not the elements. I am not the vital forces. I am not virtue or vice, pleasure or pain. I am not even duty, wealth, desire, or liberation itself.

Line by line, identity dissolves.

What remains is the refrain: Chidananda Rupah Shivoham. I am of the nature of consciousness and bliss. I am Shiva.

This is not an assertion of personality. It is the recognition of pure awareness beyond all conditioning.

To walk this path is not to reject life. It is not to escape responsibilities. It is to live fully while gradually loosening identification. Not identifying completely with the body. Not identifying completely with thoughts. Not reducing oneself to roles, achievements, or failures.

Strangely, this understanding does not distance us from life. It makes us more capable of living it deeply. When identification loosens, fear loosens. When fear loosens, attachment softens. And when attachment softens, clarity arises.

I do not write this from arrival. I write this from walking.

Nirvana Shatakam Resources

Lyrics and Meaning - https://isha.sadhguru.org/en/blog/article/nirvana-shatakam-lyrics-meaning

YouTube Chanting-

Does YOGA began in a Yoga Class?

A statement from my Guru often returns to my mind: if someone in India a hundred years ago had said, “I practise yoga,” most people would not have understood what that meant.

There were no yoga classes, no studio culture, no scheduled sessions. What we call a yoga class today is largely a development of the early twentieth century.

This observation quietly changed how I look at my own journey. Because if yoga was never meant to begin in a class, then where does it begin?

I cannot say my encounter with yoga began with my first Surya Namaskar. When I look back honestly, yoga had already entered my life long before I knew how to name it.

It began when life stopped feeling predictable. It began when I could no longer move forward using the same version of myself.

My real encounter with yoga began during a period of personal crisis.

When Life Stops Following the Plan

Like most people, I had faced difficult phases before. I had lived through moments that felt endless while I was inside them, yet time eventually did what it always does, it moved forward and life found a rhythm again. This phase felt different.

But this time, the lesson felt unmistakable: I had to confront myself & to do that I had the tools to support myself, I just had to use them wisely.

There comes a point in life where external solutions stop working. Where the discomfort you feel is no longer coming from circumstances alone, but from the way you see yourself and the world.

Looking back, I recognise this as the beginning of yoga in its truest sense not as a practice, but as an inner turning.

The Psychophysical

Asana alone cannot resolve deep mental patterns. It can strengthen the body, regulate the nervous system, create stability and invokes curiosity but along side the practice the transformation of the mind requires philosophical inquiry & study.

Traditionally, yoga has always been psychophysical. The body is not separate from the mind, and the mind is not separate from the way we experience the world. Therefore, its important to train both simultaneously.

In my early years of practice, I placed enormous faith & time in asana. I believed that a strong physical practice would eventually transform me completely. And in many ways, it did. My body felt lighter, My discipline grew stronger & my inner hunger to dive deeper to understand what Yoga meant was ignited by the asana practice.

But there was a quiet truth I could not ignore: the deeper restlessness within me remained.

This realisation was not disappointing; it was clarifying. It marked the moment when yoga stopped being something I did and began becoming something I needed to understand beyond the MAT

The physical practice had prepared the ground. Now the inquiry had to begin.

Discovering the Bhagavad Gita

It is striking that many modern teacher‑training programmes devote little or no time to the study of the Srimad Bhagavad Gita, even though every chapter of the Gita is itself named as the “Yoga of…” The first chapter is Arjuna Vishada Yoga, the third is Karma Yoga, and the eighteenth is Moksha Sannyasa Yoga. The entire text is a conversation about the human mind in conflict, and about the inner work required to move from confusion to clarity.

Yet contemporary discussions often separate yoga from the very tradition that shaped it. The Western world has presented yoga as spiritual but not religious, and many try to maintain this view because it feels comfortable. For someone born in the culture, the distinction is artificial. Yoga is both spiritual and rooted in a sacred tradition. There has never been a need to choose one over the other.

My relationship with yoga changed profoundly when the Bhagavad Gita entered my life through the guidance of my Guru. What still moves me is the realisation that my Guru lived only ten kilometres from my home in Mumbai, yet I began studying with him only after moving to London. Distance did not determine the timing. Readiness did.

The Quiet Upheaval of Moving Countries

Relocating to a new country was one of the most destabilising experiences of my life. Migration is often spoken about as opportunity and adventure, but its psychological impact is rarely acknowledged.

When you move countries, you do not only leave behind people and places. You leave behind the version of yourself that existed within a familiar social context.

You suddenly find yourself in a space where your value feels tied to what you can produce or what value you bring to the table as this circle may not take the effort to know you beyond what you do for a living!

Experiences like this quietly force you to question where your sense of worth truly comes from.

This phase also taught me the profound importance of holding space for people during difficult seasons. Some individuals did this for me with immense generosity, especially my husband, whose support during that time remains one of the greatest blessings of my life.

Why Motivation Was Never Enough

Motivational philosophies never stayed with me for long. They could energise the mind temporarily, but they did not transform the way I experienced life.

Over time, I understood why. They spoke to the mind, but they did not touch the sacred dimension of life, by heart.

The teachings I received in the form of the Shrimad Bhagwat Geeta introduced a sense of divinity into ordinary experience. This changed my relationship with difficulty. Challenges stopped feeling random and began feeling meaningful when you divinise Life.

The Teaching That Changed My Thinking

One teaching from the Bhagavad Gita became foundational for me.

In Chapter 9, Verse 33, the nature of the world is described as anityam asukham - transient and incapable of providing lasting satisfaction.

This teaching challenges the way we are conditioned to think. We are rarely taught to examine the nature of the world we are trying to control. We are taught what to do in this world but we are never made aware of the what we are actually dealing with! imagine to learn to operate a complex machine without a manual or a youtube video!!

The Gita suggests that instability is not an accident of life but it is its Inherent nature.

Seeking permanent happiness in an impermanent world inevitably leads to disappointment.

Strangely, this understanding did not feel discouraging. It felt deeply relieving. Because it shifted the question from “Why is life unstable?” to “Why am I expecting stability from what is inherently unstable?”

Learning Viveka: Seeing the Temporary Clearly

This understanding introduces the concept of Viveka - discernment. The ability to recognise what is lasting (Sat) and what is temporary (Asat/Anityam).

Developing this discernment slowly changed how I experienced life. Emotions that once felt overwhelming began to feel transient. Situations that once felt permanent revealed themselves to be temporary phases.

Even a familiar instruction in yoga class gained new meaning: allow emotions to arise and pass, and return to the breath.

This is not simply a calming technique. It is training the mind to recognise the temporary nature of experience.

The practice that helped me most was simple: repeatedly identifying the transient in everyday life.

One of the most powerful ways this unfolded for me was through observing nature. What began as a calming walk slowly turned into a quiet contemplation. Watching the leaves shift from green to shades of gold and yellow in autumn was no longer just beautiful it became a direct teaching.

Nature was not trying to comfort me; it was showing me, again and again, that change is not an exception but the rule. What once felt permanent was visibly transforming in front of my eyes. Those walks stopped being moments of relaxation and became moments of conversation a silent dialogue with impermanence itself.

Over time, this changed everything. Because when we stop expecting permanence from the impermanent, disappointment loses its grip. This is a practice that anchors me today when I face storm of emotions that feel out of control.

And in that space, a quieter and more stable form of peace begins to emerge.

For me, this was the beginning of truly understanding yoga.

You may now wonder: If this is the nature of the world, then what is the nature of the self? If everything we experience is changing, what is Sat, the lasting truth?

This is not a question to rush past. It is something to sit with, to observe, to gently contemplate in your own life.

For now, I invite you to continue this practice of noticing the transient. Keep watching the Asat- temporary/transient with patience and curiosity.

And next Thursday, Msybe we will begin turning towards the question of Sat.

Hello everyone,

I am truly glad you chose to read this. In a world full of quick reels and fleeting attention, having someone pause to read feels rare and meaningful.

For those who know me, hello, and thank you for being here. For those who are new, I am Nidhi. By day, I work as a Chartered Accountant in internal audit. But beyond my job, I try to live guided by the ancient and timeless wisdom of Yoga and Ayurveda.

As a child, I carried a question that burned in my heart. I would ask the moon, with tears in my eyes, “When will this cycle of birth and death end?” It was not a question of fear or sadness. It was a deep awareness that perhaps what I was living was not the ultimate truth.

As I grew up, that intensity quieted. My thoughts began to follow the patterns of those around me, and education became my focus. Growing up in India in the 1990s, I had three streams to choose from: Science, Commerce, or Arts, like many children of my generation. I chose Commerce mostly because there were seven CAs in my maternal family, and it felt like the natural choice. Science always seemed too complicated at the time. Looking back now, I realise that choosing Science would have actually aligned perfectly with my svabhava, my natural curiosity and desire to deeply understand the human mind and body.

Even so, my curiosity never disappeared. It simply waited until I could live it fully. Today, I do. My questions and inner quests are being explored through the study of the human body and mind and through the wisdom of Yoga and Ayurveda. I have come to see that Yoga is not just a practice. It is a path, a Marga, that leads to the deepest human questions: Who am I? What is the self? What is the nature of the world? What is happiness and sadness? And, of course, the question my seven-year-old self once asked: “When does this cycle of birth and death end?”

Here on this Substack, I want to share my reflections, experiences, and insights.

Every Thursday, a day dedicated to the Guru, Guruvar- I will write about the questions, the struggles, and the discoveries that shape my journey. It is the day I offer to my teachers, and to the wisdom I have been fortunate to receive and live.

My hope is that these words create a small space for reflection, exploration, and honesty for you, and for me.

— Nidhi

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