FROM THE MAT TO THE HEART

Yoga has always been more than just a practice for me. It’s a rhythm, a conversation between body and mind and sometimes, a quiet companion in the midst of life’s chaos. 

Every Friday morning, I step onto the mat to teach my Hot Yin Yang class, a blend of slow, passive Yin and active, flowing Yang. 

Half an hour before class starts, the heater is turned on, the lights soft and the mats already set like little islands for each student. Yet, every week, each class feels like a new story waiting to unfold.

I also sub for other teachers in Hatha and Detox Yoga. Each style brings its own flavor. Hatha teaches patience, awareness and alignment, while Detox Yoga challenges the body to release and rejuvenate. The common thread? Presence. Breath. Connection.

I’ve also had the joy of teaching corporate yoga whenever I get lucky and this year, I’ve been fortunate to guide several sessions. Each session as usual is different, yet the thread of presence, breath and mindful movement remains the same. 

Whether in a hot studio with my regulars or in a corporate space, yoga becomes a pause, a moment of connection and a chance to offer care through movement.

What makes these mornings special isn’t just the sequences or the heat of the studio, but the people who show up. 

Students arrive carrying their mornings, their work, their children, their worries and somehow, on the mat, we create a little sanctuary. I think about them as I walk around, stopping by to whisper ‘soften’. It turns into a quiet joy, seeing someone soften into a stretch or noticing their shoulders drop after the first few breaths of meditation.

Yoga, for me, has also been a way to process loss and grief. A week into the beginning of this year, I lost the pillar of my life. I’ve felt the absence of my mom profoundly. 

She taught me that a home, a space, should always feel welcoming. I carry that wisdom into the studio. Every student, every practice, every moment of attention, it’s all an offering, a quiet homage to the love and lessons she gave me. On the mat, I sometimes feel her presence, a soft reminder that love and guidance never really leave us.

And yes, yoga is fun too. Between the serious stretches and the deep breaths, there’s laughter, unexpected wobbles and the occasional playful challenge, reminding us not to take ourselves too seriously. Life isn’t all perfect poses; it’s finding balance between effort and ease, between surrender and strength.

Beyond the studio, yoga travels with me. Whether I’m on a quiet street in a foreign city or sitting in a meditation center away from home, the breath, the postures, the awareness…they anchor me. Yoga has taught me to meet life fully, to honor what is and to let go of what no longer serves me.

Every class, every sequence, every student, every moment of silence or laughter, it’s part of the journey. And this journey, though shaped by loss, joy, travel and growth, always brings me back to the same place ie my mat, my breath and the deep, enduring connection to life itself.

And that’s my personal journey of yoga, devotion and the quiet power of presence.

11 DAYS TO NEPAL : CHAOS, SILENCE AND GRATITUDE

Eleven days to go. 

Eleven days until I leave for Nepal for my 10-day Vipasana retreat, a journey my soul has been whispering about for years.

And yet, life right now feels like a whirlwind. Packing for the Nepal winter has me discovering that my wardrobe may not be quite ready for Himalayan temperatures😇,  while back home, my late mom’s 1st Year Prayer looms just a day after I return. There’s lunch to order, invitations to send and every little detail to organise. 

This is where my heart overflows with gratitude. My cousins have stepped in, in ways I cannot fully put into words. 

One helped me craft to send the invitation, others have pledged to oversee the prayer arrangements while I’m away. Their love, care and selfless support allow me to step into silence with peace of mind. 

They are holding space for me, not just for the tasks, but for the emotions, the memories and the love I carry for Mom as much as they do too! 

Packing, planning and preparing for ten days of silence feels less daunting knowing they are by my side in spirit, making sure everything flows smoothly back home. 

Life indeed has a way of reminding you that even amid chaos, love shows up when you need it most.

Eleven days to go. 

A suitcase slowly filling with layers, prayers slowly taking shape and a heart full of gratitude, for the journey ahead, for the memories of my mom and for the cousins whose support is a quiet miracle in itself.🙏🏻❤️🙏🏻

A CALL FROM THE PAST, A BOND IN THE PRESENT!

For her, the gentle soul who helped me feel my mother’s presence again.

A true story about grief, unexpected comfort and the quiet strength of a girl who became my closest friend in the most surprising way.

Some people enter our lives softly, without noise, without intention and yet they settle into our hearts with a presence that feels like they’ve always been there.That is how it was with the girl at my yoga studio’s front desk.

I can’t remember the exact moment we bonded, only that it happened instantly.

A year ago, she was “the girl at the counter.” Today, she is my bestie. 

And somewhere between our conversations, the shared laughs and the unspoken understanding we developed, something extraordinary happened, something I still cannot explain.

Before my mother passed, I had a special ringtone set for her. It was soft, distinct and familiar, a sound that belonged only to her.

When she left this world almost eleven months ago, the ringtone fell silent.

My phone never played it again.

Then, one day just a month after her passing, I was setting up the yoga room before class. My phone was with me, untouched. The studio was quiet.

And suddenly…

that ringtone played.

My heart dropped.

My hands shook.

It felt like time folded in on itself and my mother reached through the silence.

I rushed out of the room, confused and emotional, only to find out that the ringtone came from the front desk girl’s phone.

She explained that it was an alarm to remind her to switch on the heater for the hot yoga class.

But why that tone?

Why that exact sound?

Why then?

Neither of us have an answer.

When I told her what that ringtone meant to me, she didn’t respond with awkwardness or confusion. She simply came over and hugged me as tears filled my eyes.

That was the moment our bond rooted itself.

To this day, every Friday, that same ringtone plays on her phone.

A different phone.

A different alarm.

Yet the same familiar sound.

I’ve grown used to it now; even learned to smile at it.

Some Fridays, I even joke with her:

“Has mom called yet?”

And she’ll laugh and say, “Soon, amma will soon.”

It’s become our little exchange.

Our weekly reminder.

Our shared tenderness wrapped in humour.

Today, for the first time ever, we had lunch together after yoga.

And it wasn’t the food or the place or the weather that made it wonderful, it was her.

We talked, we laughed and we simply existed in that easy, effortless way that only happens with someone who feels like home.

But the real highlight came when the bill arrived.

If you ever want to see true strength in a small body, try paying the bill with her. 

It turned into a full-blown wrestling match, tugging, snatching, elbows flying, things almost falling off the table.

And would you believe it?

She won.

She insisted on paying, saying I’ve treated her more than enough. And this was her way of giving back.

Her determination, her heart, her generosity, all wrapped in that thin little frame, left me smiling long after.

I don’t know why the universe chose her.

I don’t know why her phone played the ringtone that once belonged only to my mother.

I don’t know how two people, different in age and background, bonded so quickly and so deeply.

But I know this:

She walked into my life quietly.

She held space for my grief without being asked.

She showed up with kindness, laughter, sincerity and a strength far greater than her size.

And in the strange, mysterious way life works, this girl from the front desk, 

this unexpected beacon of warmth, 

has become my bestie. 

Sometimes connections don’t need logic.

Sometimes they arrive like gifts.

Sometimes they ring at just the right moment.

And I’m grateful every day that she did.

Some bonds are heaven-sent. I’m grateful this one found me. 

Have you ever met someone who surprised you with their strength, humor or kindness and instantly felt gifted? 

THE QUIET DISTANCE NO ONE TALKS ABOUT

When Loss Changes Family Dynamics: The Quiet Distance No One Talks About

Grief doesn’t just change the person who is mourning; it often changes the entire shape of a family.

When someone important passes away, especially a parent or a central figure, the emotional balance everyone once relied on can shift in unexpected ways.

And sometimes, without warning, people you’ve always been close to begin to feel farther away.

It’s rarely dramatic.

More often, it shows up quietly, like :

a sudden silence,

less frequent messages,

conversations happening without you,

or even 

a subtle sense of being left out of the circle you once belonged to.

Many people who are grieving experience this strange and painful shift.

And they’re left wondering…

Why does this happen?

The truth is, when a family loses someone, everyone grieves differently.

And grief has a way of stirring emotions that aren’t always talked about; old comparisons, unspoken tensions, hidden insecurities and perhaps misunderstandings that were never resolved.

Sometimes the person who was closest to the one who passed becomes a reminder of that connection.

Not intentionally. Not by anything they say or do. Just by being who they are.

And that can create distance in others who don’t know how to handle their own emotions.

It isn’t about blame.

It isn’t about right or wrong.

It’s simply what happens when a family is trying to reorganize itself after a loss that touched everyone differently.

But even when we understand it, the distance can still feel heavy.

Grief already asks us to adjust to a world without someone we love. Feeling adrift within the family at the same time adds another layer of hurt, and one that isn’t often spoken about.

Yet, there is something important to remember:

The way others cope with loss does not reflect your worth.

Their distance is not a verdict.

And their silence is not a definition of who you are.

In time, some relationships may settle, others may soften, and some may simply take a new shape. 

But healing doesn’t depend on everything returning to the past.

Healing grows from within; in the quiet moments where you honour your grief, your love and the memories that still hold you steady.

And slowly, gently, something shifts.

You begin to find your own footing again.

You begin to build peace where the hurt once lived.

You begin to realize that even in the spaces where others feel distant, you are still becoming stronger, kinder, and more grounded than before.

Grief changes families, yes! but it also changes us in ways that lead toward deeper clarity, resilience and a kind of hope we carry forward with grace.

In the quiet reshaping of life after loss, we don’t just survive…we slowly learn how to rise…

Have you experienced this kind of quiet distance in family after a loss? Share your thoughts in the comments!