The Listening Behind OIA

OIA is not something I built.

It is something I listened to — a living space where devotion, nourishment, and inner yoga meet.

What moves here is written through the grace of my Guru and in remembrance of Baba. It is also a place where I share my work in a practical way — writings, yoga, nourishment, and offerings shaped by presence. For anyone who enters, may it be a space that invites truth, love, and simple remembrance.

What OIA Is

OIA is a space of remembering.

A place where what moves inward is allowed to be shared outward — through words, through food, through practice.

It is the rhythm of devotion woven into daily life, simple and alive.

The First Spark

Scripture was the first key that opened something within me. The Upanishads did not only tell stories — they awakened a current of recognition, alive and impossible to explain.

This current later drew me to a teacher of silence and inner yoga, whose kindness confirmed what had already begun within. Mysteries that had long been stirring came into focus, and the inner unfolding deepened.

Around this time, life placed in my hands the writings of Baba Muktananda and his Guru, Bhagavan Nityananda. Their words — and even their photographs — carried a current that was already flowing toward me. A subtle friendship began through their presence, one that guided me inward and deepened the unfolding.

Looking back, I see that even this was part of Baba’s grace. Though I later wandered toward other paths, not yet seeing what was right before me, even those detours were held within His hand. They, too, prepared me — for the meeting with my Guru, not only inwardly but in form, who is a direct link to Meher Baba, the Beloved, who is everywhere and beyond all names and lineages.

Through Him, I began to see that all along it was Baba who was guiding my steps.

Meeting with the Siddhas and Beyond

The Early Longing

Long before I knew the names of yoga, Shakti, or the Self, there was already something in me that was listening.

A sense of something vast and near.

A longing I could not explain, only feel.

Even as a child, I was drawn to silence, to the sky, to the edges of things.

There were moments I remember that felt like the world was made of breath.

Other times, the ache became unbearable, as if I had lost something I could not name.

There was also suffering. A depth of aloneness and inner pain marked my childhood. And while it would be too simple to call that pain spiritual, it would also be incomplete to separate it from the contemplative doorway it opened. This state, though intertwined with trauma, opened a dimension of inner contemplation that carried importance.

Along the way, I also found myself in paths that were not truly mine. Teachers and communities that later proved to be misaligned. Yet even those experiences carried their own lessons. They showed me, through contrast, what is false and what is true. They taught me that no detour is wasted, and that even dissonance can become a doorway when it leads us back to what is real.

Mirrors Along the Way

Along the path there were mirrors, some clear and some clouded.

At times I did not see rightly and I was drawn into places that carried dissonance. Yet even those experiences held their own lessons.

I was invited into service, and through it I learned much about devotion, responsibility, and the delicate balance of offering one’s life to the Divine. And yet, even here, Baba showed me that honesty must always come first. Stepping away was not a departure from the lineage, but a return to its heart.

Thank you, Guruji. Thank you, Baba.

For sometimes we cannot yet see what greater forces are at work in our psyche. Only later do we realize how even dissonance can initiate us into deeper truth. What plays out may not be comfortable, but it prepares the ground. It shows us where our sight was clouded, and it opens us to the grace that has been moving all along.

Being Here Now

I bow to my Guru, whose love and words, “Be happy, and make others happy also,” “Stay here like a child,” continue to steady me in all things. From the beginning he told me that I would one day come to sit by Baba in Meherabad. At the time I could not imagine what that could mean. Now, having walked there, sat in that silence, and wept before Baba’s Samadhi, I know it as the deepest turning of my life.

I bow to Baba, who has been the hidden thread through every step, even the detours, even what seemed lost or broken. To walk to Him in Ahmednagar was not only a pilgrimage but a homecoming, a recognition that nothing has ever been outside His grace.

I also bow to the Siddhas who walked before, Baba Muktananda and Bhagavan Nityananda, whose presence continues to bless this path.

And I bow also to the places and teachers that were not true for me. Even there, in what felt like blindness, a lesson unfolded. I see now that even dissonance can reveal what harmony is. Without those experiences I would not have recognized the jewel that was always before me.

And I walk with the Mother, the One beyond all names, who reveals Herself in silence and sound, tenderness and fire, stillness and breath.

What I carry now is not a role or a title, but a devotion that keeps unfolding. It is a remembrance that what moves through me is not mine, but His. This is the heart of OIA: to keep returning, to keep bowing, to let this life be a simple offering of love.

Writing as Transmission

As my sadhana deepened and Shakti rose through the body, silence began to take form. Poems unfolded on their own, clear and complete, as if already written. An inner hearing opened, and words began to appear from within.

Some of these writings wake me in the night. Others arrive mid-breath or in solitude. They do not come from thought. They come from presence. Sometimes as poems, sometimes as prayers, fragments, or invitations.

What moves through me does not feel separate from what moves through others. It is the same flame expressing itself through many beings, shaped uniquely by our senses, impressions, and histories.

Writing, for me, is a subtle fire. A conversation with the unseen. A form of inner yoga. At times, it takes strength to hold what arises in silence and give it form, knowing that even the sharpest or most beautiful words can never capture the vastness from which they emerge. Sometimes it feels as if the body itself needs to write, as if rest only comes once what is moving has been expressed.

Sometimes words appear, but their source is silence. If they carry any light, it is only Baba’s.

This is why I carry the name Mauna, silence — a reminder that nothing belongs to me.

Yoga as Practice and Presence

Yoga entered my life in my early teenage years, but it was in Kerala, India, in 2010 that I first experienced a glimpse of true inner peace and joy through the doorway of asana.

Since then, my relationship with yoga has deepened. What began as a practice has become a way of being. Physical practice is not about reaching goals. It is a space to rest when tension arises, to stay close to the center within as the body moves through its own cycles. Even in stillness, yoga can be lived: never stagnant, always alive.

Though inner yoga and devotion remain at the heart of my path, I also teach physical asana, most often the 26x2 hot yoga series. Its steady rhythm suits my constitution, inviting clarity, repetition, and silent concentration. Each time we step onto the mat we are invited to be here, now. Experiences may differ, yet the invitation is always the same: to return to presence.

Alongside asana, I offer space for yogic philosophy, meditation, and inner awareness. The teachings of Kashmir Shaivism, Advaita Vedanta, and the Siddha lineage continue to inform this, not as concepts, but as living frequencies. What I share is rooted in direct experience of Shakti, of the Self, and of the silence that gives rise to all things.

This is not a technique. It is Maha Yoga, the path of inner awakening. It is satsanga in its truest sense: immersion in Sat, the unchanging reality of Being. When the space is real, when it is safe enough to listen, Grace moves.

Yoga may be practiced as a system, but to me it is first and foremost a remembrance. What we seek has never been lost. And still, I remain a child at the feet of my Guru and of Baba, who are the true streammasters. Whatever I share is only a small reflection of their grace.

Nourishment, Nature, and the Subtle Body

In Ayurveda, everything arises from the five great elements: earth, water, fire, air, and ether. These elements live both within us and around us, shaping body, mind, and spirit. It is their harmony that gives rise to balance, clarity, and health.

As awareness deepens, the body becomes more sensitive. What we eat, how we digest, what we carry, and what we release all participate in the unfolding of consciousness.

To nourish well is not to follow rules, but to listen, to live in such a way that the body, mind, and spirit remember their natural wholeness. Food, like breath, can be both matter and prayer, both sustenance and offering.

This work flows into many forms: retreat meals, private gatherings, ceremonial cooking, Ayurvedic wisdom, and teachings on mindful nourishment. You are welcome to explore more on the Mindful Nourishment page.

Gratitude

All of this is only a way of remembering.

I bow to Baba, to my Guru, and to the grace that carries everything.