The Day I Was Called a Yogi...

Sometimes, it is truly better not to have a plan —Because in that planlessness, existence flows through you.

I still remember the date: 13th June, 2023.Evening, around 5 PM.I was simply sitting by the lakeside, alone with my diary, melting two years of my bicycle journey into words of gratitude.

A man came and sat beside me. He didn’t say much — perhaps waiting for me to lift my head from my writing.He kept glancing at my bicycle.Maybe, something within him knew I had reached Nepal from India on it.

Then, without much effort, a subtle energy stirred between us, creating space for a 15-minute exchange.Not long. Not deep.Just a few words and silent smiles — listening more to the feeling than the form.

And then, out of nowhere, he offered:

“Would you love to come for dinner at my home? I would be happy to host you for a day.”

He seemed eager to introduce me to his four children — all younger than me.

☔ A Home Called Sadhana

I accepted the invitation with a full heart.Soon, I arrived at his home called Sadhana Home (Sadhana, meaning spiritual practice), under the pouring rain.

His wife, Durga, greeted me with a smile that radiated warmth — not just politeness, but the unmistakable tenderness of a mother seeing her own child return.

I was hungry, tired, and soaked, but somehow — I felt utterly at peace.Our first conversation was small but sincere, like a soft melody beginning to play.Later that evening, Asanga joined us — and something even more beautiful unfolded.

What began as casual dialogue turned into a deep, heart-to-heart connection — not through knowledge or questions, but through shared being.It wasn’t guest and host anymore — it was family.And somehow, without planning, I found myself opening up memories of my childhood, even the most painful ones.I didn’t know how it happened.Perhaps the universe was expressing through this body, this voice — without my mind interfering.

As my eyes welled with tears, Durga’s presence grew deeper.She didn’t need to ask why I left home.She felt it — through the invisible threads of a mother’s knowing.Her tears answered the question she never spoke aloud.Her eyes held the emotion of someone who had seen the wound beneath the words.That night, her heart adopted me — without ceremony, without condition.

It was only one night…But to me, it transcended any measure of time.And I had no idea what was about to come next.

🌄 A Walk with the Mountain and a Young Listener

The very next morning, before the sun fully rose, Drishan, the eldest of Asanga and Durga’s children, invited me to hike with him.We took a beautiful trail up Sarangkot Mountain, and as our footsteps moved through the quiet hills, a gentle, deep conversation flowed between us.

There was no judgment.No fixing.Just listening — pure and accepting.

I feel every soul longs for that: a non-judgmental listener. Someone who lets them be. Someone who receives them exactly as they are.

In Drishan, I found that listener.

🌿 The Path of a Yogi

Later, as we shared tea in the sunlight, Asanga said something unexpected:

“Vishal, maybe you don’t know — but you are on the path of a yogi.”

I was stunned.

Both Asanga and Durga walk deep spiritual paths.Asanga spent years as a bhikshu, a monk, traveling to sacred pilgrimages across India with his Guru.Durga was raised in a deeply devotional family — surrounded by mantras, meditation, and the quiet rhythm of sacred life.

In 1998, Asanga founded Sadhana Yoga Retreat, the first of its kind in Pokhara, which has since become a home for seekers around the world.

“But… how? I don’t understand. I’m a yogi?” I asked, bewildered.

Durga looked at me and said with a graceful clarity:

“Yoga is not just postures and movements. It’s a way of living.”

Her words stirred something within me.

I began reading. Reflecting. Sitting in silence. Listening to life.My curious mind helped sweep away the dust of doubt.And something within slowly began to glow.

Maybe I got lost somewhere — yet I reached inside.Maybe I couldn’t understand — but maybe it doesn’t need understanding.Maybe I couldn’t believe in myself — or maybe I was being called to see myself anew.

Durga once again spoke to the heart of it:

“The existential virtue of a yogi is his innocence — to express oneself as one is, without decorating the truth or feeding the ego. A yogi lives from the inside-out.”

She smiled gently:

“Look at how my children — Drishan, Nishan, Pragya, and Pragun — have begun blending with your energy.They may not know your full story, but their hearts feel your presence.”

And she wasn’t wrong. Even the family’s two beloved dogs, Golu and Pomu, were drawn to me as if by magnet. Every time I walked in, they would come running with joy, as if recognizing something familiar.

💛 The Love of a Mother

Durga’s love was not just maternal — it was unshakable, unwavering, unconditional.She cared for me as her own son.She noticed everything.She prepared food with a silent blessing.She brought tea not as a habit, but as an offering.

One day, she sat beside me and looked at my Facebook profile.She smiled and said:

“See? I told you — you’re a yogi.”

Surprised, I looked at her.

“Look at what you wrote even before your journey began — ‘Surrendering to the Unknown.’That means you can feel the invisible, the unimaginable, through your heart. That’s yoga.”

⏳ Timeless Days

That one-day invitation became one and a half months at Sadhana Home.And in that sacred time, something inside me was born — or perhaps, remembered. A light began to glow within.I was invited inward.I began seeking the yogi within.

Durga became my mother — not just in word, but in truth. She held my story, my wounds, my silence, and my spirit as her own.

🚴‍♂️ The Road Calls Again

But like all stories, this one, too, had to move.The road called again.

I don't know whether I felt sad or grateful or something beyond words.Tears flowed — from my eyes, from Durga’s. As she handed me $100, it wasn’t money. It was a mother’s offering to her child.A final gift, pressed between two hearts that would never part, even in distance.

I pedaled on — toward Durga’s childhood home, the place where she herself was raised.And somewhere along that road, I received the news:

Pomu, one of the dogs who had become like a little brother to me,fell seriously ill after I left…And soon after…He left his body.

🌌 Closing Reflection

One chance meeting.

One dinner.

One invitation.

One home.

And I met myself again.

In that lakeside conversation, in the pouring rain, in Durga’s tears, in Asanga’s wisdom,in the laughter of Drishan, Nishan, Pragya, and Pragun,in the wagging tail of Pomu, in the silent acceptance of Golu —something awakened.

I didn’t become a yogi.I simply remembered that I already am.

Thank you for reading. May your path unfold with grace, wonder, and the courage to surrender to the unknown.

🕊️With love,Vishal Ín Search Of Life’

🌺 Something brought you here. Not by chance, but by the rhythm of your own longing.

If this story echoes with a truth you’ve always carried,I invite you to walk a little further with me.

These aren’t just stories. They’re prayers on paper.And if they speak to you, it means your own voice is waking up.

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