The Indian Yogi- Yogi Dillip

No one truly knows when it all began. Every action we take, every path we choose, was set into motion long before we even realized it—perhaps by our parents, grandparents, or, if you believe in such things, by the echoes of our past lives. The seeds of our journeys are sown by us or by those who came before.

I was born into a devout Hindu Brahmin family, steeped in tradition and orthodoxy. My parents, deeply religious and unwavering in their faith, filled our home with rituals and prayers. Gods, countless Gods, adorned every corner, transforming our house into what felt like a sacred museum. My parents, in their devotion, never missed a single morning or evening ritual, and for the first 14 years of my life, I followed their lead, though never with the same intensity. I was the kind of child who often looked the other way when told to do something.

Yet, curiosity was always a companion of mine. One day, I stumbled upon my father in a curious position, contorting his limbs in a way I had never seen. Concerned, I asked if he was alright. He smiled and explained that he was practicing Yog Asana. His words didn’t quite register with me at the time, but they sparked something within. My brother and I, with the mischievousness of youth, began mimicking him—perhaps to tease, or maybe to show off our youthful flexibility. We laughed and stretched, unknowingly planting the seeds of a deeper understanding.

Through our conversations, I discovered that my father had learned these practices from his father, and our grandfather from his father before him. It dawned on me that this was more than just a routine—it was a legacy. And so, I began to see its importance in a new light.

However, the dynamics shifted when my elder brother, my yoga partner in crime, left for higher studies in another state. Without him, the practice lost its playful allure, and my once-enthusiastic sessions became sporadic and half-hearted.

Then came a festival, a vibrant celebration of Hindu tradition. Stalls lined the streets, brimming with treasures from the mountains, forests, temples, and homes. Ritual items, books, handmade goods, and mysterious trinkets—all tantalizingly magical—were on display. Among them, a collection of books on Tantra caught my eye. This, I believe, was the moment my fascination with Tantra truly began. The mystical, the non-human, the seemingly impossible—it all captivated me, fueling my curiosity to soaring heights.

I would devour a book, chant its mantras, or visit a temple dedicated to a specific goddess, all the while harboring the belief that the vivid images from the pages would materialize before me. That belief, that thrill of the unknown, kept pushing me forward, driving me to seek out the truth.

I am still on this journey, perhaps no closer to the answers, but ever searching. It's a treasure hunt, a quest that continues deep within, on a subconscious level—a journey that began long ago, with seeds planted by those who came before me.

After that initial awakening, my search for truth deepened. I sought out gurus, visited ashrams, and even traveled to the Himalayas, yearning for answers that seemed just out of reach. Yet, despite my efforts, I found myself restless, never fully satisfied. My quest for truth felt hindered by an elusive barrier. Disheartened, I returned to the so-called "real world," where I pursued a Master’s degree in Computer Science. But even then, the call of the spiritual world never left me.

I continued visiting ashrams, and it was during one of these visits that I encountered Kriya Yoga—a practice that formally introduced me to Kundalini and the safe methods for awakening it. By this point, I had come to a profound realization: no matter how much you read or practice, if your chakras are not balanced or awakened, everything feels futile. Awakening the Kundalini, I believed, was the key to true spiritual progress—the one thing we all need in our daily lives.

Throughout my practice, there were moments that felt mystical, as though I was brushing against the fabric of a deeper reality. But my journey was far from smooth; it was filled with ups and downs. I was easily influenced by my surroundings—a weakness that often pulled me off course. For many years, this pattern repeated itself. I would dedicate myself to yoga, pranayama, and meditation for a few months, only to drift back into the ordinary rhythms of life—working, eating, drinking, dancing, and traveling.

In 2015, my passion for yoga reignited, fueled by a growing discontent with the monotony of everyday life. I had saved some money and realized it was time to invest in formal training and take the leap into teaching. Up until that point, I had never received proper training to teach yoga. I enrolled in a prestigious university specializing in Yoga Therapy, where I had the privilege of assisting yoga teachers and doctors in treating patients with various ailments. It was there that I realized I might never fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a doctor, but through yoga asanas and pranayama, I could access a profound healing power that modern medicine often couldn't reach.

Determined to deepen my practice, I embarked on an intensive journey, completing both 200-hour and subsequently 300-hour yoga teacher training courses at a renowned school nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas. The mountains always seemed to call me, as if they were where my soul truly resided—metaphorically, of course, as we all know the true home of the soul is beyond the physical. But I digress. Upon returning, I began teaching in Pune. Teaching filled my life with a deep sense of fulfillment, yet the hunger to learn and help others only grew stronger.

However, this path came to a sudden halt when I injured myself during a hike in the Himalayas. Something went wrong with the back of my leg, and doctors recommended surgery, advising me to limit my yoga practice. This news sent me into a spiral, and along with my physical injury, my passion for teaching and helping others seemed to crumble.

After moving to the Netherlands, I took up part-time jobs while contemplating a return to my old, uninspiring IT career. But my heart wasn't in it, and I struggled to find a job. All the while, I was focused on healing my leg, determined to regain the strength to run, skateboard, surf—all the activities that required a strong, healthy leg. After a long period of struggle and home treatments, I began to feel better. Slowly, I returned to yoga, driven by the realization that people here were suffering in ways I knew I could help with.

Even as I dealt with a weak meniscus and LCL, and a wrist that had seen better days, I found renewed strength in my practice. And with that, the desire to help others began to flicker back to life.

Continuing .........