On the path of yoga it is indispensable to have a companion, a guru, who leads us from darkness to light. According to tradition, once the disciple is truly ready, the guru appears. Not earlier, not later – exactly the moment when the soul is ripe for being led.
The guru appears
After eight years of practice, it seemed that I myself too was ready. Fate has orchestrated that I could meet my guru, Sharath Ji, the paramaguru of ashtanga yoga. From that moment on, my practice was not just a series of physical and breathing exercises, but a connection to a living tradition that was preserved and passed down by him, with simplicity, discipline and deep faith.
Mysore years
The first year, 2013, was still modest. I practiced one month with him in Mysore, in the old shala, named KPJAYI at that time.
During this year, he came to me only once and said merely two sentences to me personally. But those two sentences encompassed everything; they had such a power that they became the guideline of my next year. At first I was disappointed. Is this all, in a whole month, just two sentences? – I asked myself. Later I understood that the first period was a time of silent observation for him. He watched our behaviour on the mat and beyond the mat, at community events; who returns and who is there truly for studying and not for the hype or authorisation.
Years have passed and I realised that Mysore became my number one home. The duration of my staying was only limited by Indian visa rules and the order of the shala – the maximum length of practice with Sharath Ji was defined, due to the massive overapplication.
My whole existence in Hungary slowly became about the preparation for the next season in Mysore. My days were determined by the rhythm of practice, teaching and preparation for returning.
In the meantime I started a family and this process smoothly blended in with my practice. My elder son spent two seasons, my smaller one spent one season with us in Mysore, in this unique Eastern world. I remember when my elder son met Sharath Ji for the first time at a conference, he stood up for the first time in his life.
In the ashtanga tradition they often say in jest that the seventh series is family life. I know now how true it is. As my family grew, my relationship with Sharath Ji deepened. I think he saw that commitment became the inherent part of my life, not just in my practice but also in everything else.
I would not have thought that one day I would miss this life so much.
The news
On 12 November 2024, at 3:34 in the morning, not long after I had got up, I learnt that Sharath Ji had died, that is, left his physical body. His death was completely unexpected for me. I felt I was dreaming, it cannot be true. When I was sure I was awake, I thought this could only be a bad joke. It can’t happen to me. Nor to our ashtanga community, to plenty of students who adored him and respected him like an idol. Among others, me as well. We had planned his visit to Budapest; it would have been the very first time for him to teach here.
When I learnt of his death, for a moment it occurred to me that maybe the Mysore practice that day starting at 5:30 am. should be cancelled. Then I quickly realised that this would be the very thing he would want the least. He devoted his life to this practice; I was sure that he would not want a single class to be cancelled because of him.
During the first days, I was not even able to practice properly. I did only a short practice of asanas, rather out of habit than with conscious presence. I was not able to cry either. As if every emotion had frozen inside me all at once.
When I slowly started to become aware that it is not a dream and not some bad joke, then came anger.
This was not what was promised. Yogis live a long life, at least that was what we had learnt. Pattabhi Jois, the grandfather of Sharath Ji, lived for 93 years; Krishnamacharya, his master lived for more than a hundred years. I had thought that Sharath Ji would follow this line. He would be with us for at least a hundred years. I had expected a few more decades; I wanted to learn from him so much and ask him so much. I was angry. Very angry. I didn’t understand at all.
The teaching of the silence
As days have passed, this anger slowly dissolved into a void. For a long time, during my practice I felt as if a part had been torn out of me.
Sharath Ji’s words, his presence, his moves all lived in me. I heard his voice as I settled in the asanas, as I inhaled and exhaled, and as I held the bandhas.
I realised that all the moments I had spent by his side remained with me, they were built into my body, into my breathing and into my consciousness. Acceptance did not come overnight.
At first, only practice held me: stepping on the mat at the same time, with the same movements and with the same devotion I had felt when still he had stood at the front of the room.
And this silence is the same he always used to teach: that yoga, at the end of the day, is the restoration of the inner connection.
Fidelity and gratitude
I have never had any doubt: I knew that I did not want another guru. I would not even be able to have one. On the path of yoga, if one is given a master like Sharath Ji, one forms a connection with him for a lifetime, not just between teacher and student, but also between two souls. I do not miss new teachings or new guidance. I feel that what I had received from him is enough, and my task is to carry it on worthily.
For me, fidelity is not attachment but the remembrance of the essence. Remembrance of what he taught again and again: practice, practice, practice – and all is coming.
I do not look for a new voice, as his voice has remained with me. Every morning practice, every breath is a quiet tribute to him. I do not want to forget him, and I do not want to replace him.
His presence has not passed; it has just changed form. He is present in every movement, every silence, every moment I step on the mat again.
I feel gratitude. Above all, I am grateful that I could be his student. And for saving my life.
My life before yoga was self-destructive, characterised by the continuous pressure of proving myself, non-stop work and chasing material possessions. I lived my life at a speed that literally made me sick; I fell ill with a disease that, according to Western phsysicians, was incurable.
Not many may experience this deep, personal relationship with a guru. I had received this gift, and I know that this connection is not ended by death. It just changes form. The light of the guru shines on in the heart of the student, where practice and silence merge.