Encounter with Niraamaya ③

Rocked by the rhythm of the train for about seven hours, we finally arrived in Madurai—the land where our yoga ashram awaited.

The journey from the station to the ashram takes about 30 minutes by car or auto-rickshaw (tuktuk).

The moment we stepped out of the station, carrying our suitcases and backpacks, we were undeniably recognizable as tourists. Even before we could look around, a stream of tuktuk drivers began tailing us, eagerly offering their services.

Madurai felt like an immense, sprawling metropolis. The sheer volume of vehicles, the fierce momentum of the traffic, and the dense sea of people created an overwhelming wave of raw Indian energy that rushed over us all at once.

Intent on reaching the ashram before the day ended, we first stopped at a local restaurant for lunch, walked around the city for about an hour to absorb its atmosphere, and then smoothly boarded a tuktuk.

Our destination: the Sivananda Yoga Ashram.

As we left the urban center behind, the scenery began to shift like a slow-turning kaleidoscope.

The roads widened, the heavy traffic thinned, and the bustling cityscapes gradually melted into serene, rural vistas. As we moved along a dry, dusty path that felt almost desert-like, we saw herds of cows and goats grazing peacefully. A deep sense of realization washed over me: Ah, I am truly in India now.

Turning into a bumpy, unpaved alleyway, we were jolted around for a few more minutes until suddenly, an ashram far more grand and magnificent than we had anticipated appeared before our eyes.

While I intend to dedicate an entire future blog post to the details of our profound experiences within the ashram, I would like to touch briefly upon a specific thread here—the one that contains the origin story of our journey with the yoga mat.

First, what exactly is an ashram?

In simple terms, it is a yoga temple. However, it is far from being a secluded, quiet monastery where only monks engage in silent ascetic practices.

Instead, it is a vibrant crossroads where souls gather from every corner of the earth. Some come to immerse themselves in intensive study to obtain their yoga teacher certifications, while others stay for a designated period without seeking credentials, choosing instead to learn yoga within a deeply disciplined, structured daily life. Their ages, professions, and nationalities are incredibly diverse.

Here, one does not merely practice yoga through physical postures (asanas). We learned the complete, holistic tapestry of yoga through experience: through Karma Yoga (the yoga of selfless service, such as daily cleaning), the study of yoga philosophy, morning and evening meditations, and Kirtan (the singing of divine devotional songs).

Yoga is far more than just moving the body. This fundamental, yet often forgotten truth is taught here not through textbooks, but through the rhythm of everyday life.

Naturally, there was dedicated time for rigorous yoga asana practice every single day. Ninety minutes of yoga, twice a day.

In truth, it was within this very ashram that the story of introducing Niraamaya to Japan began to breathe.

At the ashram, some people stay for several months, while others depart for their next destination after only a few days. Yet, despite this constant ebb and flow of people, a deep bond formed instantly among us as lovers of yoga and fellow travelers. This was a sacred container where, even today, someone arrives to study the deeper meaning of life and the evolution of the soul.

When the time for yoga asanas arrived, everyone gathered in the grand hall, unfolding their respective mats to prepare for practice. My wife and I would also fluidly spread out our organic cotton Niraamaya mats, which we had so wonderfully acquired in Kerala.

Then, a beautiful phenomenon began to unfold. Almost every single day, without fail, the people who rolled out their mats next to us would call out in admiration:

"What a stunning yoga mat! Where on earth did you find it?" "Could I please take a closer look at your mat?" "Wow... is this really crafted entirely from cotton?"

Most of the practitioners were using standard, rolled-up plastic yoga mats. When unfurled, their edges would often curl back up stubbornly. Against that backdrop, the sight of our cotton mats laying perfectly flat, grounded, and exquisitely elegant upon the floor seemed to leave a profound impression on everyone.

Throughout our one-month stay, this yoga mat was praised more times than I can count. Even though it was a mat we had simply purchased "by chance," we felt an inexplicable sense of pride welling up inside us, as if we ourselves were being complimented.

Then, one day, a woman from Slovenia who was also staying at the ashram shared an insight that struck a deep chord within us:

"You two should absolutely distribute this yoga mat. This is a masterpiece that deserves to go out into the world. I know this because I used to work as a consultant importing products from Africa."

Her words resonated silently, yet with absolute certainty, within both my wife and me. Emboldened by that spark, we decided to take a leap of faith right there from the ashram and sent an email to the distribution company of Niraamaya.

The response that flew back to us was astonishingly warm and encouraging:

"Once your time at the ashram comes to an end, please come visit us in Kerala. Let us hold a meeting together."

Having completed our month-long ashram life, feeling completely reborn in both body and mind, my wife and I boarded the train once again.

Another seven hours of being rocked by the tracks.

Our destination was once more Fort Kochi, Kerala.

It was from this exact turning point that the story of Yogoda and Niraamaya began to take on a tangible, physical form in reality.