By Ashish Khandelwal
I don’t know how to begin this without sounding like a hypocrite. Maybe I am one. Maybe we all are. Running Aavya, I’ve had a front-row seat to the contradictions of the yoga world, and I’ll admit — some days it makes me laugh, and some days it makes me want to cry.
I’m not a yoga teacher. I never claimed to be one. But over the last four years, I’ve met hundreds of teachers who’ve walked through these hills. And in every conversation — whether whispered over chai or confessed after a class — I hear the same things: the desire to go deeper, the guilt of charging, the worry about whether they’re being “too commercial.”
One teacher tells me, “I just want to live in silence, Ashish.” But then she asks me how to price her retreat. Another says, “It’s not about money.” And then, two breaths later, “But how do I fill my class?”
I’ve seen it again and again — this split-screen reality. Teachers who chant of surrender, then panic about sign-ups. Healers who preach letting go, then hustle for collaborations. Yogis who say “stay present,” then check their Instagram likes after class.
And before I point fingers, let me admit: I am part of it too. I run a retreat space. I talk about energy and alignment, about creating a sanctuary where people can heal and just be. But at the end of the day, I’m also sitting with bills, debts, staff salaries, negotiations, and ads. Some nights, I feel like I’m holding a mala in one hand and a calculator in the other.
There’s guilt in this — guilt that we’ve dressed up the same human struggles in spiritual vocabulary. City people talk about careers, revenues, salaries. We talk about dharma, energy exchange, abundance. Same struggle, different costume.
And yet… there’s also joy. I’ve seen a teacher tear up when a student finally felt their breath. I’ve seen a class of three people turn into the most powerful circle because it was the right three people. I’ve seen collaborations that looked transactional on paper turn into something truly alive.
So yes, it’s messy. Yes, it’s confusing. And yes, sometimes it feels like a scam even to ourselves. But it’s also what we have, and maybe the mistake is pretending the mess doesn’t exist.
Maybe the point is not to clean up the dilemma but to live it — lighter, more honest, and without taking ourselves too seriously. Because some nights, we’re all just holding a mala in one hand and a calculator in the other.
And honestly? None of us are Osho or Krishnamurti. And in today’s world, even Sadhguru and Sri Sri Ravi Shankar have full Instagram and social media teams. If they need content calendars and hashtags, then maybe we can forgive ourselves for juggling between silence and reels, between mantras and marketing.